A Deal With The Devil: A Steamy Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  His eyes go dark. “Fuck,” he groans. “I’m going to be out of a job if this keeps up.”

  “You should be out of a job.” I stir the sugar into his latte—weirdly, I now like doing this for him—and cross the kitchen with it. “Yours makes you miserable.”

  “Despite what you may think,” he says, “I’m not independently wealthy. I do need to work.”

  “But you hate house calls, and you seem to dread half the surgeries you do,” I argue. “If pediatrics is what inspired you in the first place, maybe that’s where you’re meant to be.”

  His jaw shifts. “I don’t think so.”

  He takes a sip of his coffee and I wait. I’ve found with Hayes that sometimes silence, rather than badgering, is the best way to get information from him.

  “All I remember from that period of time when Dylan died and Ella left, other than the guilt, is feeling terrified of going through it again,” he finally says. “I don’t need that kind of pressure.”

  I lean forward, drawn by the possibility of finally getting to the heart of this. “Pressure?”

  “The pressure of caring so much.”

  I’m not sure if he’s talking about the pressure of caring about his patients, or the risk of loving another person. I suspect it’s both.

  “Hayes,” I say, my voice quietly pleading, “I’m not sure feeling nothing at all is really a better option.”

  I want him to agree with me. To tell me what we have is different. A smarter girl would probably make note of the fact that he doesn’t.

  On my last full-time day, Jonathan comes by to get the phones. For the next few weeks, he’ll handle the calls and schedule from his house while I deal with everything else.

  If it were up to Hayes, I’d do no work at all, and he’s said as much, but getting paid by a man to wander around his house naked feels like a turn in the wrong direction, and I still have enough free time after I run his errands to get some writing done. There is no more time spent staring blankly at my laptop—the words are flying now, because I’ve finally realized this book is not Aisling and Ewan’s love story. Theirs was the love of children, not adults. It’s Julian and Aisling who pop off the page, whose every clash comes through with a flash of color, a burst of sound. It’s their story now, even if it wasn’t when the book began.

  I’ve just finished writing the sex scene—it’s mild enough for a young adult novel but still has me worked up—when Hayes texts from his car, saying he’s done early.

  Show me what I’m coming home to, he demands.

  I kick off my shoes and go to his room, stripping naked and climbing into bed. It’s been a long time since I’ve attempted to take a nude photo. I’d forgotten how hard it is to get an angle without double chins or boobs flopping weirdly, though I feel oddly certain he’d be happy with anything as long as I’m naked.

  I send the only decent shot I managed to take, and he texts me immediately, telling me to stay right where I am.

  Within minutes, I hear him come through the door, taking the stairs two at a time, then he’s standing at the threshold.

  “Remove that sheet,” he growls, looking me over in a way that gives me the best kind of chills.

  I comply, and his gaze devours me as he moves to the foot of the bed. He wrenches his shirt off, all clenched muscles and urgency. The pants follow. My legs spread as he climbs over me, bracing on his forearms, his mouth pressed to mine.

  I will never tire of this, I think, as I look up at him. Hayes, open to me, eyes heavy lidded as he pushes inside me.

  You won’t get the chance to tire of it, some cynical voice in my head counters, and I will it away. Our time is fleeting and I refuse to let the truth ruin everything.

  An hour later, I’ve come more times than I can count and am curled up against him. These moments are my favorite: the smell of his skin against my nose, his hand smoothing over my bare back, the way he seems so completely content. I’m nearly lulled to sleep by exhaustion and the rise and fall of his chest when he speaks.

  “When do I get to read your book?” he asks.

  The question wakes me. I’d never even considered the possibility, nor do I want to. Reading a story that parallels our time together would tell him so much more about how I feel than I’m ready for him to know.

  “Never,” I reply.

  “Why?” he asks with a hint of a smile. “Because I’m Julian and Matt is Ewan? And if Ewan is actually Sam I’m going to be really put out.”

  His arrogance, so infuriating once upon a time, just makes me laugh now. Besides…he’s right. “What makes you think Julian’s you?”

  “Tall, dashing, irresistible. Obviously, it’s me. Although I can’t believe you named me Julian. Couldn’t it have been something manlier—Steve, perhaps, or Chuck?”

  “Yes, both Steve and Chuck totally sound like popular names for fae royalty in the 1800s.” My hand glides over his chest. I bet he can go one more round before dinner.

  “At least tell me how it ends, if nothing else.”

  My palm goes flat and still. “I don’t know how it’s going to end yet,” I reply, quieter now.

  Aisling does not end up with Ewan, but I still don’t see how she can end up with Julian either. And the mere fact that I’m struggling to come up with a believable happy ending, when I have infinite fae magic at my disposal, reminds me a happy ending in real life, with Hayes, is even less likely.

  33

  I know better, I do.

  I know I can’t ask a guy who remains uncertain about commitment where we stand when I’m moving, and I wouldn’t have the guts to do it anyway. But that doesn’t stop me from hoping he’ll bring it up.

  I mention Kansas every once in a while, as if the reminder I’m leaving will jolt him into action. And it never does, not once. Yet I keep trying.

  “Thai food back home tastes nothing like this,” I tell him one night as we share red curry chicken and drunken noodles on his back deck. “It’s closer to paprika sprinkled over a chicken pot pie.”

  This isn’t entirely true. I mostly say it in order to mention home, the place I’m returning to very, very soon. As if he’s going to say speaking of home, let’s talk about how we can continue this when we’re far apart.

  “I’m surprised you even have Thai food in Kansas,” he says instead.

  “You act like I live in Siberia. I’m ten minutes from a college town.” And a small airport. “Of course we do.”

  “You’re there a lot, then,” he says. There’s something hard and certain in his voice that makes it feel as if he’s saying another thing entirely, but I have no idea what it is. He pushes his plate aside, the food barely touched, and pours himself a glass of wine.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  His eyes have gone almost black in the dim light. “It’s still unclear to me why all of this is falling on you. You’ve paid for everything. Why can’t your sister step up?”

  “Liddie has a kid and a husband in another state. I’m the only one of us who’s unencumbered.”

  He stiffens but doesn’t argue. We’ve only been together a few weeks, with not a word about commitment spoken, so I’m certainly not encumbered by him.

  “They seem very happy to let every ounce of the weight fall on your shoulders, Tali,” he says quietly. “I guess what I’m wondering is why you never object to it.”

  I feel a pinch of frustration. It’s as if he’s blaming me for being mature about a situation I can’t really control in the first place. “What good would it do to object?” I argue. “Charlotte and my mom are both pretty fucked up by my dad’s death and need help. End of story.”

  “And you weren’t?” he asks. “I see the way your face falls whenever I bring up your father.”

  “I wish you weren’t ruining our nice night by bringing it up now. Why do I feel like you want a fight?”

  His jaw tenses. “I don’t. It seems like you’re leaving something out.”

  He doesn’t understand because
he doesn’t really have a family. Neither of his parents have shown him much in the way of loyalty or obligation. And when I leave here, he’ll be alone again. That, of all this, is hardest for me. He will probably fill my seat with a thousand Angelas and Savannahs and Nicoles, but I know they won’t care about him the way I do. I know they won’t fill him the way I do, but I’m not sure he really sees the difference.

  We are silent for a minute, him sipping his wine, me pushing around my food while I worry about him.

  “Let’s go away this weekend,” he says suddenly. “I’ll do the planning.”

  My mouth falls open. I can think of nothing I’d like more. And then I smile like an absolute lovesick loon. “What are we going to do?”

  “It’s a surprise,” he says. And for the first time since this conversation began, the light returns to his eyes.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Drew asks me breathlessly over breakfast in her cottage at the Chateau Marmont—which is far more 1950s traditional than celebrity luxe, but at least the food is good.

  “I have no idea,” I sigh, digging into my omelet. I’ve begged, cajoled, attempted to barter. I’ve walked in on whispered phone calls to Jonathan and Ben, seen papers couriered to the house. It’s a whole new side of him—a playful, doting side—and I adore it, even if the mystery is driving me crazy.

  “It’s sweet, though,” Drew says. “That he wants to surprise you. I just want Six to invite me somewhere. He doesn’t even have to surprise me.”

  “I thought we agreed you were going to go out and meet someone else and have an amazing time?”

  “I can’t!” she cries. “Who’s going to go out with me, looking like this?” She’s convinced she’s gained weight, which is why we’re hiding out in her cottage—otherwise there will be the inevitable photos, accompanied by a story implying she’s broken-hearted. Worse this time, she says, because it’s true.

  “Anyone in the sane world would go out with you,” I reply. “You’re gorgeous.”

  She grabs a croissant and tears off a piece. “Not according to my manager. He wanted me to lose five pounds before my tour, and now I’ve gained five instead.”

  I set my fork down. Drew seems to surround herself with people who are awful to her, who say the worst things to her with absolute impunity, things that aren’t even true, and she believes every one of them. “You don’t need to lose weight. You do need to fire that manager, however.”

  She shrugs. “He wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. It’s fine. I’ll go on an all-cocaine diet for the next week and the weight will come right off.” Her eyes light up, suddenly. “Maybe he’s going to tell you he loves you this weekend!”

  “I don’t think you need a lawyer for that.” I still have no idea why Ben’s involved.

  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 it would need to be, wouldn’t it, to have this all work out?

  34

  On the morning of our trip, my phone rings early. Too early.

  It’s barely light out and Hayes, beside me, doesn’t even twitch at the sound. I grab his T-shirt off the floor and head toward the stairs.

  “Tali?” my mother asks, her voice tremulous and strained, as if she’s been crying.

  “What happened?” I can barely get the words out. “Is it Charlotte?”

  “It’s me. I was in a car accident last night and broke my leg. They say I won’t be able to drive for months. I know you weren’t due home for a few weeks, but I can’t even get to the store.”

  I blow out a breath. If I were a better daughter, I’d go rushing out there. But surely, she can wait until the weekend is over, at least?

  “Okay,” I tell her. “I’m going away, but next week I’ll—”

  “I need you here today,” she says. “The situation is…complicated.”

  “Complicated how?”

  “I’d had a little to drink,” she says. “So, I got a DUI and the officer is claiming I hit him and…well, the upshot is that I’m now in police custody and the moment I’m released from the hospital they’re taking me to jail. I need you there to post bail.”

  “God, Mom,” I whisper. There’s so much to say that I don’t even know where to begin. She’s the parent. It’s not my job to scold her. But how could she have been so irresponsible? I take small, shallow breaths. Blaming her and blaming myself. I’d been secretly hoping she’d pull herself together before Charlotte returned. It was impossibly stupid of me. And selfish. I just wanted that extra time with Hayes so, so badly.

  “I’ll come home. I’ll fix it,” I tell her, but something hardens inside me. I always felt like my loyalty to my family was infinite. For the first time ever, I’m seeing an end point. I’ll do whatever is necessary for Charlotte, but I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive my mother for making me give up what I’m about to.

  I hang up and take a long, shuddering breath.

  “What happened?” Hayes asks.

  I look at his face and want to weep. These weeks have been amazing, but there’ve been no promises made. I had no reason to be in LA anymore anyhow, and I couldn’t ask him to wait for me.

  “I have to go home,” I whisper. “My mom’s broken her leg.”

  He kneels beside me, still in nothing but boxers. “For how long?” he asks.

  He’s probably doing the same math I am: wondering how long this would have lasted anyway, wondering if it’s worth suggesting we continue.

  I swallow. “A long time,” I reply. “At least until Charlotte’s in college next year.”

  I bury my face in my hands, and he pulls me against his chest. My tears aren’t really about my mom or my sister, because nothing there has changed. I’m crying because this is the end of what I had here with Hayes, and it just feels so fucking unfair.

  Eventually, he helps me off the floor and books me on a noon flight home. “Do you need to go to your apartment and pack? I’ll drive you there.”

  I shake my head. “You’ve got patients. You’ll be late.”

  “I don’t, actually,” he says. “We were going to leave this morning for our trip.”

  My heart hurts. He’s changed so much over the past few months. He’s happy, and he’s taking time off, and he did this for me and now...what will happen? “What was the surprise?”

  He swallows. “I’ll tell you another time.” I simply nod, too sad to even push him on it.

  I let him drive me to my apartment. We climb the stairs, saying nothing. And with every step, I’m realizing all the experiences with him I’ll never have again.

  He’ll never wait at the counter for another smoothie, his gaze on my ass the entire time. I’ll never see his face light up as I walk into his office, catch that relieved smile when he sees me waiting for him at the end of the day. Never again will he undress me, growling some complaint about how I’m wearing too many clothes as he moves me toward the bed.

  It’s all in the past, already, when it feels like it barely began.

  When we reach my apartment, I walk in, but he remains at the threshold, rigid. That we are ill-matched has never been clearer than it is now. I’m used to the way I live, but to him, it must look like I’m practically homeless, squatting in a place that’s roughly the size of his closet. In his home, I never felt like my debt made me less of a person, but now I’m seeing it through his eyes, and how could it not?

  “Now you see why I never wanted you to come over here.”

  “Why were you living like this?” he asks. “You’ve been making good money.”

  “I was saving to pay back the advance if necessary, and pay for the rest of Charlotte’s stay. I wasn’t joking about all the ramen noodles.”

  He takes a seat on the bed, shoulders hunched, jaw grim. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you.” />
  “Because I don’t want help,” I reply. I wanted it to feel like we were equals, which seems laughable now that he’s here. We were never equals.

  I pull my suitcases out of the closet and start to pack. He opens a drawer and then stops. “What are you taking?”

  “Everything.” I don’t know why it’s so hard to say it out loud. “My lease is up soon anyway. I’ll take what I can and see if Jonathan can get rid of the bed.”

  I want, with my whole heart, for him to suggest an alternative, but the flicker of a muscle in his cheek is his only response. And what could he possibly have said? By the time I get free of my family, there will be nothing here to come back to. No job, no apartment. Hayes will have moved on. And I’ll be so grossly in debt I won’t even be able to afford a dump like this.

  We’re nearly done when I get to the beige dress. I’ll never even have a place to wear it again. Maybe Charlotte’s graduation from high school, or the baptism of Liddie’s next child. The only big events I see ahead of me now belong to my sisters, not myself. I’m going to stay in Kansas, living with my mom, and people will reference the one book deal I got like it was my only accomplishment. And all that pales next to the fact that Hayes won’t be beside me for any of it.

  I find myself pulled against his chest—I didn’t even realize I was crying. And it only makes me cry harder, because how many more minutes of this will I have in my life? How many more times will I lean against him and breathe him in, and how the hell am I going to survive without it?

  His mouth finds mine, and though I’m embarrassed by my tears, he doesn’t seem to mind. There’s a desperation to our kiss, but his hands are gentle as he removes my T-shirt and shorts, revealing me as if I’m something to be treasured. He’s above me, inside me, when he suddenly stops and holds my hair back from my face, looking at me as if I’m the only thing in the world that matters to him.