Page 27 of A Deal with the Devil

My heart gives a single hard beat. I never thought I’d see the day Hayes would admit I’m something more than his less-than-stellar assistant. “I thought I might have met Ben tonight, actually.”

Hayes looks toward the sea of people in the yard. “He’s out of town but he wouldn’t haven’t approved of all this. He’s nearly as judgmental as you.”

I smile. “So, he’s a good influence, then. I was picturing a Hayes clone.”

He tips back in his chair. “It’s a sad day when we agree you’re a good influence. How did you spend the entire advance, anyway? Based on your clothes and your car, I’d assume you aren’t much of a spender.”

I suppress the desire to laugh. Only Hayes would take my sad, shameful admission and insult me with it. “My younger sister needed inpatient treatment after my dad died, and I’ve been helping my mom out with money. Apparently, my parents’ finances were in worse shape than anyone knew, even my mom.”

“You take care of everyone, don’t you?” he asks. His eyes are soft as velvet. When he looks at me like that, it’s hard to breathe. I find I can’t maintain eye contact.

“Not all that well, it would seem.” Liddie and I haven’t spoken or even texted in a week, Charlotte still seems miserable, and the last time I called home my mother was drunk. It feels like I’m failing, but no one can tell me how to turn things around.

The party below us has quieted to a dull roar. It’s probably time to send the caterers home. I rise, reluctantly slipping my shoes back on.

“I’ll pay it,” he says. “Your debt. I’ll pay it. If you ever make it big, you can pay me back. Otherwise, consider it a gift.”

My eyes sting, and suddenly I feel fragile and uncertain. Under that beautiful, careless exterior of his lies a heart far larger than anyone out back realizes, and it’s been a very long time since someone has offered to take care of me, hasn’t simply assumed I’d figure it out. I’m not sure why it makes me so happy and sad at once that he’s the exception.

“Thank you.” It comes out as a whisper, barely audible around the lump in my throat. God, am I really about to cry over this? “I can’t accept, but thank you.”

His nostrils flare. “Why the fuck not?” he demands. “I can make all your problems disappear in the blink of an eye, with very little effort. Why not let me?”

Why not indeed? That money is nothing to him. He could earn it back in a week, while it would take me years, if not for this job.

“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.”

It feels too intimate, too earnest. I want to make a joke, find a way to lighten things up. But I see something in his face that hasn’t been there before—as if he really sees me, as if he might even trust me—and I can’t stand to ruin it. For once, I keep all the awkward jokes inside me. And then I walk away, wishing, more than anything, I could stay.

* * *

I wake at noon. It was four in the morning by the time I left, and I was relieved to see Hayes had rejoined the party, smiling his lopsided grin and charming the shit out of everyone. I assume he found some lovely, willing young model and took her upstairs with him eventually.

I need to get started on the next section of the book, but I don’t know where it should go. Julian has told Aisling he’ll help her, but he’s not the kind of guy who’s going to give away his assistance for free. He’ll demand something of her—the question is what he’d even want, other than sex. He already has far more money, power, and clout than she does.

I go for a run, hoping the answer will come to me. It’s a beautiful day; the sky tinted rosy-gold, the ocean so blue against the white sand it seems more like a photo than real life.

I increase my pace as I pass the pier and all the mansions I’d kill to borrow for a day. My favorite is dark brown, with four levels of decks facing the ocean. I’ve never once seen a sign of life there. I imagine the owner is some Hollywood exec, working slavishly toward goals that will prove empty in the end, just like Hayes. He’ll be an old man before he ever steps outside to appreciate this view he’s had all along, and when it happens, he won’t feel proud of what he’s accomplished. He’ll simply realize what it is he missed with his eyes on the wrong prize.

Julian is a bit like that, but there’s lingering humanity there too. Maybe the beauty of him is that he’s good in ways he’d prefer no one see, ways he almost won’t acknowledge to himself.

As my feet pound against the pavement, I ponder once more the tasks Julian’s sending Aisling on, and then I think of Hayes last night, saying it would appear you’re good at something other than writing.

And I run all the way home with the answer I needed bursting from me.

Aisling arrives in Julian’s study to discover the wishflower—which she risked her life to acquire—is something he already has in abundance. He tells her she can keep the one she found and she’s enraged.

“Why did you ask me to risk my life if you didn’t even want it?” I demand.

“Perhaps, my sweet, it wasn’t for me at all,” he says. “You think you need your Ewan so desperately, but look what you accomplished entirely on your own.”

I send the new pages to Sam, and he writes back an hour later telling me he loves them. “I actually like Julian a lot more than I like Ewan,” he adds.

That I agree terrifies me.

16

On Monday afternoon, Hayes asks me to meet him at a bar near his office to go over the schedule. “A bar, rather than your office?” I ask. “How professional.”