The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(64)

“For two? That fucking asshole,” she hisses.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to cry, because it isn’t what I’d hoped she’d say.

I wanted her to tell me things might be different than they appear. I wanted her to craft an entirely plausible explanation for that reservation, for the lie.

I’m as bad as my clients, the ones who believed their cheating husbands’ ridiculous excuses for not coming home, who rationalized a sudden desire to get in shape and the way he started walking outside to make phone calls.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought he was different.”

Yeah. I did too.





I arrive in Seattle and take the ferry out to Bainbridge Island where Lauren now lives. She has a pretty sweet gig, working from home for a tech firm. The sun comes out as we approach the harbor and I picture moving here too. Putting LA behind me, giving up on everything. I doubt working with Ben will even be possible after this—it’s gone too far for me to detach as if it never happened.

Except if I’m going to give up on everything, I should probably just work for my dad. I’m not going to be happy either way, but at least my mom would come out ahead.

I meet Lauren at a café in town, and we manage to get a table outside in the winter sun. She’s small and blond like Keeley but orders herself a green juice and a vegan quiche, which Keeley could not be paid to eat.

“I can’t believe you flew all the way up here,” she says. “No offense, but you look like you need some sleep.”

I try to force a smile and find, to my horror, that I’m on the cusp of tears. “Oh, God,” I whisper. “Sorry.”

I reach for the napkin that came with my lunch and press it to my eyes. I’ve never once, in my entire life, cried in front of a client or a potential witness.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, blinking in surprise. “You’re gorgeous, obviously. I just meant you look tired.”

I give a small, strangled laugh, which sounds like a sob too. As if I’d cry because someone said I look tired—I’ve probably looked tired for the past fifteen years straight. “It’s not that. My boyfriend is seeing someone else.”

I have no idea why I’ve told her this, or why I’m suddenly calling him my boyfriend. It’s the most unprofessional moment of my life.

She leans forward. There’s nothing like a cheating story to make women unite. “Fucking men,” she groans. “They’re all the same. I dated a guy who claimed he was picking up overtime because he was saving money for a house, and then I ran into him at a restaurant with his wife and kids.”

I sigh. “I guess it could have been worse then. Here, let me get out my notes so you can get back to your daughter.”

“Take your time,” she says. “I never get to eat lunch out anymore.”

I pull myself together enough to ask her the questions on my list. She tells me the same story Leona did about the strip clubs and names a slew of men who went to them, at least one of whom was a vice president at the time. I’d hoped I could push her into testifying, but I don’t have it in me today. When the meal concludes, I simply hand the waitress my credit card and thank Lauren for her time. Maybe it’s for the best the reservation at Ardor wasn’t for me, since there won’t be much to celebrate.

“So is Fiducia going to get away with this crap?” she asks as we stand to leave.

“I’m not sure,” I reply. I’m too disheartened for optimism today. “Men will call you weak if you’re soft, and they’ll call you abrasive if you’re not soft. They’ve set it up so there’s no way for us to succeed, and they get away with most of it.”

She bites her lip. “Will Fiducia have to apologize, if Margaret wins?”

“Yes,” I reply with grim certainty. “I’ll make sure of it.”

I walk down the hill to the ferry. I haven’t even climbed on board before Lauren texts to say she’ll testify.

I got exactly what I came here for. It doesn’t feel like much of a victory, though.





38





I get back to LA early Friday evening. I have no intention of seeing Ben, but he just shows up at my door, having gotten my flight info from Terri.

I want him to go away, but it feels like I’ll either scream or burst into tears if I try to address this in person, which means it’s better left to email or text—somewhere I can remain in control.

He kisses me, and if he notices how stiff I am as it happens, he doesn’t say so.

“I was just about to go to the store,” I lie. “And then I’m going to bed.” In truth I was planning to eat a handful of chocolate chips and reevaluate my life, but I need to get him out of my apartment first.

He says he’ll come with me and I immediately regret the lie. I don’t feel like going through the ruse of shopping in addition to the ruse of not being mad at him.

He asks how the trip to Seattle went and I answer, but I’m growing steadily angrier as we walk to the elevator. How can he be the guy who shows up at my apartment the second my flight lands, and also be the guy who lies to my face? How could he push so hard for me to let him in, to lean on him, when he never intended to stick around?

We walk into the store and he grabs us a cart. He’s talking about deposing Lauren quickly before she changes her mind, and I’m thinking about him holding me after I talked to my mom the other night. He should never have gone down this path with me in the first place, should never have pushed me to invite him over and take a trip out of town with him. It’s utter bullshit that he led me on the way he did.