Page 37 of The Devil You Know

“Sorry, I think I’m probably too boring for you,” I tell him. “But you need to meet my friend Keeley.”

I get his number for her and then cut through the crowd again…and discover I’m heading right toward Tim Webber.

I hate what he got away with. I hate even more that he’s looking at me now with that self-satisfied smile, as if he likes what happened. As if he stole something from me that night. We are, perhaps, twenty feet apart. We are in a public space, but my pulse explodes anyway, as if he’s just cornered me in a dark room. He’s closed the distance between us before I can make my escape.

“Fields told me you’d be here,” he says, which I guess explains why Fields honored me with the invite, because no matter how good I am at my job, Fields still thinks my vagina is my best asset. “I was hoping I’d run into you tonight.”

“Funny,” I reply, “I was hoping the opposite.”

I turn, thinking find Ben, and Webber grabs my arm. His expression is mild, but that hand on my arm is just as unyielding as it was the last time he grabbed me. “Let’s go talk somewhere. I think you’d be very interested in what I have to offer.”

“Let go of me,” I hiss.

“You could at least let me explain,” he says, and then Ben is there, grabbing Webber by the lapels.

“Maybe you can explain why you’re grabbing her like that first,” he growls.

“Who the fuck are you?” Webber asks.

“I’m the guy you answer to when you grab my—” he stumbles over the last word. “—colleague.”

“Colleague?” Webber repeats. “You’re at FMG? Well, Fields and I go way back. He’ll be very interested to hear how you treat a potential client. Security?” he calls, looking past Ben. “Can someone get security over here?”

Ben could probably talk his way out of this just fine, but I’m not sure he will. He’s looking at Webber right now like he can’t decide what to punch first.

“We were leaving,” I announce, linking Ben’s arm with mine and tugging him toward the exit.

He holds still. “We shouldn’t be the ones leaving,” he argues.

“Don’t create problems with Webber,” I snap. “Fields is angry enough with me for messing it up. No reason to make him angry at you too.”

His jaw locks tight, and I’m certain he’s going to continue arguing, but instead he ushers me out, calling the driver to pick us up as we walk.

We reach the curb and he turns to me, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He seemed pretty possessive for a guy you ostensibly met once.”

My eyes drift to the pavement between us. “I met him, we had a difference of opinion about what I was there for, end of story.”

He steps closer. “It was more than that. I heard what he said. About letting him explain. He must have done something.”

I’m about to lie when he touches my arm. “Gemma,” he says softly, waiting for me to look up at him. “Tell me what he did.”

I swallow, and my eyes fall to his chest, which feels safer, more impersonal. “We met, in theory, to discuss what the firm could do for him. When we left he...he shoved my hand between his legs and refused to let go until I forced the issue.”

I wait then, for the doubt and blame I expect to see on any man’s face when an accusation like this is made. I wait for him to say, “are you sure you didn’t misunderstand? Are you sure you didn’t encourage him? Explain it to me in detail so I can tell you where you went wrong.”

But his eyes are black in the light, a muscle flickering in his cheek. “That lunch,” he says, with rage in his voice, “when you kept rubbing your wrist.”

I nod. The car pulls up, but for a moment he just stands there, frozen. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” It sounds like an accusation.

“Come on, Ben,” I say, rolling my eyes, which means We aren’t friends. Why would I have told you?

I climb in the car but he simply remains where he was, frozen in place.

“You’re not coming back to the office?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’ve got some loose ends to handle real quick.”

I hesitate. “Webber’s not one of them, right?”