The Devil You Know, page 23
But the worst part is what Terri doesn’t know: that Ben was in on it. That I’d convinced myself he was everything, but in the end, he was every bit as cutthroat and Machiavellian as Kyle or my father. He made me believe I was being paranoid, thinking the worst of him. That I was damaged—and maybe I am damaged, but if so, then he just made it a thousand times worse. I don’t even care about making partner right now. I just want to make sure I never lay eyes on Ben again.
I turn to Terri, blinking away tears. “That's it,” I tell her softly. “I'm done. I'm out.”
“Gemma, don't do anything rash,” she says. “You were still part of something amazing. You'll be able to write your own ticket anywhere.”
I nod, numbly. I want to have a tantrum, but isn’t that exactly what they will expect of me? And then behind my back they will make jokes about how it must be “that time of the month” and how much it would suck to “be married to that.” No way am I giving them the satisfaction.
I’ll wait until I’m calm to resign, but I can’t stay here in the meantime. I need to be back home with the one person I know I can trust.
I go to my office and grab my laptop and purse. From the elevator I look toward the conference room, where a bunch of men in suits celebrate, alongside a bunch of women who won’t ever make partner.
Six fucking years. And my life hasn’t changed a bit.
46
The first time Ben Tate walked into FMG, my breath caught.
I’d been curious about him, before that first meeting—no one really understood why he’d come to us when he’d already made partner at a more successful firm—but that’s all it was: curiosity, easily satisfied.
And then I saw him—younger than I’d expected, and taller, and lovelier—and he was already looking at me when I entered the room as if I was exactly what he’d been waiting for.
When our eyes locked, his smile was sheepish. A moment later, I was the one sneaking a glance. He caught me; I blushed to my roots. I’d sworn off men like him, but in five minutes’ time, I was already trying to make an exception.
We all introduced ourselves to him after the initial meeting. When it was my turn, I started to tell him my name and he stopped me with an embarrassed smile. “I know who you are,” he said. “I saw you in court decimating a partner at my last firm.”
He said it as if impressed, and I blushed again. “A few of us are going to the bar across the street tomorrow night,” he told me. “If you’re free.” He held my eye. It felt like he was asking something more.
I was terrified—of how badly I wanted to go, of how much I wanted to see his uneven smile again, and as soon as possible. I opened my mouth to reply, but Fields was there, dragging him off. I’m still not sure what I was going to say.
When I found out, the very next morning, that he’d stolen Brewer Campbell from me, the first emotion I felt, even before rage, was relief. As if I’d been spared a much worse fate, as if being able to hate him would make my life easier.
If only I could have kept hating him, because I’m never, ever going to recover from Ben Tate. I think I knew I wouldn’t, even that first day we met.
47
I do not sleep a wink on the red-eye to DC. I want to cry, but I’m too stunned. Where do I go from here? The last six years of my life have been spent working toward one goal I didn’t achieve, and the only thing I actually loved about my job was the man who just made sure I didn’t achieve it.
My mother hovers over me from the moment I arrive home. I summed up what happened, but she’s struggling to believe Ben is a man like Kyle, like my father. Little surprise, that. Her picker has proven, historically, to be every bit as bad as mine.
“Here,” she says, sliding a glass of something bright green, flecked with brown. “It’s a kale and spirulina smoothie. Just try it. You’re probably low on Vitamin D, which causes depression.”
“Everyone is low on Vitamin D,” I argue, glancing at the kitchen counter. Since when does my mom shell out for spirulina? You can’t even walk into Whole Foods without spending more than she makes in a day. That’s when I notice the five-hundred-dollar blender sitting on her counter.
“You bought a Vitamix?” I ask. This is my mom, who thinks she’s okay with nothing but three chipped plates, after all.
She bites her lip. “I’ve always wanted one,” she begins. “And I’ve been meaning to discuss it with you, once you weren’t so busy. Your father called out of nowhere and said he wants to make things right. He sent me a very, very large check.”
“He did? And what did he demand in exchange?”
She smiles. “Nothing, hon. He said you spoke to him and he realized he’d been wrong.”
I push a hand through my hair. “Mom, he doesn’t do anything out of the goodness of his heart. Did he make you sign something? Was there any kind of verbal agreement?”
Her laugh is quiet and unhappy, as if it’s sad that I’m so suspicious when what’s actually sad is that she isn’t, after everything he’s done. “No, Gemma. Nothing. Isn’t it possible that he wanted to do the right thing? Or maybe just wanted to earn your respect?”
“It would take a lot more than that,” I reply, and my voice cracks. He didn’t even tell me he was doing it and he didn’t try to force my hand at all. Maybe he finally heard me when I exploded at him on Christmas, or maybe this is just a ploy to get me to come to his firm. “Why are you still working two jobs, then?”
She shrugs. “I like my jobs, and Ed says—”
“Who the hell is Ed?” I’m instantly suspicious. My mother is fragile, and she’s got very little experience with men. A child could take advantage of her.
“Language, Gemma,” she scolds. “He owns the bar. You know that. He—” She blushes. “I told him about Ben coming here to shovel and he was so upset. He’s been coming over ever since to take care of things and I guess we’ve sort of begun—”
“Fucking?”
“Gemma! Jesus, the mouth on you. Dating. But anyway, he says I should take my time and decide what I really want to do with my life, so I’m just sitting tight for now.” That’s actually really sensible advice from Ed, if that’s really his name. But that doesn’t mean I trust him.
“I’m going to need to meet this guy,” I warn.
“You act like he’s a stranger, Gemma,” she says. “I’ve known him for a year. He was just too shy to ask.”
“Or too much of a sociopath,” I suggest. “Too busy trying to get rid of the teenage girls he trapped in his basement.”
She frowns at me. “I’ve been to his house. He doesn’t have a basement.”
“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “Maybe he’s shy.”
Perhaps my mom is getting her Hallmark movie ending after all. I’m going to need to make a radical change to get my own, however.
I look out the window: the morning light is still gray and sunless, the trees are bare, and less than a mile away the traffic on 66 is at a standstill, crowded with angry, stressed-out commuters.
I didn’t especially like growing up in DC, and there’s nothing about it I like now, but I need a new playing field entirely, and I suppose the logical one is here. My father did the right thing, at last, and would it be so bad, working at his firm? I’d enter as a partner, I’m sure, and I’d be an equity partner soon enough.
It’s not the work I want to do, but I’m not sure helping the Sophia Waterhouses of the world lie to get custody is much better. I might as well do whatever it takes to get ahead, just like Ben did.
“Would you be mad if I took the job Dad offered me?” I ask, studying her face as she studies mine.
“Of course not,” she finally says. “But why? You love living in LA.”
“Not so much anymore,” I reply.
She hugs me for a long time and tells me it will all be better after I’ve had a nap, as if I’m a toddler. And I suppose things can’t get much worse.
When she goes to work, I climb into bed, staring at the bare ceiling of her guest room, wondering what's next. Yesterday seems almost too terrible to have occurred the way I remember. I keep wanting to make excuses for Ben, the same way I did for Kyle six years prior.
I snuggle deeper into the pillow and pick up my phone. I’ve ignored every sound it’s made since leaving the office, not ready to deal with what Ben has to say, and apparently there’s a lot: notifications from him cover my home screen. Taking a deep breath, I open the message app and scan the last few texts he’s sent.
Ben: Please answer the goddamn phone.
Ben: Gemma, this is fucking ridiculous. We need to talk. NOW.
He sounds more irritated than conciliatory, just like Kyle did. I throw down the phone and pick it up again.
Me: Tell me something. Did you know this was going to happen all along? Did you sleep with me for months, knowing they’d promote you and Craig but not me, knowing you were MOVING? Don’t bother replying because the answer no longer matters. I know everything I need to know. Tell Fields once he’s done celebrating my victory that he’ll be very lucky if I don’t bring a similar suit against FMG.
I hit send and immediately regret it. I don’t know if I’ll really bring a suit against the firm, but I haven’t done myself any favors by telegraphing the possibility.
I turn off my phone and lapse into an exhausted sleep. When I wake, the dim afternoon sun is coming through the windows. I slept for at least six hours, but I don't feel any better for it.
I shower and get an Uber to drive me downtown, to my father’s firm. The Law Offices of Adam Charles now occupy two entire floors of a massive building on K Street, but it otherwise feels a lot like FMG did. Soulless and corporate.
My father greets me enthusiastically, congratulating me on the Lawson case as we walk down the hall. “Let me show you the office you’ll have if you come aboard,” he says, opening a door. It’s as big as Fields’ office back in LA. In the distance, I can make out the Washington Monument and the top of the White House.
He tells me the salary, and it’s double what I make now. In two years, I’ll be an equity partner and get a share of the firm’s net.
“I’m not sure how soon you can get started,” he says, “but I have the perfect case for you. A legislative aide has accused one of our clients of sexual misconduct.”
Something inside me deflates. “I assume your client is a congressman?”
He nods with a gleam in his eyes. “It’s going to get a ton of press.”
That’s all he sees right now—the attention this case will bring the firm—while all I see is that I’m about to become someone like Aronson. I’ll be the person defending Fiducia. It will be me sitting in a deposition implying Lauren is a slut to cast doubt on her testimony. But how much worse is that than taking custody away from Dennis Roberts or telling Sophia Waterhouse how to make sure her ex loses the kids?
I ask my father for the weekend to think about it and he agrees, as if he already knows I’ll say yes. I suppose I already know this too.
“You’re welcome to stay with us, by the way,” he says as I’m leaving. “I’m sure you’ll want your own place eventually, but in the meantime…that commute from Manassas will kill you.”
And so it begins. He’s already finding ways to make this more than a job. I wonder if giving my mom that money was simply another of his tactics, if he gambled on me coming to the firm in response to his show of goodwill.
The air outside is bitingly cold as I walk to the parking garage, the sky solid gray and unyielding. DC goes from one extreme to the next: six months from now it’ll be so humid I won’t be able to walk down the street without my clothes sticking to me. I’ll miss the weather in LA. I’ll miss other things even more.
It takes an hour and a half in traffic to get back to my mother’s apartment complex. I groan quietly when I hear voices on the other side of the door. I suppose Ed is here. I’m not likely to make the best impression today.
I force myself toward the living room…and freeze. Ben is sitting on my mother’s couch—jacket off, collar unbuttoned, hair boyishly rumpled.
The sight of him breaks my heart all over again. I loved him so much. I still love him even now, despite what he did. But I’m not the same person I was before—he made sure of that.
“Why the fuck are you here?” I demand.
“Oh, Gemma, be nice,” my mother chides. “He flew all the way out to talk to you.”
I ignore her. My mother’s insistence on being nice to everyone has gotten her nowhere. “You flew all this way for nothing, then,” I tell him. “Get out.”
My mother slides from the room as he rises, his face as angry as mine. “If you’d just answered your goddamned phone, this would have been over last night.”
“I don’t want to hear it, Ben! You had your opportunity to talk to me before that fucking announcement and you chose not to.” My voice cracks and I dig my nails into my palms to hold myself together. “You’re a liar. There were a thousand signs this was wrong—the way you never invited me over or introduced me to anyone—and I ignored them all, but I’m done ignoring them, so go back where you came from.”
I turn to walk away and he grabs my arm. “They’re making you partner.”
I stare at him blankly. It can’t be true and honestly…I don’t even want it anymore. Fields intentionally humiliated me yesterday by announcing Ben and Craig’s promotions at that meeting, so fuck him. I still want to crush the boys’ club, but I’ll crush it from the outside in. “Bullshit.”
“They weren’t going to,” he says. “I found out the other night. I agreed to head up the San Francisco office for a year if they made you a partner once we won, but I thought I’d get a chance to discuss it with you first. I had no clue Fields was going to do that. I really thought the announcement was going to be about you.”
I want to continue believing it’s all a lie, but he’s too smart to tell one I could easily disprove.
I shake him off. “You were pulling away. I saw it.”
“No,” he says, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I was sick over the situation and desperately trying to figure out how to fix things, Gemma. And wishing I could discuss it with you and knowing I couldn’t, not ‘til the case was done. You wouldn’t even have wanted me to tell you that before we went into the negotiations.”
I want to argue, but he’s right. If I’d known, it would have unnerved me. Instead, I went into settlement feeling indomitable and it showed.
“You’ve never once invited me to your place,” I insist, as if the whole bit about making partner is irrelevant. And it is. There are too many other pieces of this that don’t fit. “You didn’t want me to meet your family or your friends, and then you put off going to HR when I suggested it.”
“You spin a story in the courtroom better than anyone I know, but the way you narrate your own life sucks,” he says, eyes flashing. “Because you know why you haven’t met my friends, and I was the one who brought up HR months ago, so where does that fit into your theory about what a prick I am?”
I laugh angrily. “So did Kyle. Look where that got me.”
He pulls his phone from his pocket and starts swiping. “You still need me to prove I’m different? Fine. This is my family.”
I roll my eyes. If he thinks letting me into some tiny corner of his life now could possibly make up for shutting me out of it, he’s insane. I open my mouth to tell him exactly that, and then it closes.
The photo is of him, his younger brothers…and Walter, my client.
I blink. “Why is Walter in a photo with your family?”
“Because he’s my stepfather.”
My jaw hangs open. “Bullshit. Why would…why would—”
“I never meant to take Brewer Campbell from you, and Walter’s in-house had quit, so I asked him to hire you for a while until I could find another way to fix the situation. I knew if I told you the truth, you’d refuse the job.”
He’s right. I would have.
My back presses to the wall, trying to make sense of everything. I spent two years hating him over a stolen client, without a clue he’d brought me a better one in its place.
“You should have told me,” I say quietly. I’ve been begging Walter for ages to hire someone in-house.
“You’d have refused to keep working for him if you knew,” he says, “and Fields was never going to make you partner without him. I thought it could wait.”
He steps toward me slowly, as if I’m a small animal he might frighten off. I’m scared to believe him, but if this is all true…then everything he did, he did for me. I think of the night we spoke about my mom—him saying, “you want to burn the world to ash just to make sure her path is clear.”
He was talking about me. And he’s been clearing my path every day since we met.
“I’m sorry, Gemma,” he says. He’s close enough now that if I reached out, I could touch him. “If I’d had a clue it was going to go down that way, I’d have refused Fields’ offer. You mean a thousand times more to me than any promotion, and you mean a thousand times more to me than staying at FMG. Whether I go to San Francisco or even remain at the firm is entirely your call. But please tell me you understand why I did it.”
My eyes sting. I nod, and when he finally closes the distance between us, I allow it, resting my head against his chest. His arms wrap around me and we remain that way for a long moment.
“I’m not going back to FMG,” I tell him. “I will never make that firm another dime for as long as I live. But do you lose the promotion if you don’t go to San Francisco?”
“I couldn’t care less about that promotion,” he says. “If you’d wanted to stay at FMG, I’d have suggested we go to San Francisco together. But since you don’t…I have a better idea. What if we both left FMG and went out on our own?”
I’m so dumbfounded I can barely find the right words. “You want to leave? And start a new firm with me?”
