The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(79)

He gives a quiet laugh. “Just imagine how many non-paying clients you could bring in if we set up our own shop. And yes, of course I’d leave. You only stayed because you had something to prove, and I only stayed because I was in love with this woman there who loathed me.”

“You love me?” I ask.

His thumb swipes a tear off my cheek. “This can’t be a surprise to you. I’ve been in love with you for two years straight. You were the only reason I interviewed there in the first place.”

I think of him then, watching me that first day. Saying, “I know who you are” with that same tender thing in his eyes I’ve seen a thousand times since. I narrated our story in the worst way possible, just like he said. But I’m going to tell it a different way from this moment on.

“I love you,” I whisper. “And I wanted to make partner, but for the past two years, you were the reason I stayed there too.”

He laughs as he presses his lips to mine. “I know,” he says quietly. “But I’m glad you finally figured it out.”





On the way back to LA, I call my father and tell him I’m not taking the job, and then I fire Sophia Waterhouse after reminding her that false abuse claims are a felony.

Ben and I spend the flight mapping out how we’d structure our firm, and who we’ll bring with us. Terri, of course, and Ben’s assistant. I argue that none of the associates are smart enough, especially Nicole, and Ben says I’m being an asshole, which is entirely possible.

“So do I finally get to meet everyone?” I ask him.

He laughs. “Yes…my mother, Tali, and Drew have been relentless about this for months. They’ll probably show up at the airport if they know we’re coming in.”

“And do I get to see your place?” I ask.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

“What the hell is in there that you’re so worried about? Is it, like, a doll collection? A bunch of mannequins posed on the couch in sexy lingerie?”

He laughs. “That would be slightly less embarrassing than the truth. You’ll just have to see for yourself.”

Our flight lands and he directs our driver to Santa Monica rather than my apartment. I’m not sure which of us is more nervous about this big reveal. What could possibly be so awful about the interior of a home he’s spent two years working on?

The car pulls up to the curb and we climb out. “It’s not much to look at from the outside,” Ben warns, grabbing my bag from the trunk. I don’t mention that I’ve driven by it a few thousand times—he’s seen enough of my psychotic side for one week.

We walk up the path, and with a deep breath, he unlocks the door and holds it open for me. I step inside…and freeze.

There are wide plank hardwood floors and white furniture, an exposed beam ceiling, a beaded chandelier. Toward the back of the house, in the kitchen, I see butcher block counters and an island painted navy blue.

I gasp. “It’s exactly like my Pinterest board.”

“Yeah,” he says. And he sounds ashamed, which is when I turn to him, confused for a moment, and then incredulous.

“I didn’t realize what I was doing at first,” he says softly. “And by the time I did, I couldn’t take it back, and I didn’t figure it would matter. It seemed like you were never, ever going to give me the time of day.”

I brush at the tears running down my face as I laugh. “That’s so creepy. It’s so much worse than I thought.”

“I know, right?” he asks. “But…imagine how much more of our money you could blow on shoes if you lived here instead of your apartment.”

“Our money?”

He rests his hands on my hips. “I have waited for you, Gemma Charles, for two years. Every day of two fucking years. You don’t really think I’m letting you go after all that?”

I smile like a pre-teen who just got asked out for the first time. It’s so goofy I want to hide my face from him, but I don’t. I just go up on my toes and press a single kiss to his mouth. “Fine. But I don’t really believe in marriage.”

He grins. “Sure you don’t.”





EPILOGUE





FIVE MONTHS LATER





Ben appears in my office at noon, tapping his watch.

I glance up from my laptop. “Did you need something?” I ask.

He raises a single, stern brow. “Gemma, you promised.”

It’s been eight months from that first night we were together in his office, and he’s insisting we celebrate with a weekend away. Weekends off are hardly unusual for us—I find myself putting work on hold at least once a month for one of Drew’s lavish trips, which haven’t abated at all even now that she is very, very pregnant. But this is different. It’s just us this time, at his insistence.

He’s also insisting the destination be a surprise, even though I hate surprises.

I grin. “I know. Give me five more minutes. I’m trying to get Lola into that magnet school Victoria likes.”

His gaze softens. He’s been with me to Victoria’s a few times now, and even if she hadn’t won Ben over, which she did, the kids would have. Phillip’s drawings of “me and my friend Ben” now hang all over our refrigerator.