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

by Elizabeth O'Roark

The running joke, among pretty much everyone here, is that my vagina has teeth.

LMAO I LOVE HER

They think it’s a slur when they refer to me as a castrating bitch, but all it says to me is that they’ve finally realized I’m not someone to fuck with. I was someone who was fucked with a lot, once upon a time. It won’t happen again.

I consider pointing out that you would have to be a fucking idiot to confuse escargot with a sandwich of any kind, but it would just give Debbie something more to talk about, which is the opposite of what I want.

“Vaginal penetration?” he repeats. My nipples tighten, as if he just placed his hand inside my bra. “I doubt it would work anyway. Lot of cobwebs there. Too many to bust through, I imagine.” His mouth curves upward, as if he’s still considering the possibility.

“You bring up my dick an awful lot.” His eyes fall to my mouth, and that traitorous devil inside me likes it. “I wonder if that means something.” For a moment I’m picturing him and it—together, obviously—and I’m so winded by the idea it takes a solid two seconds for my mean mouth to make a recovery. “I have always had a soft spot for the small and the weak,” I reply.

I want the world to be a different place for the women who come after me. And the only way to make that happen is to ignore the fact that it isn’t different yet. But I’m so goddamned tired of staying silent just to get the things I deserve.

His gaze drifts to my shoes, a light flush grazing his cheekbones. “Maybe you should wear normal shoes like everyone else.”

I understand the foot fetish comments now

His eyes dart to my foot then away.

I hang up, and Ben turns to me. “So who’s the lucky sixty-nine-year-old?” I roll my eyes. “Your dad.” He smirks. “My dad is dead.” “That,” I reply, “would explain why he’s been so pleasantly quiet in bed.”

You and Mr. Tate will have to share a room, she’ll say. It has a twin bed, is only lit by romantic candlelight, and there’s nothing else available in the entire state. You’ll be sleeping in his t-shirt, and he will be completely nude. Instead, she simply tells me my room is ready. I will, apparently, not need to share a bed or somehow accidentally brush up against his erection. It feels a little anti-climactic if I’m being honest.

It’s exactly the kind of threat my future husband, owner of a small-town bar or struggling ski lodge, won’t make. He’ll be the kind of guy who is philosophical in the face of adversity, rather than the sort—like Ben—who clearly wants to punch adversity in the face.

His vindictiveness has left me such an oversexed mess that I can barely walk a straight line, and I can’t walk one anyway, thanks to the lobby now stuffed full of women in purple hats.

Okay Gemma I am also all hot and bothered by a nonchalant asshole you’re way stronger than I am girl

When he finally releases me, I let my eyes drift back to him then down, but he’s now holding his briefcase in front of him. “I knew you’d look,” he says. He’s flushed, but also the tiniest bit...pleased.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand. “This isn’t your weekend Chippendales’ show.”

I felt it. He’s large. Too large. It would be irritating, having to deal with that thing nestled up against me every morning and night.

What a problem to have

“Someone’s in a bad mood. Did your girlfriend not ask you to the winter formal?” “I’m sure she will, once she’s in high school.” My traitorous mouth twitches. “You’re disgusting.”

Because Fields must be a monster to tell me not to help a woman like Rae, and the only way to defeat a monster is to become one yourself. I sometimes wonder if I’m not already there.

Maybe he’s taken her away for the weekend, probably to a place teenagers enjoy—Disney, perhaps, or Tijuana.

His gaze—startled, then predatory—starts at my face and finishes at my shoes, where it remains for a long, long moment.

“I love the way that shelf is hanging haphazardly off the wall,” he continues. “It’s kind of dark, like she wants you to fear for the cats’ lives while admiring their outfits at the same time.”

Rage cures my sadness faster than time ever could.

I am throwing down a gauntlet I know he can’t pick up.

“What did you just say?”

HOLY SHIT H O L Y S H I T

“No, I want you to say it again.”

Dear audience, I want you to know I’ve never been so turned on in my life

“I should have fucked you then, too,” he says, eyes flashing, “just to see how else surprise makes you yield.”

I sometimes forget Keeley’s a doctor. Probably because she mostly leads her life like a teenage heiress who’s just arrived in LA with unlimited funds and a fake ID.

I think Ben might have given me a virus. That kiss went on for a while.

“Quitting so soon?” he challenges. “Typical female. Mouthy until the going gets tough. With the way you were—”

ASSHOLE

“I’ve always wanted one of your shoes.”

FOOT FETISH I CANT

He rises and comes to my side of the desk, where he then kneels beside my foot and picks it up in his hand, his thumb sliding slowly over the arch.

“I’ve wanted to watch your face when you come for so fucking long,”

He meets my eye, a small grin on his face. “Told you you’d beg.”

Oh my god Ben NO. NO. Bad Ben. You better have one hell of a redemption arc you asshole

“I think I sold my soul to the devil last night.” “You’re a lawyer. You did that a long time ago.”

before attempting day-to-night makeup, which I read about unnecessarily often as a teen, given how little I’ve needed to do it.

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.

“Guess who was arrested last night?” she whispers. “Ben.

Nvm he’s redeemed I just KNOW he did something to defend her honor !!!

“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.”

OH MY GOD I LOVE HIM

Even if they think I’m full of shit, and they clearly do, they’re both from that generation where men defended their womenfolk—probably from the Iroquois, or perhaps the British Army during the Revolutionary War—so they’ll respect his decision to protect the gentler sex.

But if you want to go up against me in court, let’s go. This kind of case is how I make my living. I will clear my goddamn schedule.”

Gemma you’re stronger than I am. Such a fucking badass

I did it because I don’t want to work here without Ben Tate.

Did I really just say, “good day to you, sir” like we are gentlemen in Victorian-era Parliament?

Her lips are chapped and her lipstick is mostly smudged off aside from the bright red ring of her lipliner. It looks terrible. “Yes,” I reply, “it’s great.” Not exactly my finest moment of supporting a fellow sister, but no one’s a champion 24/7.

I flew across the country and drove over an hour, only to see you. I’m heading to my room. #312. The door is unlocked.

“The outfits you wear fucking destroy me,” he says.

“I want to be someone you trust enough to invite home, Gemma. And I’m willing to wait for it.”

She laughs. “That’s just the worst when a man expresses interest in who you are as a person. What a dick.”

“Only married people would refer to having sex repeatedly as work.”

He kisses me then, his lips soft and certain on mine, as if to say, “it’s okay that you’re like this, it’s okay that you’re petty, that you’re vicious in court, that you push people away. I like you anyhow.”

“Oh my God, are you serious?” I demand, suddenly panicked. Who the fuck doesn’t know how to swim in this day and age?

And there’s something so soft in his eyes, so genuine, that I have to look away.

I am actually so scared right now bc I don’t even want to think about what the third act breakup is going to be like