A Deal with the Devil by Elizabeth O’Roark

29

Latte? Check.

Smoothie? Check.

Stomach in knots? Also check.

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

His eyes flicker to me and rest there for half a beat before he forces a smile. I know it’s forced because his mouth curves upward on both sides, the way a normal person’s might, but his lips are tight. No dimple. No teeth.

“Advil?” I ask.

He gives a small shake of his head. “I don’t drink before surgery days. You know that.” There’s a sharpness to his tone that takes me aback. He hears it too. “Sorry. I couldn’t fall asleep last night.”

I slide him the schedule just as he reaches for his vitamins and our hands brush. I snatch mine back as if I’ve been burned.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair before he grabs the smoothie. “I’ll drink this on the way,” he says.

Well done, Tali, I think. You’ve driven the man out of his own home. As if I needed further proof it should never have happened. People only recover from what Hayes and I did in movies. Otherwise, they’re exactly as we are now...slowly backing away from each other until a safe distance has been established, until they’re far enough apart to pretend it never was.

Our trip to San Francisco next weekend is promising to be the most awkward two days of my life.

* * *

He doesn’t textme all day, and I don’t text him. I watch for it, of course, like a lovesick teen, wanting even the smallest hint that we haven’t ruined everything. When he finally calls that afternoon, just as I’ve finished up his errands and am nearly back to his house, I want to weep with relief as I answer.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Busy serving your every whim as always,” I reply. Awkward silence falls in the space where he’d normally growl you’re not serving all of them or if every whim is on the table I have a new list.

And my heart stutters in its absence. “This is why we shouldn’t have slept together,” I tell him as I reach his street. “You’re holding in all your dirty jokes. You probably don’t even know what to say instead.”

“Sorry. It’s hard to revert to mild sexual harassment now. I’d kind of need to go straight to major, lawsuit-worthy harassment at this point.” I turn into Hayes’s driveway and slow when I see a bright yellow Ferrari sitting there.

I stop entirely when Matt climbs out.

“What the fuck?” I gasp.

“What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Matt’s in your driveway,” I croak.

“Your ex?” he demands. “Stay in the car, Tali. He has no right to show up at your place of employment. I’m calling the police.”

“Don’t do that,” I reply, easing off the brake and pulling up to the front of the house. “It’s not like he’s dangerous. Let me get rid of him.”

I end the call and climb out, more irritated than nervous. It was bizarre, unexpected, to run into Matt at that party, but that he’s here on purpose is…a little creepy.

His mouth slips up into that lopsided grin I used to love. I don’t smile back. The part of me that once hoped he’d at least apologize is long gone. Now I just want to get rid of him. “What are you doing here?”

He leans back against the Ferrari, untroubled by the lack of welcome. “How else was I supposed to reach you? You’ve been blocking my calls. I was worried.”

“Worried?” I repeat, slamming the door shut behind me. “Your concern is coming a year too late. But I’ve never been better, so I guess you can be on your way.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, pretty brow furrowed. It’s almost comical how childish he now seems, in contrast to Hayes. “Look, I thought you were just working for this guy but fuck...you went away with him for the weekend? What the hell are you even thinking?”

I freeze. I didn’t tell a soul about this weekend. Not my family, not even Jonathan. “How do you know about that?”

“I’ve been having him followed,” he says without a trace of guilt. “I didn’t trust his intentions.”

I release the air I was holding in a single, dumbfounded laugh. “Holy shit, Matt. Are you serious right now? You cheated on me while I was burying my father.”

“I cheated once, Tali, because I had too much to drink. I let the fame go to my head. I can admit that. But this guy...it’s what he’s known for. And maybe I didn’t catch him at anything, but have you seen how many women’s homes he enters over the course of a day? You really think he’s not fucking someone in one of them?”

I’d probably have said the same, last winter. Now I know better. “I’ve never seen him be anything but unfailingly honest and level with every single person he encounters, myself included,” I reply. My arms fold across my chest. “And what you don’t seem to get is that I didn’t end things with you because you cheated. I ended them because you never fucking believed in me. You told me I wouldn’t have gotten the book deal without you, remember? And the minute I started to struggle, you told me to give up. I would never have done that to you.”

He hangs his head, ashamed of himself. Or perhaps merely pretending to be. He’s an actor, after all—I imagine he’s relatively good at faking emotion by now. “You’re right, okay? I shouldn’t have said it. But you know what? If you’d ever told me to give up, I wouldn’t have dumped you over it. I’d have argued. The real problem is you don’t believe in yourself, and you were scared I was right.”

My stomach sinks as the words hit home. I’ve spent a full year thinking I need to prove him wrong about me without ever asking why I cared what he thought in the first place. Maybe it was never his mind I was trying to change.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he says softly. “I miss you.”

“I don’t miss you,” I reply. I’m not even saying it to hurt him. It’s simply the truth. I missed the idea of Matt and the security of having someone, but I’m not sure I ever actually missed him. And I’m certainly not missing him now. This conversation is just making me ashamed I stayed with him as long as I did.

He laughs, incredulous. The arrogance that seemed to take hold in New York has clearly flourished here. “I don’t believe you. 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.

His response is cut off by the man himself, who flies into the driveway, stopping beside us with a screech of brakes and a haze of dust.

He jumps from his car and moves toward Matt at a pace that would scare almost anyone.

“This doesn’t concern you, asshole,” says Matt.

I hear more than a little false bravado there. On screen, Matt looks every inch the superhero. In real life he’s five ten, a hundred and sixty pounds, and Hayes looks like he could break him in half, one-handed.

“You come onto my property to ambush her and want to tell me it doesn’t fucking concern me?” asks Hayes. “Think again.”

Matt’s mouth twists. “Oh, so you’re the big hero now? I know exactly what you are, and on your best day, you’re still not good enough for her.”

“I’m well aware I’m not good enough for her,” Hayes growls, pushing Matt against the Ferrari, “but this stops now. If I ever hear of you approaching her like this, in public or in private, I will fucking ruin your life, and don’t think for a minute I can’t.”

Matt feigns boredom, even though he’s very clearly outmanned. “Tali, call off your watch dog.”

Someone once told me hatred isn’t the opposite of love...apathy is. I get that now. Because I don’t want revenge or anything else. I just want him to leave.

“Please go,” I reply. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”

“Are you serious?” Matt asks. “You think this guy is a better option? He’ll have dumped you in a week.”

Before I can reply, Hayes’s fist flies into Matt’s face.

I’m as stunned by it as Matt clearly is, wide-eyed, blood pouring from his nose. I’d have thought Hayes more the type to wound with a few cutting words, or a well-timed lawsuit.

Matt pulls his T-shirt up, trying to staunch the flow of blood. “If my nose is broken, the studio will take you for everything you’re worth.”

Hayes releases him with a shove. “You’re on my property, asshole. Good luck explaining how you’re the victim.”

“Tali—” Matt says, still certain I will intervene on his behalf, as if all my love for him still rests inside me, and will now come blazing forth in his defense.

I shake my head. “You’d better go before he hits you again. Or I do.”

“You’re making a mistake,” he says, climbing into his car.

It’s a relief to realize as he drives away that I just don’t care.

Hayes turns and takes a step toward me before coming to an awkward halt.

“How did you possibly get here so fast?” I ask.

“Some traffic laws were broken,” he says. “But I was worried about what he’d do. Plus, you hung up on me which was, by the way, a fire-able offense, but I’ll let it go this once.”

I smile. “Just this once?”

“Yes, we seem to do a lot of things just once, so why not add this to the list?” He places a hand at the small of my back. “Come on. Let’s have a drink on the terrace. A shrill little person I know has been insisting I need more sunlight.”

I’m ushered through the house and out back, where he pours me a glass of red, watching me carefully, still concerned. Because he puts me first, even when he’s pretending he isn’t.

Matt breezes through life on his sweet smile, and people take him at face value, no matter how petty and selfish he is. Hayes goes through life wearing this mask of indifference, of smug certainty and hauteur. People take that at face value, too, never noticing the ways he is gentle. Never quite seeing he’s also the same man who pushes an adoption through for an assistant, who jumps on a trampoline with his half-sister, and rushes out of his office to defend an employee.

“Matt’s been having you followed,” I tell him. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“Me?” He freezes, the bottle of wine held in midair. “Why?”

“I think he was looking for evidence you were ‘cheating’ on me. I guess we’re lucky he didn’t catch Miss It’s So Big here.”

“Still calling her that, are we?” he asks, sinking into the seat next to mine. “I rather thought you’d stop, having said something similar.”

I release a shaky laugh. “It sounded cooler when I said it.”

Our eyes meet and the air between us seems to heat. It feels as if we are back there—the weight of his body pressing me into the lounge chair, him thick inside me, struggling not to come. I look away as I try to scrape the image from my head. It feels like I can’t get a full breath.

“About this coming weekend,” he says. His voice is gravelly, less certain than normal. “If you’re uncomfortable...”

“I’m not,” I reply, too quickly. “I want to come. Go, I mean. I want to go.”

Awkward.

Our eyes meet again, and I wonder if we will ever get back to normal.

And I wonder if I want us to.