The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(34)

“Let go of me,” I hiss.

“You could at least let me explain,” he says, and then Ben is there, grabbing Webber by the lapels.

“Maybe you can explain why you’re grabbing her like that first,” he growls.

“Who the fuck are you?” Webber asks.

“I’m the guy you answer to when you grab my—” he stumbles over the last word. “—colleague.”

“Colleague?” Webber repeats. “You’re at FMG? Well, Fields and I go way back. He’ll be very interested to hear how you treat a potential client. Security?” he calls, looking past Ben. “Can someone get security over here?”

Ben could probably talk his way out of this just fine, but I’m not sure he will. He’s looking at Webber right now like he can’t decide what to punch first.

“We were leaving,” I announce, linking Ben’s arm with mine and tugging him toward the exit.

He holds still. “We shouldn’t be the ones leaving,” he argues.

“Don’t create problems with Webber,” I snap. “Fields is angry enough with me for messing it up. No reason to make him angry at you too.”

His jaw locks tight, and I’m certain he’s going to continue arguing, but instead he ushers me out, calling the driver to pick us up as we walk.

We reach the curb and he turns to me, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He seemed pretty possessive for a guy you ostensibly met once.”

My eyes drift to the pavement between us. “I met him, we had a difference of opinion about what I was there for, end of story.”

He steps closer. “It was more than that. I heard what he said. About letting him explain. He must have done something.”

I’m about to lie when he touches my arm. “Gemma,” he says softly, waiting for me to look up at him. “Tell me what he did.”

I swallow, and my eyes fall to his chest, which feels safer, more impersonal. “We met, in theory, to discuss what the firm could do for him. When we left he...he shoved my hand between his legs and refused to let go until I forced the issue.”

I wait then, for the doubt and blame I expect to see on any man’s face when an accusation like this is made. I wait for him to say, “are you sure you didn’t misunderstand? Are you sure you didn’t encourage him? Explain it to me in detail so I can tell you where you went wrong.”

But his eyes are black in the light, a muscle flickering in his cheek. “That lunch,” he says, with rage in his voice, “when you kept rubbing your wrist.”

I nod. The car pulls up, but for a moment he just stands there, frozen. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” It sounds like an accusation.

“Come on, Ben,” I say, rolling my eyes, which means We aren’t friends. Why would I have told you?

I climb in the car but he simply remains where he was, frozen in place.

“You’re not coming back to the office?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’ve got some loose ends to handle real quick.”

I hesitate. “Webber’s not one of them, right?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just a few things I need to deal with.”

There’s a plink of disappointment in my chest. I imagine those things involve some woman he met inside, the potential Miss Universe who is probably texting him lewd propositions even as we speak. But it’s not like I expected him to escort me home. This isn’t a date. “Okay. Well…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He merely nods, carefully shutting the door, remaining there as the car pulls away.

The driver meets my eye in the rearview mirror. “Back to FMG, ma’am?”

My shoulders sag. I’m tired and alone, and suddenly the idea of going back to the office doesn’t appeal in the least. “Can you just take me home?”

We drive through those same suburban neighborhoods, past Stadler’s building, past Tiffany & Co. It’s only when we reach my apartment that I realize I didn’t think about Kyle once.





21





I walk into the office with measured, precise steps, uncertain what I will find. I don’t know if there will be any backlash from my argument with Webber, and I also don’t know where things stand between Ben and me.

If I’m being honest, it was sort of Hallmark-worthy, the way he intervened when Webber grabbed me. It’s the exact kind of toxic masculine bullshit I’m not supposed to like but thought about for hours last night anyway.

Ben’s office is empty. He must have had a late night, and my heart sinks a little at the idea of why he’d have had a late night.

I ask his admin where he is, despite begging myself not to do this very thing, and she gives me a curious look. Dory is older than most of the staff, a grandmotherly sort who’s always been surprisingly fond of Ben. Rumor has it he’s actually nice to the people who work with him closely. “He’ll be in late. He had a long night.”

So I was right. I bet it was Miss Universe. She was all over him like a rash, though I can hardly blame her: he did look ridiculously good in that tux. A little twinge of jealousy twists in my gut, but I squash it down.

I’m in no way listening for the sound of the elevators, nor am I intentionally looking up each time they ding to see who’s arrived. I just happen to see him when he steps in at eleven, freshly showered but looking slightly more ruffled than normal. I force my gaze back to my laptop, determined to put him out of my head, but only a few minutes later Terri walks into my office with wide eyes…and somehow, I know it’s about him.