Page 6 of The Devil She Knows
She’d been in the grocery store, a bottle of olive oil in each hand, trying to decide between them, when, from around thecorner, someone had accidentally rammed into her with their shopping cart, not paying attention to where they were going.
It had been a mess, olive oil everywhere. Hannah had been mortified, blushing like a cute little ripe tomato and babbling breathless apologies all the way to the register, insisting that she not only pay the store for the broken bottles but buy Sam’s groceries, too. Sam had told her the offer was kind but unnecessary.
If you won’t let me pay for your groceries,Hannah had said,at least let me buy you a drink.
Back then, Sam was working forty hours a week at a chain restaurant in Midtown. Not a job with much growth potential, granted, but it had paid the bills, which, at the time, had been good enough for her. Hannah was the one who had encouraged her to apply to a more prestigious restaurant, somewhere Sam could hone her skills, somewhere she could shine.
Why settle for good enough, Hannah had asked one night, under the cover of darkness, Sam’s bedsheets tucked under her chin,when you could be great? Why settle for being a junior pastry chef when you could be an executive pastry chef somewhere one day? Why stop there? Why would you dream of running a bakery when you could make it your goal to own one?
Fast-forward two and a half years. When Sam wasn’t working, busting her ass six days a week, fourteen hours most shifts, weekendsandsome holidays, she spent what little free time she had with Hannah. No complaints—there was no one Sam would rather spend her time with than Hannah—but she hadn’t seen her parents in more than ayear, and it had been even longer since she’d taken a real vacation. She barely had time to read a book, let alone go to a book club meeting to discuss one.
“Consider me the exception.”
“Aw,” she cooed, unflinching in the face of Sam’s undisguised ire. “You special little snowflake. Do you want a gold star? You know, for beingsoexceptional.”
Sam would be the last to ever claim exceptionality. “Your words, not mine.”
She shrugged. “Fine. We can talk about something else.”
“To be perfectly honest, I’d rather us not talk at all,” she spit back, patience running on empty.
She made a face, nose scrunching, telling Sam exactly what she thought of that idea without even needing to open her mouth. “The way I see it, we could be stuck in here awhile. All night maybe. I don’t know about you, but I don’t do great with extended silences.”
“You don’t say.”
“We could talk about Hannah. Her nameisHannah, right? Your ex?”
“Hannah’s not my—We’re just …” Sam couldn’t even say the word, her mouth refusing to cooperate. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going to get her back. I have a plan.”
“Sure,” the woman said, drawing out the word, sounding skeptical. “Whatever you say.”
“Iam, okay? It’s just …” Sam traced the sharp edge of her incisor with the tip of her tongue, weighing her words. Spilling her guts to a stranger? Not worth it. “Forget it.”
“No, consider my interest piqued.” The woman rested herelbows on her knees, her chin on her hands. “What does this undoubtedly well-devised scheme entail?”
“You can dial back the sarcasm.” Sam scowled. “What makes you think I have any desire to pour my heart out to some stranger in an elevator?”
A stranger with a twisted sense of humor and a penchant for poking fun at her, no less.
“Oh, come on,” she cajoled, a slow, sly smile curling the corners of her lips. “You said it—I’m a stranger in an elevator in a city full of nothing but strangers, eight million of them, give or take. I’m as unbiased as they come,andafter we leave here, the chances of us seeing each other again are slim to none. Can you honestly think of anyonebetterto pour your heart out to?”
“Actually—”
“That was rhetorical.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you want someone to blow sunshine up your skirt, sweetheart, or are you looking to win your ex back?”
“Like I said.” Sam gritted her teeth. “I already have a plan.”
“A plan,sure. If it’s anything like your proposal, I’m sure it’ll go off without a hitch.”
Sam’s heart sank.
Either she convinced Hannah to take her back, or—
“Fine. It’s less of a plan and more of a … rough sketch, okay?” Sam admitted, worrying the skin around her fingernails so she wouldn’t have to make awkward eye contact while she confessed that she was mostly talk.Alltalk, maybe. She’d approach Coco about the promotion, give her bestpitch, talk herself up, list all the many reasons she was the right person for the job. But if Coco gave her the brush-off, Sam didn’t know what to do. “I’m kind of operating on a wing and a prayer here.”
Rather than laugh like Sam half expected, the woman hummed consideringly, fingers drumming softly against the elevator floor. “And you’resureyou want to be with her? Hannah? Like, really,reallysure?”
Sam balked at her. “I wouldn’t have proposed if I wasn’t sure. Obviously, I want to be with her. She’s …” She swallowed over the lump of emotion in her throat. “She’s the love of my life.”
