Page 70 of The Devil You Know

“Okay,” I tell her, swallowing hard.

When I hang up the phone, I’m still upset, and considering my options. I’ll play along for now, but if she falls, I’m suing them for everything they’re worth.

“What was that about?” Ben asks, walking up behind me.

I shake my head because it’s easier not to talk about it. “Nothing. Just my mom.”

But then he turns me to face him, his hands cradling my jaw, forcing my gaze to his. I sense what it’s meant to convey: tell me, let me in. How many times now has he held me when I’m upset, patiently waiting for me to open up to him, getting nothing in response? Too many.

“They’re expecting freezing rain tonight,” I say quietly. “My mom’s apartment complex is supposed to shovel and salt the walkways and they never do it. She fell last year and sprained her wrist.”

“She didn’t want to sue?”

“She said it would just cause more problems and I—” My voice cracks and I have to stop talking about it. I have to.

“You what?” he asks softly.

“I could get her a better place, but she won’t let me help her. And nothing in her apartment works. The towel rack came out of the wall, she can’t reach the light on the front porch, and there’s no place to keep a ladder so it’s always burned out. It’s just so unfair. She did everything for me, she did everything for my father, and this is where she’s ended up. And now people take advantage of her and I can’t fucking stand it.”

He pulls me closer and presses his lips to the top of my head. “You want to burn the whole world to ash, just to make sure every path she walks is cleared for her. I know the feeling.”

The following day, I locate Lauren, the employee Leona told us had been invited to the strip clubs but only if she got on stage. I convince her to meet with me—she can attest to being sexually harassed at work and name employees who participated in the strip club outings—but she insists she won’t testify. Even though she’s no longer with the company, and doesn’t even live in the area, she still can’t afford to piss them off.

Ben enters my office just as I’m hanging up the phone.

“You look way too happy,” he says. “Let me guess: some guy you’re taking to court just sent a dick pic to a small child?”

“Even better,” I reply, and he laughs. “I located the woman who was harassed at Fiducia and she’s willing to talk to me. I’m flying to Seattle on Friday.”

“Let me see if I can move some stuff,” he says, pulling out his phone.

I lean back in my chair, bracing for a fight. “I think I should take this one on my own. It’s hard for women to discuss harassment with men, especially if it was bad, and she’s really skittish.”

His tongue prods his cheek and his nostrils flare. He’s still my boss and this is his case. Of course he wants to be there.

But—astonishingly—he puts his phone away. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll celebrate when you get back.”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to get anything from her.”

He laughs. “Of course, you’re going to get something from her. You’re Gemma Charles. You always figure it out.”

I smile. He didn’t even remind me I haven’t made partner.

Later that evening a notification pops up on his phone while he’s in the bathroom. He’s made a reservation this coming Saturday at Ardor, an insanely expensive Michelin-starred restaurant. Romance Package for Two.

It’s too much. Too serious, too romantic, and the idea of eating dinner at a table strewn with rose petals while everyone stares at us makes me wince. Yet a little thing in me just…relents. He believes in me in a way no one else ever has. He supports me, and he has waited. If he still wants to go to HR, to sign the form and have the whole goddamned office gossiping about us, then so be it. I’m ready.

37

On Friday, I wake before he does to catch my flight to Seattle. In the shower, I plan out what I will wear to Ardor—maybe the dress I wore to the retreat, with the Louboutins he bought me for Christmas. Perhaps, for once, the night will end at his place rather than mine. And when it does, I’ll tell him we can go to HR. He’ll be pleased by that—I suspect he wants it more than he lets on.

I perch on the side of the bed when it’s time for me to head to the airport. “I left a key on the counter so you can lock up,” I tell him. I guess that’s a step, too, giving him a key. Doing it this way makes it feel like less of a big deal. “I’m not sure when I’m getting back, so maybe I’ll just plan to see you tomorrow? Hopefully there will be something to celebrate.”

“Oh.” He blinks up at me, still half asleep. “Let’s do it Sunday. I’ve got a family thing tomorrow night.”

I freeze. “You’re seeing your family Saturday night?”

“Yeah.” He isn’t quite meeting my eye. “The pains of being a local.”