Nodding, I opened the carton wider and found an array of food that didn’t match at all.
There was Pad Thai, then there was a Butterfinger, a can of coconut water, a carton cup that was hot to the touch and that revealed a vivid matcha when I tipped off the lid, then a small box of prepared fruit—all my favorites. Watermelon, mango, coconut, kiwi, and strawberries.
He’d listened.
He’d asked me all those questions on purpose last night, and they hadn’t been to cover up the silence. He’d wanted to know the answers. It was, I recognized, the first time someone had actually listened to me and acted on it.
I was surrounded by people, both family and friends, old and new, who tended to refuse to hear what I was saying. Parents that couldn’t accept who I was, an ex-girlfriend who wouldn’t believe we weren’t getting back together when I finished my MBA, friends who dropped me because I couldn’t get them into the best clubs anymore.
Only after I’d come out, had I realized how very alone I was. How very unheard.
Just not now.
He’d heard everything I said, down to the mango in the fruit salad and the matcha that, after I took a sip, was sweetened with Manuka honey.
I gritted my teeth against the weird desire to cry, and instead, shoved my face into the Pad Thai.
“Aren’t you going to share it?” Rachel demanded, pouting as I turned to look at her.
It was easy to grin. “Nope.”
When she huffed, then quickly leaned over and snapped up my Butterfinger, I didn’t chide her as she darted off, running like Usain Bolt across the Marketing floor.
Cassandra tutted under her breath, but I ignored her, and returned my attention to my lunch.
Even as I stuck my chopsticks into the noodles, I reached for my phone and tapped out:
Me: Thank you for the food. I didn’t expect that.
Devlin: You said you were going to be too busy to take a lunch break. What else was I supposed to do?
Think that I could fend for myself?
Somehow, his answer touched me all the more.
Me: You have a good memory.
Devlin: Like an elephant. I wasn’t sure if my peace offering would be enough.
Me: Enough for what?
Devlin: Of an apology for last night.
Finding myself wincing, I excused him. Me: It wasn’t that bad.
Devlin: Wasn’t it? I’m surprised you want to text me again. I thought the conversation hit a particular low when I asked you about your soup preferences, but at least I’ll know what to feed you when you tell me you’re too busy for a lunch break again.
Heart in my throat, I shoved a large portion of noodles into my mouth so I could focus on chewing and not getting emotional.
Eventually, I wrote: Me: Meaning, there will be a next time?
Devlin: That’s down to you. If you can forgive me for being a fucking idiot last night.
Then, I thought of one question he hadn’t asked. Me: Maybe... How did you know I like coconut water?
Devlin: You taste of it.
Everything inside me clenched down at that. None of the parts that had been emotional either. This was all physical.
Christ.
Devlin: Is it any wonder I like the way you taste? I’ll keep you in a lifetime’s supply of the stuff if you’ll let me.
I bit my lip. What was that supposed to mean?
Wondering if he knew how many mixed signals he was tossing around, I thought about Devlin on that YouTube video, of his ease, of his casual assertiveness, of the way he dominated any scenario, then I thought about how he’d been last night.
And I decided to give him a chance.
Not just because he was so sexy he made my eyes cross, but for a man who remembered how I tasted, who thought about it enough to figure it out, who listened to my preference in fruit and soup, and who cared about my going hungry until dinner time... I’d be a fool to say no to another date, wouldn’t I?
Thirteen
Devlin
Two days later
“The evidence is purely circumstantial.”
I gritted my teeth at more bullshit from the team of lawyers who were too highly paid to hurl that level of crap my way.
Maybe Mandelson saw my displeasure because his jaw tensed. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Mr. Astley. There simply isn’t enough proof right now. If we fire her, then we’re leaving ourselves wide open to a lawsuit.”
“I knew that already without having to waste forty minutes on this meeting,” I snapped. “I want you to find evidence.”
“Rhode covers her tracks too well.”
“How can she? She’s the least discreet person going. Two men have approached HR about her. Two. What are we supposed to do? Just turn a blind eye and let other people be attacked?” I shook my head. “Not on my watch.”
“If we’re not careful, we could trigger a #MeToo movement in the publishing industry,” my CFO, Lewis, grumbled.
“If it needs triggering,” Lizzie, my EA, muttered at my side, “then it needs triggering.”
“Can you imagine the scandal?” Lewis continued. “Either way, we need to figure out a way of keeping a lid on this.”
I wasn’t so bothered about the lid, more about the people she was targeting. Around this table, however, with my board of directors in place, I was well aware that meant less than our profit margins.
This matter was only not being swept under the carpet because of me. Rhode was too infamously famous, too big to try to take down. Everyone knew that, knew her brother was a tried-and-tested litigator who’d have her back no matter the fight, and he was just one of the Rhodes who worked in the family law firm.
I shot Lizzie a look, saw her temper was on the brink of exploding, and I arched a brow at her, warning her to keep a handle on her anger. She was the coolest, most rational member of my staff, but this was personal.
She’d helped get her brother a job at the company, and she blamed herself for what happened.
Like it was her fault Rhode was a sexual predator.
She was the only reason I even knew about any of this. Her brother had triggered a whole investigation and he wasn’t around to know that we were trying to stop someone else from being attacked.
Rubbing my eyes, I ground out, “Lewis, what you’re saying is that you’d like me to drop this because it might trigger a scandal? Isn’t it more of a scandal in the making if Astley Publishing knowingly protects a rapist? Only the fact that Lizzie knows I will see this through to the end has stopped her family from going to the press—”
“Her NDA prevents—” my CIO, Nuñez, started to grind out.
“Shut your mouth, Louellen,” I snapped back, aware that Lizzie was bristling at my side. I wouldn’t put it past her to hurl her coffee over the executive seated opposite. “Her family isn’t under any obligation to keep quiet about this. They can go to the press about what Robert went through at any time.”
Under the table, I reached over and grabbed Lizzie’s hand. Squeezing her fingers tightly, hoping to give her some strength, I watched as Nuñez sputtered, “Why would they want to bring shame on their family?”
“Shame?” My eyes widened at her. “Louellen, I’d watch your mouth if I were you. You’re an executive, and you worked hard to get here, but I’m more than capable of sending you off on a three-year-long course to become a human again.