The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (The Devils #2)(54)

Eventually, I accept the calls from Davis, as it’s only a matter of time before he shows up at my door—he knows this is the only place I stay in LA—and the next morning I find myself walking into my publicist’s conference room for a strategy meeting I don’t want to be at.

I hate my publicist’s big, soulless office complex, all gray cement block and glass. The first-floor room looks as if it could survive a bomb blast, though I wouldn’t want it to. Same goes for the expressionless people sitting around the table.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?” Davis demands, as if the room isn’t full of officious strangers in suits, listening avidly.

Two weeks ago, I’d have felt like I needed to apologize, as if it was someone else’s hair I cut without permission. Now I’m just irritated. “It’s called a haircut, Davis. Are you unfamiliar with the term? Have one of your suited minions look it up for you.”

Stephanie, the publicist, frowns at me and puts a hand on his shoulder. She often winds up playing peacemaker, but he’s the one she will defer to in the end. “Settle down. Maybe this is good. We’re showing the new, more serious side of her. It can be like she’s turned over a new leaf.”

Davis slumps in his chair. “No one will want to fuck the more serious side of her, however.”

I imagine Josh hearing this—I suspect he’d be out of his chair. What did he say to that surf instructor? Come repeat that on shore, asshole. I’d love to hear him say that to Davis.

“I looked like this when you met me,” I remind him, taking a seat at the far end of the table. They both blink as if they’d forgotten I had a voice at all. “You thought I was pretty enough then.”

“But were you famous then?” he asks. “No, you were not.”

“I still think we should say she went to rehab,” Stephanie tells him. “No one is going to believe there weren’t illegal substances involved.”

Davis shakes his head. “There are too many photos of her in Hawaii. Let’s just stipulate that it isn’t discussed in interviews and release a statement implying she was at rehab without stating it outright. Just refer to some much-needed time away. Everyone will assume it’s rehab, she apologizes, people move on.”

I sit back, listening to them discuss me as if I’m not in the room. As if I’m an entity rather than a person. How long has it been like this and why did I allow it? I suppose because when it started, I just felt lucky and I didn’t want to jinx it. And what’s different today is that I no longer feel lucky. I don’t care quite so much if I jinx it.

“I’m not apologizing,” I say flatly. “And I’m not letting anyone imply I’m on drugs.”

They look at me again, surprised, irritated. The sex doll speaks and thinks she has a right to make demands, their faces say.

“Please let us do our jobs,” Stephanie says. “We’re trying to get you out of a mess you’ve created.”

I stand up and they both look surprised. Again.

“What are you doing?” asks Davis.

“It’s called walking out,” I reply. “And if this press tour doesn’t go the way I like, prepare to see a lot more of it.”

The room is utterly silent as I make my way to the door. I want to feel empowered, but instead the world just feels very large, too full and too empty all at once. The problem with burning bridges is that you need to have someplace else to go.





It’s Tali I call in desperation.

She meets me at a sunny patio café in Huntington Beach, halfway between Laguna and LA. The sight of her temporarily makes me forget all my woes.

“Holy shit,” I say, staring at her stomach. She didn’t look so pregnant the last time I saw her, but now… “You can’t possibly have two more months left.”

She laughs and sinks into the chair across from me like a pregnant woman would, hand on her stomach as if she’s not sure the baby knows to come with her. “It’s bizarre, I know.”

“What if this kid is Hayes’s size?” I ask. “Your vagina will be permanently ruined.”

She raises a brow. “It’s as if you consulted a list of the worst possible things to say to a pregnant woman and are running through them as fast as possible.”

“Sorry,” I say meekly. “No filter.”

She laughs. “You and Hayes both. He asked my doctor if we could just go ahead and schedule this as a C-section ‘to ensure everything remains the appropriate size’. So enough about me and my vagina…which Bailey brother are you with today?”

I roll my eyes. I texted her about the Kalalau Trail, but she doesn’t know everything that came afterward, and there’s really no reason to tell her. Nothing will come of it. “Neither of them.”

“Well,” she says with a sigh. “I guess it could be worse.”

“Josh kissed me,” I blurt. So much for keeping it to myself. “At the airport.”

She is wide-eyed with delight. “That’s so—”

“Don’t say it.”

She says it anyway. “Romantic.”

I lean back in my seat and pull my hair out of its messy bun. “You think everything is romantic.”

“Believe me, there was never a single thing you told me about Six that I’d have claimed was romantic. And I mean—” She pulls out her phone. I have no idea how she has pictures of Josh at the ready, but she does. “Look at this guy.”