The Devil You Know (The Grumpy Devils, #3)

by Elizabeth O'Roark

“Home?” I murmur, glancing at him. “I didn’t know humans were allowed to jaunt back and forth over the River Styx like that.” His eyes raise to mine. His mouth twitches. “There’s a small toll. It’s really quite civilized.”

because I won’t play the game—I don’t bake cupcakes and make cooing noises over pictures of everyone’s kids. If a man doesn’t bake cupcakes and make cooing noises, you know what they call him? Senior Partner. Ben hasn’t made cupcakes once. But men expect you to be more thoughtful than they are—softer, more accommodating.

“You look like you’re having a stroke.” “It’s cute that you’re worried about me,” he says, even more irritated than before. “It’s cute that you think that was worry, not optimism.”

Thanksgiving, a holiday I couldn’t care less about: the food isn’t good, no gifts are exchanged, and women do all the work.