A Deal with the Devil (The Grumpy Devils, #1)

by Elizabeth O'Roark

Sometimes the bad guy is hiding a heart of gold under that scarred exterior.

The silver lining to having nothing left to lose is that...I have nothing left to lose.

If Hayes was actually a robot set on earth to do nothing but inject filler and fuck, this is pretty much what his life would look like.

“And if you crash at this speed, you will ruin your pretty face. Good luck surviving in the real world without your looks.” He shrugs. “I’ll still have lots of money, which matters far more to women.”

“Someone named Piper texted,” I tell him. “She said she wanted to see for herself ‘if it’s as big as everyone says’.” “My dick,” he says, as if this was unclear. “And it is.”

“Whatever it is you really wanted to do...you’re a little young to have already given up on it. And it seems unlike you to go down without a fight.” “You’ve known me for a week. How would you know if I fight for things or not?” “Well,” he says, “you’re fighting with me now, aren’t you?”

“Well, I hope he didn’t tell you too much. I’d like to sustain the illusion of having my shit together a little longer.” “Have you seen the car you drive?” he asks. “I never thought you had your shit together.”

“What did you do this weekend?” I turn from the Vitamix to him. “This feels like a trick. Was I supposed to have done something for you and forgot?”

“You love my middle-of-the-night texts,” he replies. “And it’s not like you have anything else to do.” “I could sleep, Hayes. Text Miss It’s-So-Big if you need to chat at three AM.

“I was wondering if you could make me a salad today. I have an opening at two.” My teeth sink into my lip as I try not to grin. In a life with very few accomplishments of late, this feels like a huge win for me, as pathetic as that is. “What I hear you saying is you now crave my salads.” “There are things I’d crave from you long before salad,” he replies, and goosebumps crawl over my arms.

He groans, leaning forward to turn toward me. “I’m sorry. You can spit in my coffee tomorrow if it’ll make you feel better.” I smile. “I spit in your coffee every day. It’s not as exciting as you’d think.”

“Because,” I say, unable to meet his eyes, “everyone in your life seems to take something from you, and that’s not what friends do. I guess I’d rather be your friend.”

“I wish my husband would look at me the way he looks at you,” Linda whispers. “Like he could be completely content if he never had to look at anything else.”

I wonder if I was weird yesterday. Of course I was weird, and I’m still being weird.

“No. Can I just—can you just do something for me? Please?” “Fine, I’ll have sex with you,” he says with a long sigh, “but only the one time, okay? And from behind, so it’s not awkward in the morning.”

“You have the purest face I’ve ever seen in my life,” he says quietly. “A face I couldn’t possibly replicate, and if I could, she and every other female here would ask me to.”

“She looks like all the women you bring home,” I reply. “Yes, well, one drinks wine from a box when Chateau Lafite isn’t available,”

“Then I guess you’re dating again,” he says. His tone is…careful. Not excited, but not unexcited either. I swallow. “Well, no. I was dipping my toe in the water and now I need to soak my toe in bleach.”

I’m scared, and also, perhaps, a little excited. Sam is cute and an excellent speller.

It’ll be fine. Really. So, what’s this project? I assume it involves women and liquor, so I’ll go ahead and write those two things down.”

“No,” I argue. “I don’t need you buying me clothes. I’m not poor.” “You’re pretty poor,” he says. He’s walking so fast I have to break into a jog to keep up with him. “And consider it my fine for objectifying you a moment ago. I realize I constantly objectify you, but I keep most of it to myself.”

He’s me, only with a lot more money and slightly less self-control.

What did you do last night?” My eyes fall closed. God, what I would give to lie down right now. “I vigorously masturbated while watching Jane Austen movies.” “Well done,” he says. “I’ve never gotten an erection and had it killed in the space of one sentence before.”

“Fortunately, Sam is nothing like you.” “He’s unattractive and dull?” Hayes

“Sam, John...this is my boss, Hayes Flynn.” “Boss and amusement park companion,” corrects Hayes, extending a hand to Sam. “Don’t be fooled by her current lack of warmth. She adores me.

I’m seriously killing Jonathan. It will be sad for his daughter, I know. I’ll find her a better dad. One who can keep secrets.

they could ask you why you asked me out.” He rolls his eyes. “Anyone who sees you in that dress will know why I asked you out. Though if you’re as mouthy as usual, they might wonder why I kept asking.”

“And how did you manage to find this fine young specimen?” I smirk at him. This isn’t a Cosmo interview, my ass. I’ll let him solve this on his own. “She sat on my doorstep and refused to leave,” he says. “Eventually I figured I might as well allow her inside.”

The truth now, please.” Hayes’s eyes flicker over my face. “I saw her photo on Jonathan’s desk and started looking for her all the time, because she worked at this bar I’d pass on my way home,” he says. Weirdly…it doesn’t sound like a lie. “I saw her reading while she was walking in, even though it was raining. And I thought she was the loveliest thing I’d ever seen in my life, so I followed her.”

“Hayes, I think maybe…maybe what you’re missing in life is the bad stuff. Maybe what you need is for me not to buffer it all for you.” “This sounds like an elaborate excuse to make me take care of myself, something that doesn’t interest me in the least.”

He has the most glorious profile—a nose that is somehow endlessly masculine and elegant at the same time. What a shame he has no plans to pass those genes on to another generation.

“I was sort of hoping you’d surprise me by getting the coffee before I woke,” he says, taking a seat at the counter. “I really hope Starbucks isn’t the extent of today’s plans.” I roll my eyes. “You know this is supposed to be my weekend off. Maybe I figured you’d entertain yourself.” “I did that last night in the shower. Now I want you to entertain me.”

“I’m having fun, Tali,” he says softly. “For some reason complaining to you about things I don’t actually mind is just my favorite thing to do.”

“Tali doesn’t trust men,” says Hayes. “And I am wholly untrustworthy. That pretty much sums it up.”

He looks like garbage when he gets downstairs—either tired or hungover—albeit garbage I would eat with a spoon and lick thoroughly afterward.

What could this guy have that I don’t?” he demands. “Brains,” I reply. “And morals.” Height and a big dick, too, but I manage to keep those to myself.

Her eyes grow wide. “Maybe he’s going to propose. It’s a prenup!” I force a smile. “We’re only a few weeks past ‘oh good, you got the vomit out of the dress’. I seriously doubt it’s anything like you’re thinking.”

And I realize something: I never felt this way with Matt. I never felt content and heartbroken and complete with him. I never felt seen. He was never so deep in my blood that I felt his sadness and his joy as if it was my own, as if it mattered more than my own.

I can’t tell anyone that home, for me, is no longer a place. It’s the sound of Hayes’s laugh, and the sight of him brushing his hair out of his eyes, or reluctantly drinking a smoothie he hates solely because I made it for him. It’s the way he struggles not to smile when I imitate his accent, his singular willingness to always say the worst possible thing. Home is Hayes, and I am going to miss him every minute of the day for a long, long time.

Who’s going to make sure he’s okay if I’m not there? Who’s going to force him to take a day off? Who’s going to love him with her entire heart, the way he deserves to be loved?

But you sold them a romance, and a story that doesn’t have a happy ending isn’t a romance.”

The point was never whether or not I could trust again, because love isn’t an exchange. It’s not something you hand out only if it can be returned in equal measure. Love is handing your fragile heart to someone else because you want him to have it, no matter what he’ll do in response. You do it because you love him more than you love yourself.

“Tali, I’m so in love with you it terrifies me,” he says.

“I’ve been in love with you, I think, since the day I saw you reading in the rain as you walked into work,” he says. He presses the box to my palm and covers it with his own. His eyes hold mine, and there’s an urgency there, as if nothing in the world matters more than my answer. He swallows. “Marry me. Please marry me.”

“Jonathan said the diamond was too big,” he says. “I suggested you quite like big things.”