The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(66)

I nod, but she’s wrong. I’m pretty sure he was exactly what I wanted, even if it took getting hurt to recognize it, even if I knew better.

“You’re welcome,” she says, handing me my phone.

“What did you just do?” I demand.

She waves a hand at me. “It’s just coffee. You don’t have to bang him…although you probably should.”

My jaw falls open. Going out with a stranger is the last thing I want to do, especially right now.

“Gemma,” she says softly, “think about it. How are you going to stand to work with Ben all week, knowing he’s moved on if you haven’t at least tried to move on too?”

And I still desperately want to tell her to cancel it…but she isn’t wrong.





I have butterflies the next morning as I walk toward a coffee shop in Brentwood to meet a guy named Kevin, and they’re not the good kind. It feels like I’m nine again, shoplifting hairspray on a dare, knowing I’m going to get caught.

I have to remind myself I’m not doing anything wrong. Ben and I are not together. We have not exchanged promise rings or made an oath of fidelity. And for fuck’s sake, he just took some girl to Ardor last night. For all I know, they wound up back at the house he was unwilling to ever let me see then took her to the family brunch this morning, the one he never invited me to. I owe him nothing.

He texts as I near the coffee shop. I’m tempted to ignore him, but I don’t need him turning up at my apartment later because I didn’t reply.

Ben: Brunch ended early. Are you at home?

A thousand angry words come to mind. How was dinner, Ben? Did you bring her with you to meet the family, or was the whole thing about brunch with your family a fucking lie all along?

I bite the inside of my cheek, willing myself to be cool, disinterested.

Me: No. I have plans today.

Later, I will write him and say something distant and impersonal: this just isn’t what I want and it’s run its course. And then I’ll need to figure out how to work by his side on the Lawson case without it destroying me, without letting him know how much I hate him for having failed me.

Kevin is waiting at the table when I arrive. He’s cute. If it weren’t for Ben, I’d probably be interested.

He rises from his seat and gives me a hug. “It’s nice to meet you.”

I glance at the line inside. He’s already got a drink.

“You too. I’m just gonna—”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Do you want me to—”

“No, no,” I say, waving him off. “Just sit. I’ll be right back.”

Jesus. I’d forgotten how uncomfortable first dates are.

The line takes too long. I mouth an apology, and he shakes his head, as if it’s his fault. I don’t want to be here, and I’m not sure why I am. I’m not the kind of girl who can revenge fuck someone hours after she was with someone else.

I return with a latte I don’t even want. I take a big sip and burn the shit out of my tongue.

“So…” I say, “you’re a farmer?”

To my surprise, he says yes. He’s not also a struggling actor, not doing it as a stopgap while he decides about grad school or gets his dumb tech start-up off the ground. He proceeds to tell me all about organic gardening.

He’s exactly what I want, and spending time with him bores me out of my fucking mind.





I return to my apartment when the interminable date is over and come to a dead stop as I walk down the hall. Ben is sitting outside my door. He doesn’t smile when he sees me. Just silently rises, his eyes dark as night.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, shifting my keys from one hand to the next. “I told you I had plans.”

“Were you on a date?” he demands.

I have no idea what to say. A part of me wants to throw it in his face, and another part of me still feels like I did something wrong.

“What?” I ask.

His nostrils flare. “Were. You. On. A. Fucking. Date?”

I shove my hands into the pockets of my cardigan. “Would it matter?”

His mouth falls open, his breathing uneven. “Yes, it fucking matters.”

He turns and unlocks the door with the key I’m about to demand back and marches inside. I follow him in, slowly unbuttoning my sweater and trying to pretend I’m as ambivalent as I should be. I hang it on the hook, ignoring him, and then draw my shoulders back. In sneakers I feel way too small standing here before him.

“I’ll take your non-answer as an answer,” he says with an angry laugh. “Though I should have known when you said you had plans. You never make plans that aren’t work. Until today, that is.”

I blow out a breath. “Is that why you’re here? Because I said I had plans?”

“No.” He stalks toward me. “I’m here because I fucking saw you walking down the street with a guy on what definitely looked like a date, and I was hoping you’d tell me I was wrong.”

“So what?” I ask, and all the rage and pain I’m not supposed to feel seem to take possession of me. “If you can take a girl out to Ardor for dinner when you’re supposedly hanging out with your family, I’m not going to apologize for having coffee at noon with someone else.”