Page 38 of The Devil You Know

He shakes his head. “No. Just a few things I need to deal with.”

There’s a plink of disappointment in my chest. I imagine those things involve some woman he met inside, the potential Miss Universe who is probably texting him lewd propositions even as we speak. But it’s not like I expected him to escort me home. This isn’t a date. “Okay. Well…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He merely nods, carefully shutting the door, remaining there as the car pulls away.

The driver meets my eye in the rearview mirror. “Back to FMG, ma’am?”

My shoulders sag. I’m tired and alone, and suddenly the idea of going back to the office doesn’t appeal in the least. “Can you just take me home?”

We drive through those same suburban neighborhoods, past Stadler’s building, past Tiffany & Co. It’s only when we reach my apartment that I realize I didn’t think about Kyle once.

21

I walk into the office with measured, precise steps, uncertain what I will find. I don’t know if there will be any backlash from my argument with Webber, and I also don’t know where things stand between Ben and me.

If I’m being honest, it was sort of Hallmark-worthy, the way he intervened when Webber grabbed me. It’s the exact kind of toxic masculine bullshit I’m not supposed to like but thought about for hours last night anyway.

Ben’s office is empty. He must have had a late night, and my heart sinks a little at the idea of why he’d have had a late night.

I ask his admin where he is, despite begging myself not to do this very thing, and she gives me a curious look. Dory is older than most of the staff, a grandmotherly sort who’s always been surprisingly fond of Ben. Rumor has it he’s actually nice to the people who work with him closely. “He’ll be in late. He had a long night.”

So I was right. I bet it was Miss Universe. She was all over him like a rash, though I can hardly blame her: he did look ridiculously good in that tux. A little twinge of jealousy twists in my gut, but I squash it down.

I’m in no way listening for the sound of the elevators, nor am I intentionally looking up each time they ding to see who’s arrived. I just happen to see him when he steps in at eleven, freshly showered but looking slightly more ruffled than normal. I force my gaze back to my laptop, determined to put him out of my head, but only a few minutes later Terri walks into my office with wide eyes…and somehow, I know it’s about him.

“Guess who was arrested last night?” she whispers. “Ben. He just met with Fields about it. Debbie told me.”

I blink. “Arrested?” It has to be a mistake. Ben is too smart for that.

“He hit some guy at the party,” she says, “and the guy is a friend of Fields’. He won’t even explain why he did it. All hell is breaking loose.”

I stare at her, speechless. Ben didn’t go back into the event last night for Miss Universe at all. He went in to kick Webber’s ass.

“I can’t believe it,” I whisper. “I can’t believe he’s not defending himself.”

Except—that’s a lie, because I can believe both those things. I might not like when he makes me look stupid in staff meetings, but it’s mostly because he’s beaten me to the punch.

Even the told you you’d beg moment…it’s what we do. Someone other than me might argue he was simply continuing to play a game I set in motion. The banter, the insults, the constant passive-aggressive humor: I’m the one who started it after he arrived at FMG and stole my client. I tossed him a ball and he lobbed it back. It’s been in the air ever since.

I sigh heavily and push away from my desk. The right thing to do, a thing even ruthless Ben would do in this situation, is come clean. I didn’t need him to fight my battles, but he’s not losing his job because he tried.

I knock on the door of Fields’ office and then enter. Fields is on one side of the desk and McGovern is on the other, which shows how serious this must be, because McGovern almost never comes in anymore.

“We’re in the middle of something, Gemma,” Fields says, his voice sharp.

“I know,” I reply. “That’s why I’m here. Last night…Ben was defending me.”

Fields grows utterly still, while McGovern finally deigns to turn toward me. “Defending you from what?”

My nails bite into my palms. Their faces are already wary, already inclined to disbelieve whatever I say next, though in my six years at this firm I’ve never complained about harassment of any kind once, and it’s occurred plenty. I’d be pissed about it if there were time. “Webber assaulted me at that client dinner you had me go to. I kept it to myself because I didn’t want to cause problems and maybe I shouldn’t have. He grabbed me again last night and refused to let go.”

Fields’ expression flattens. “Assault is a serious accusation, Gemma,” he says, as if I wouldn’t fucking know this on my own. “I assume you thought carefully before making it.”

Everything in his tone says, “you should have thought more carefully before you made it because I’m certain you misunderstood.”

“Situations like this are often…up to interpretation,” McGovern adds. “It’s easy to misconstrue the intent. Did this alleged assault occur here?”

Alleged assault. Misconstrue. I’ve worked with him for six years, but he’s sitting there creating Webber’s defense for him.