The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(76)

We all introduced ourselves to him after the initial meeting. When it was my turn, I started to tell him my name and he stopped me with an embarrassed smile. “I know who you are,” he said. “I saw you in court decimating a partner at my last firm.”

He said it as if impressed, and I blushed again. “A few of us are going to the bar across the street tomorrow night,” he told me. “If you’re free.” He held my eye. It felt like he was asking something more.

I was terrified—of how badly I wanted to go, of how much I wanted to see his uneven smile again, and as soon as possible. I opened my mouth to reply, but Fields was there, dragging him off. I’m still not sure what I was going to say.

When I found out, the very next morning, that he’d stolen Brewer Campbell from me, the first emotion I felt, even before rage, was relief. As if I’d been spared a much worse fate, as if being able to hate him would make my life easier.

If only I could have kept hating him, because I’m never, ever going to recover from Ben Tate. I think I knew I wouldn’t, even that first day we met.





47





I do not sleep a wink on the red-eye to DC. I want to cry, but I’m too stunned. Where do I go from here? The last six years of my life have been spent working toward one goal I didn’t achieve, and the only thing I actually loved about my job was the man who just made sure I didn’t achieve it.

My mother hovers over me from the moment I arrive home. I summed up what happened, but she’s struggling to believe Ben is a man like Kyle, like my father. Little surprise, that. Her picker has proven, historically, to be every bit as bad as mine.

“Here,” she says, sliding a glass of something bright green, flecked with brown. “It’s a kale and spirulina smoothie. Just try it. You’re probably low on Vitamin D, which causes depression.”

“Everyone is low on Vitamin D,” I argue, glancing at the kitchen counter. Since when does my mom shell out for spirulina? You can’t even walk into Whole Foods without spending more than she makes in a day. That’s when I notice the five-hundred-dollar blender sitting on her counter.

“You bought a Vitamix?” I ask. This is my mom, who thinks she’s okay with nothing but three chipped plates, after all.

She bites her lip. “I’ve always wanted one,” she begins. “And I’ve been meaning to discuss it with you, once you weren’t so busy. Your father called out of nowhere and said he wants to make things right. He sent me a very, very large check.”

“He did? And what did he demand in exchange?”

She smiles. “Nothing, hon. He said you spoke to him and he realized he’d been wrong.”

I push a hand through my hair. “Mom, he doesn’t do anything out of the goodness of his heart. Did he make you sign something? Was there any kind of verbal agreement?”

Her laugh is quiet and unhappy, as if it’s sad that I’m so suspicious when what’s actually sad is that she isn’t, after everything he’s done. “No, Gemma. Nothing. Isn’t it possible that he wanted to do the right thing? Or maybe just wanted to earn your respect?”

“It would take a lot more than that,” I reply, and my voice cracks. He didn’t even tell me he was doing it and he didn’t try to force my hand at all. Maybe he finally heard me when I exploded at him on Christmas, or maybe this is just a ploy to get me to come to his firm. “Why are you still working two jobs, then?”

She shrugs. “I like my jobs, and Ed says—”

“Who the hell is Ed?” I’m instantly suspicious. My mother is fragile, and she’s got very little experience with men. A child could take advantage of her.

“Language, Gemma,” she scolds. “He owns the bar. You know that. He—” She blushes. “I told him about Ben coming here to shovel and he was so upset. He’s been coming over ever since to take care of things and I guess we’ve sort of begun—”

“Fucking?”

“Gemma! Jesus, the mouth on you. Dating. But anyway, he says I should take my time and decide what I really want to do with my life, so I’m just sitting tight for now.” That’s actually really sensible advice from Ed, if that’s really his name. But that doesn’t mean I trust him.

“I’m going to need to meet this guy,” I warn.

“You act like he’s a stranger, Gemma,” she says. “I’ve known him for a year. He was just too shy to ask.”

“Or too much of a sociopath,” I suggest. “Too busy trying to get rid of the teenage girls he trapped in his basement.”

She frowns at me. “I’ve been to his house. He doesn’t have a basement.”

“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “Maybe he’s shy.”

Perhaps my mom is getting her Hallmark movie ending after all. I’m going to need to make a radical change to get my own, however.

I look out the window: the morning light is still gray and sunless, the trees are bare, and less than a mile away the traffic on 66 is at a standstill, crowded with angry, stressed-out commuters.

I didn’t especially like growing up in DC, and there’s nothing about it I like now, but I need a new playing field entirely, and I suppose the logical one is here. My father did the right thing, at last, and would it be so bad, working at his firm? I’d enter as a partner, I’m sure, and I’d be an equity partner soon enough.