CRUEL (The Buck Boys Heroes Book 2), page 4
It’s him.
Thurston Marks, the owner of Marks Creative, tosses me a broad smile, and with a clap of his hands, he calls out, “There she is. There’s the woman we’ve been waiting for.”
I walk into Mr. Marks’s office with Hugo on my heel. I have no idea if he’s sticking around, but I secretly hope so.
Having a familiar face nearby would alleviate a lot of the anxiety that’s taken hold of me.
Mr. Marks extends a hand as he rounds his desk. “It’s good to meet you, Miss Bardin.”
I shake his hand. “Please call me Juliet.”
He nods but doesn’t offer that same sentiment to me. Why would he? The man runs a media empire. I’m one of the thousands of people employed by him.
He buttons the jacket of his dark blue suit. “Juliet it is. I’d like you to meet Mr. Rothe.”
I follow the path of his hand as it trails to the right. Another gray-haired man in a suit nods at me. He’s wearing wire-rimmed glasses and has a phone in his hand.
When Hugo first hired me, I took an entire weekend to memorize the names of all of the executives at Marks Creative. I wanted to be prepared in case I ever ran into any of them in the elevator. Knowing someone’s name before they are introduced to you can leave a lasting impression on them.
It can also be creepy as fuck but, so far, I’ve managed not to creep out anyone at Marks.
If Nigel Rothe works here, he has to be a new hire because I don’t recognize his name or face from any of the headshots on the Marks Creative website.
“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Rothe.” I move closer to him to shake his hand.
He offers me a smile along with the handshake. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Bardin.”
“Juliet,” I tell him as well.
“Why don’t we all take a seat?” Mr. Marks motions toward three black leather chairs that are facing his desk. “We have a great deal to discuss.”
I move first, claiming the middle chair as my own as Hugo sits to my right and Mr. Rothe to my left.
“We’ll start with the non-disclosure agreement,” Mr. Marks says, flipping open the cover of a file folder. “You’ll sign this, Juliet.”
Will I?
I know better than to sign something I haven’t read.
He spins a piece of paper around to face me on the desk before he drops a silver pen on top of it. “It’s a standard NDA. Hugo signed an identical one earlier.”
I glance at it and then at Mr. Marks’s smiling face. “I’ll need a moment to look it over.”
He looks at Hugo before his attention settles on me again. “Take all the time you need.”
The document is short and sweet and outlines that I can’t share any details about the meeting. That’s it. There’s no mention of the reason for the meeting. It’s a standard NDA that essentially states that I’ll keep my mouth shut about what’s about to be said in this room.
I pick up the pen and sign it, knowing that all three men are watching my every move.
Mr. Marks slides the document back into the file folder, folds his hands together on his desk, and looks me dead in the eye. “You’ve been hand-picked for this assignment, Juliet.”
Hugo decides now is the time to say something. “I’m not surprised. I think Juliet is the ideal person to interview Kavan Bane.”
Kavan Bane?
Is that a real person or the name of a random guy-next-door movie character before he transforms into a superhero?
I swallow back the urge to ask that, and sit silently hoping someone will say something that will help me understand what the hell is happening right now.
“Mr. Bane has asked me to meet with you on his behalf.” Nigel taps a finger against the armrest of the chair I’m sitting in.
“We all know the story that others want us to believe about him.” Mr. Marks shakes his head.
No, we don’t. Some of us don’t have a clue about Kavan Bane’s story or who he is.
“Juliet doesn’t listen to the noise,” Hugo says. “She respects the facts put in front of her. I’m confident that she’ll handle this piece with tact and integrity.”
Hugo looks to me for confirmation of that. I stare at him, blinking twice with the hope that he’ll view it as a sign of distress.
Margot would since it’s our secret way of communicating when we’re with other people, and one of us feels uncomfortable.
Hugo smiles and gives me a hearty thumbs-up for good measure.
“You’ll be compensated at the same rate as anyone else writing their first article for New York Viewpoint.”
I turn to look at Mr. Marks, unsure if I heard him correctly. “New York Viewpoint?”
Straightening the already straight bow tie around his neck, he smiles. “Yes. Consider this your probationary assignment for a position as a lead journalist in that division.”
Feeling as though I’m in my bed dreaming this entire encounter, I reach down to pinch my thigh.
It hurts, so maybe, just maybe, this is reality?
“You’ll accompany me to my office now,” Nigel announces. “Naturally, we’ll have another NDA for you to sign. It will be more detailed, but you understand that.”
I don’t, but I’ll sign anything for the chance to land my dream job. I’ll read it over, but there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I’ll sign it.
Mr. Marks slides to his feet, as do the other two men, so I follow their lead, unsure if I can manage not to jump up and down in delight.
“Shirlene will be available to give you the grand tour of your new office anytime.” Mr. Marks smiles. “It’s a corner one. The views are brilliant. She’ll set up your expense account and handle anything else you need.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly, not sure what to add.
“Juliet will be working in an office that we provide for her for the duration of the assignment,” Nigel directs that to Mr. Marks.
The duration of the assignment? How long will it take me to write an article on this Bane person?
“Understood. If you have any questions or concerns, Nigel, you have my cell number.” Mr. Marks’s gaze drifts to me. “Shirlene will text you that number, Juliet.”
I nod.
He goes on, “I’m available for you night and day during this assignment. It’s an important one for us, so I expect you to make us proud.”
“I will, “ I say assuredly, even though I have no idea who the man I’m interviewing is or what the scope of the article is supposed to cover.
Mr. Marks looks at Nigel. “We appreciate the fact that you came to us with this.”
Nigel nods. “Mr. Bane insisted.”
Mr. Bane seems like a guy who gets what he wants. I have no idea why he picked me for this assignment, but maybe he’s a fan of my stellar work covering gossip for RumorMel.
I glance at Mr. Marks again. “Thank you, sir, for this opportunity. New York Viewpoint is my favorite magazine. I will give my all to this.”
He leans forward. “I expect no less, Juliet. A lot is riding on your shoulders with this exclusive, but I trust you’ll rise to the pressure.”
I will. I need to. I’ve just been set on the fast track to my dream job, and I have no intention of failing. That’s not an option.
Chapter Ten
Juliet
“Your phone, Miss Bardin.” Nigel holds out a palm as the driver of the SUV we got into pulls away from the curb.
I look to the left where he’s seated beside me on the back seat. “What?”
“Your phone,” he repeats without any context.
My hand dives into my purse to grab hold of my phone. I haven’t looked at it since Hugo told me we were going to see Mr. Marks. After our meeting, he rode the elevator down to the lobby with Nigel and me.
He pulled me aside briefly to tell me that he was proud of me.
By the time that conversation was over, Nigel was instructing me to follow him to a black SUV idling next to the curb in front of the office tower that houses Marks Creative.
I got inside without question because I’m chasing my dream, and this is the path it’s currently taking.
With my phone firmly in my grasp inside my purse, I stare blankly at Nigel.
“The moment your signature is on the required legal documents, I’ll return your phone to you.” His hand still bounces in the air, awaiting one of my most prized possessions.
It’s also my lifeline in the event something goes horribly wrong. Why do I feel like I’m inching toward that right now?
“I’ll turn it off,” I offer in compromise.
“You’ll watch me slide it into my pocket.” His hand drops to pat the front of his suit jacket. “I will never leave your sight. It’s strictly for security measures, Miss Bardin. Mr. Bane is a very private person.”
“You’re not going to take it and then drive me to a remote stretch of road to strangle me, are you?” I kind-of-but-not-really joke.
“I’m not driving,” he deadpans before a smile slides over his lips. “You have my word that your phone will be in your hand as soon as we get the legal work out of the way.”
I glance out the car’s window. We’re crawling through the early evening traffic in Manhattan. Since I already opened the window a crack, I know it wouldn’t take me more than a second to inch it down more to call out for help.
There is no way that Mr. Marks would send me into a lion’s den to fight for my life.
I try to quiet my overzealous imagination with a deep breath.
“We’re almost there.” Nigel’s hand is back to its mid-air position. “The phone, please, Miss Bardin.”
Against my better judgment, I tug it out of my purse and drop it in his hand, wishing I had taken two seconds before I got in this car to do a quick online search for Kavan Bane.
“Thank you,” he responds as he slides my phone into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
As the car pulls into a spot on Madison Avenue, I shove my hand into the pocket of my jacket. I take my keys in my hand and position them the way my father taught me to, so I’m ready for a jab, jab, slash if need be.
When my knuckles brush against the silk of the pocket square that I’m still carrying around with me, I close my eyes.
I survived an attempted mugging a block from here less than two weeks ago. Whatever I’m walking into now, I can live through too if I stay aware, keep my wits about me, and remember to check where every exit is.
My fingers lessen their death grip on my keys as soon as we exit the SUV.
I look up – way up – as my gaze travels the height of the building we’re about to enter.
It’s a sleek silver column. It’s taller than all of the other skyscrapers on this block, and architecturally it’s a stunning work of art.
I look straight ahead to see the name of the building emblazoned in silver over the lobby doors.
Bane Enterprises.
I’m not up to speed on the big names in New York City business, but judging by the exterior of this building, Mr. Bane ranks high among them.
“This way, Juliet.” Nigel motions for me to step into the lobby through one of the doors held open by a man in a crisp navy blue uniform, complete with a cap on his head trimmed in gold stitching.
“Good evening, Miss Bardin,” he says in greeting.
That stops me mid-step. I turn to look him in the eye. “Good evening.”
He offers me a smile and nothing more.
I’d ask how he knows my name, but I suspect Nigel is a stickler for details and a gentleman, so he warned the doormen that I’d be returning with him.
That was presumptive on his part, but no one in my position would turn down an assignment that results in a promotion that would otherwise take years to secure.
“We’re headed to the right,” Nigel instructs me. “There is a private elevator that will take us up to my office.”
I nod in understanding as I fall in step beside him.
We avoid a few people rushing out of the building. I assume they are eager to start their weekends.
As soon as we approach an elevator tucked around a corner, a man standing next to it presses the call button. He’s not dressed in the same uniform as the other two men who were holding open the lobby doors. This guy is dressed entirely in black.
“Welcome to Bane Enterprises, Miss Bardin,” he offers with a smile as the doors to the elevator slide open in silence.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Drawing a deep breath, I board the lift knowing that this is the path to my future and I can handle whatever or whoever is waiting for me.
Chapter Eleven
Kavan
She’s in the building.
I sensed it when I heard the ding of the private elevator announcing its arrival. That lured my gaze in the direction of the corridor outside my office.
I held my composure.
I didn’t move to the doorway to watch Juliet walk past. I was tempted, which is why I turned my back to look out at the dusk-filled skies of this city.
The click of her heels on the marble floor was sure and steady.
If she’s aware of what she’s walking into, I admire her. If she’s unaware, as I believe to be the case, she’s brave beyond her appearance.
I was met with mild resistance when I called Thurston Marks earlier today and told him that I was available for an exclusive interview, but only if Juliet Bardin conducted it.
He threw the names of other people at me. They are experienced journalists who have masterfully handled politicians, business people, and celebrities alike.
I scoffed at each name before I reiterated my terms.
It was Juliet, or the interview would never happen.
He reluctantly agreed before we ended the call with the understanding that Nigel would attend the preliminary meeting with Juliet to inform her of her latest assignment.
Since she’s here now, I assume that went well, and she agreed without question.
It’s a step up from reporting on lost dogs and engagement rings.
The sharp jarring ring of my cell phone lures my attention to it.
I’d ignore it as I often do, but the name splayed across the screen is always an immediate answer for me.
I tap a finger on the screen to connect the call. “Locke.”
“Bane,” Graham says in an almost giddy tone. “It’s Friday night, the stars are aligned, and I’m about to buy you a beer to end this week the right way.”
“I don’t drink beer,” I remind him.
“I do,” he replies with a chuckle. “You can order whatever the fuck you want if you’re paying. If you expect me to pay, limit that shit to whatever costs less than ten bucks a glass.”
Amused, I smile. “Later.”
“Later as in tonight or later as in never, and you’re about to hang up on me?”
“I’m in the middle of something.” I drop into my office chair. That pulls a groan from the leather.
“I heard that.” Graham’s voice lowers. “Are you at the office?”
It’s a fair question since I work at home most of the time. The whispered accusations that surround me whenever I am recognized have become a daily occurrence in my life that I’ve learned to live with.
However, I’ve come to realize that the people who work for me are far more productive when I’m not breathing down their necks.
I have no idea if fear grips them when they know I’m within arm’s reach, but the bottom dollar is what matters most to me, and besides, my home office is far more comfortable than this one that my father spent a good part of the last twenty years of his life in.
I glance down at the desk. “I am.”
“Why?” he spits that question out with a laugh. “You fucking hate that place.”
Truer words have never been spoken. “It’s a necessary burden sometimes, Locke.”
Silence greets me in response until I hear him sigh. “What’s going on?”
I glance up to find Nigel in the open doorway of my office. “I need to go.”
“Meet me at nine,” Graham says in a rush. “It’s important, Bane.”
“Make it eleven,” I begrudgingly counter before I end the call.
With a curl of my fingers, I beckon Nigel into my office.
“Sir.” He steps forward, scrubbing his hand over his forehead. “Miss Bardin has accepted the assignment. She’s signing the required documentation now.”
The documentation that prohibits her from discussing this project with anyone other than Thurston Marks, limits her ability to take pictures of me or anyone employed by me and guarantees that I get final say on her article before it’s published.
“Was she resistant?”
Nigel sighs. “She requested a few minutes to look over the paperwork. I asked if she wanted me to bring in an outside attorney to go over the fine print with her, but she assured me that she has a grasp on the legal jargon we used. Her words not mine, sir.”
I don’t react even though I find her comment amusing. Everything she is required to sign is straightforward and necessary. There are no hidden clauses nestled within muddled language. It’s spelled out in the simplest of terms.
“I have a question if I may.” Nigel lets out a heavy exhale.
Leaning back in my office chair, I roll a hand in the air. “What is it?”
He steps closer to my desk and lowers his voice. “Why her?”
I perk a brow. “Explain that to me.”
“Sir,” he begins before he stops to shake his head. “I read some of her articles after you instructed me to attend the meeting with her and Mr. Marks.”
I nod. “And?”
“She hardly seems equipped to take on a task of this magnitude.”
Anger darts through me. I stop before I react because I don’t know where the hell that came from.
I don’t need to defend Juliet Bardin to anyone. I need to use her inexperience to my advantage, so I can put my past to rest and get this company back on solid financial ground.
“In my eyes, that makes her the ideal candidate.” I push to stand. “She’s not coming into this with a seasoned journalist’s perspective.”
