The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(74)

There’s a number that could be arrived at based on what Margaret actually lost: what she’d have earned over the course of ten years as a manager and what she’s lost in this past year of unemployment.

“That’s a lot of money,” Craig says when we calculate the amount.

“No,” I argue. “I want to nail Fiducia to the wall over this. They falsified records, for fuck’s sake. Accusing them of a crime will show the world just how shady they are.”

“We can’t,” says Ben. “Margaret’s our client. We’re here to serve her, not to reform the system.”

“But—”

He runs a hand over his face, tired of my arguments, though he can hardly fault me. When he wants something, he’s like a dog with a bone too.

“Gemma, that they falsified records is the only leverage we have. With it, we can get them to double the amount they’d have paid her, and that alone will draw a shitload of negative attention. Every story about them for the next year will be about what they’ve done to change, and isn’t that what you want?”

I hate when he’s right.

“Fine. But it has to be accompanied by a formal apology,” I reply. “Fiducia has to admit they made a mistake.”

“Fine,” he says with a tired smile. “We’ll make them apologize.”

We finish up so late that there’s no point in Ben coming to my apartment—he’d barely let his head hit the pillow before he’d have to wake up and drive to Santa Monica.

“Get some rest,” I tell him when we reach our cars. “We’ll celebrate when we win tomorrow. I’ll even attempt to cook.”

He looks away. “Let’s save your cooking for a time when we’re feeling more ambivalent about our lives. I have plans tomorrow night, but we’ll celebrate soon.”

I freeze a little. That word, plans, is the cheater’s version of a long um…the pause during which he comes up with some detail to sell his lie.

“Just a little family dinner,” he adds, while something sinks further inside me. “But they tend to run late.”

I’ve agreed to go to HR, I’ve agreed to go on a trip with him, but he’s still shutting me out. He’s gone from being a hundred percent in to acting like a guy who’s counting the minutes until he can end things.

And it’s going to hurt a thousand times more than my break-up with Kyle when it happens.





45





We meet opposing counsel the next morning at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Ben arrives a few minutes late because he had to talk to Fields first, and remains in the background during the negotiation, letting me do the work. They give us a number slightly lower than Craig’s until I remind them that Fiducia falsified records. “The last time a CEO was prosecuted for falsifying records, he wound up in jail,” I tell them. “You might want to discuss that with your client before this conversation continues.”

They leave to discuss it, and return with an amount more than double the one they came in with, along with a formal apology. In exchange, we will not accuse Fiducia of fraud.

“You can call Margaret to tell her,” Ben says when we’re done. “This was your victory, not mine. You were amazing in there.”

There is something more muted about him than I expected. “Yet you don’t seem happy.”

His smile is small and forced. “I’m fine,” he lies. “Just tired.”

I call Margaret from the car. She cries when I tell her the outcome, and it’s so much better than almost any moment I’ve had in court because no one has been broken by what occurred today. Fiducia might wind up a better company for it. Margaret will have enough to live off, and might even be able to get another job now.

I turn to Ben, who’s in the middle of sending a text. When he finally glances at me, he looks uncertain.

“You’re still seeing your family tonight?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, biting his lip. “It’s my stepdad’s birthday.”

“I’d like to meet them sometime,” I say, forcing myself to be this new version of Gemma, the one who is open and communicative and doesn’t freeze him out the moment I feel a glimmer of fear. “Just to make sure you were born and not spawned.”

He smiles but there’s some discomfort in it. “I’m not sure meeting them would enlighten you any. My brothers are worse than me.”

He avoided that a little too well. I stare out the window, trying not to be upset by it, but all the ways I used to console myself—this doesn’t mean anything, we aren’t really together—are no longer true, are they?

“If you’re willing to tell HR we’re a couple,” I reply quietly, just as we arrive at the office, “then maybe you ought to be willing to introduce me to your family.” And your friends. And invite me to your home.

“We need to talk later,” he says. My head jerks toward him in surprise. He’s already climbing out of the car, in a hurry. “Not now, though. Fields wants us all in the conference room. He's making a big announcement.”

My heart begins to race as I accept his outstretched hand. “A big announcement?” I ask breathlessly.

He winks at me. “A big announcement,” he repeats.