The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(42)

24





I meet Ben in the garage and agree to let him drive. Bavel is far enough from the office that we’re unlikely to be seen together, but I’ve brought some files with me just in case.

“Are you okay?” he asks, giving me a sidelong glance as he pulls out.

No, because this feels like a terrible idea on every front imaginable. “I guess I just never foresaw eating dinner with you by choice after you stole Brewer Campbell from me. Past Gemma is highly disappointed in Present Gemma.”

“But she didn’t mind you sleeping with me repeatedly?” he asks with a grin, and I squirm in my seat.

“Those were spur-of-the-moment mistakes.” Mistakes I clearly plan to repeat. “This is intentional.”

He laughs, because he knows I’m full of shit. “Brewer Campbell was not my fault. I had no idea until you started giving me death stares at every meeting that the client Fields assigned me was supposed to go to you.”

I sigh. Holding that grudge has made me feel safe from him, somehow, but I guess it was no longer working anyway. “You could have at least sent some of the Brewer Campbell work my way,” I mutter.

“It would have been awkward with you giving me the finger and telling me to go fuck myself every time I approached,” he replies, and I give in and laugh, because yeah…that sounds like me.

He hands his car keys to a valet then walks me inside the restaurant, which is intimate and romantic—white tablecloths and candlelight.

“Is this where you bring all your nineteen year olds?” I ask as we take our seats.

He sighs and laughs at once, as if I’m both amusing and tedious. “If only you had any dating history to speak of so I could ridicule you as well.”

“I’ve dated.”

“Who? Thomas?” he demands. “Tell me, Gemma, where exactly was he a chef?”

That’s really not a topic I want to get into. “Let’s keep the past in the past.”

His triumphant smile isn’t nearly as annoying as it should be.

He opens the menu. “Is Malbec okay?” he asks.

I nod, trying not to let on how much I like that he asked. A man who can’t even make sure you like red wine before he orders isn’t going to worry about your feelings when he starts wanting to fuck his secretary, either.

When the waiter departs, I half expect awkward silence to descend. I’m on the cusp of bringing up Lawson, just to fill the space, but somehow we end up talking about other things, and we just don’t stop. We discuss whether the new justice will affect the makeup of the court, how California should be dealing with the drought, whether Becky in accounting is sleeping with the UPS guy. And sure, we spend a fair amount of that time arguing, but it’s…fun. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t counting the minutes until a date ended, but with Ben, it almost feels like it’s going too fast. Dinner is served, and there’s so much to say, so much to hear, that I have to remind myself to eat.

Until he asks about Iceland, that is.

“What’s the deal with that?” he prods. “You’ve mentioned it to Terri. Something about a proposal?”

I never realized he was listening to my conversations quite so carefully. I could claim it was a joke, but this is probably a good time to make a few things between us crystal clear. “That’s where my future boyfriend will eventually propose. I saw it in a movie once.” I grin widely. “My non-lawyer boyfriend.”

He nods. “Right, right. Because you only date chefs.”

“Not just chefs,” I reply. “I’m open to several occupations. Widowed veterinarian, owner of a Christmas tree farm, or proprietor of a bed and breakfast.”

His mouth twitches. “And how exactly does this proposal unfold?”

“You’re ridiculing me and I don’t care. One day when I’m posting a video of my small but tasteful ring with the Northern Lights behind me and a children’s choir performing, you’ll see how wrong you were.”

“Ah, so now the Northern Lights happen to be behind you? I didn’t realize you’d even planned out the acts of God that will need to occur. Very thorough.”

I bite down on a smile as I shrug. “Obviously, I’d understand if that part didn’t happen. I’d be disappointed, but I’d understand.”

“That’s generous of you. What about the fact that you’d hate Iceland? You get cold when the office is set below seventy-two.”

“I—”

“And no owner of a small bed-and-breakfast can just take off for a few weeks to go to Iceland.”

I set down my fork. “Any other dreams you’d like to crush, Ben?”

“Well,” he says, “you’d have to share them with me first.”

I laugh, and then our eyes hold, and he’s smiling, and lust hits me out of nowhere. Not the normal kind of lust, not even the normal kind of lust I feel for Ben, but the sort that makes me feel a little deranged, that has me wondering if he’d follow me to the bathroom if I suggested it. Maybe that is sort of the normal lust I feel for Ben. I want him to pin me to his desk, just like he did the first time.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say.

His gaze sharpens, grows predatory, in a second’s time. I’ve never seen a man pay a check faster than he does ours.