CRUEL (The Buck Boys Heroes Book 2), page 6
Just weeks before he was to stand trial, the charges were dropped.
The case drew so much media attention because Ares Bane was a philanthropist. The man funded many charities, built a reputation on his acts of goodwill and after his death, it was revealed that he was the anonymous donor behind not one but two children’s hospitals along the eastern seaboard as well as a nationwide literary initiative.
I’m hopeful that the books I’m buying will give me more insight into Kavan and the company that his father founded decades before his death.
“You live in the neighborhood, don’t you?” Slate asks.
Surprised that he knows that, I narrow my eyes. “Maybe.”
He huffs out a deep-seated laugh. “I’m not stalking you. I’ve noticed you walking past.”
With a tilt of his elbow, he motions toward the bank of windows at the front of the store. “I like to people watch. It’s hard not to pay attention when you walk by.”
I could get used to this level of flirting.
“I’ll take these to the counter for you, Juliet,” he says my name with a lilt at the end. “Maybe sometime when you’re passing by, I’ll stop you to say hi.”
I smile. “Maybe I’d like that.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kavan
I spot Graham as soon as I enter the bar.
It’s vacant except for him and the bartender. This is the very reason why I prefer to meet my friends for a drink here.
It’s a small place close to my home that has a very limited clientele.
That’s not by design but by fate.
The owner once complained to me that she was close to shutting down for good because sales had slipped once a few new bars popped up within blocks of here.
I pad her sales on a monthly basis to keep it open.
Perhaps if the entrance wasn’t halfway down an alley, clear out of view of the street, she might be able to stay afloat on her own merit.
“Bane!” Graham calls to me from where he’s seated next to the bar. “I’m over here.”
That’s typical Graham. Pointing out the obvious.
I stalk toward him. “Where are Sean and Harry?”
Normally, when Graham summons me to meet him for a drink, it quickly turns into a foursome.
“Not here.” He laughs at his joke.
I shoot him a glance before I take the seat next to him.
There’s no need for me to order. The whiskey I prefer will be set in front of me within seconds.
I nod when the bartender does just that.
I take a mouthful and swallow it quickly. “What’s going on?”
“Let’s start with why you were at the office today,” he sidesteps the reason he called this meeting.
I shoot him a look meant to tell him to back off, but he’s daydreaming about something because his eyes are pinned to the top of the bar.
“Let’s not.”
That lures his gaze in my direction. “You can handle anything from home except the board.”
Nodding, I tap a finger against the rim of the tumbler in front of me. “It’s related to the board.”
“Are they still whining about revenue?” He shakes his head. “That will turn around. Tell them to fuck off.”
“I have,” I point out, before going on, “I prefer to do it in a way that won’t cause them to revolt.”
He takes a pull from the bottle of beer in his hand. “What do they want from you?”
“What they always want,” I bite back. “Details, an apology, a time machine so I can redo that night and bring…”
“Ares back,” he finishes my thought.
I take another mouthful of the amber liquid and let it trail down my throat slowly.
“They’ll drop it at some point,” he assures me. “It can’t go on forever.”
He’s wrong about that. The board is acting at the behest of the shareholders of Bane Enterprises. My father structured the company in such a way that he had to answer to them. I inherited his shares, so that burden falls on my shoulders.
“I’ve arranged to be interviewed beginning on Monday,” I confess because soon it will be breaking news, and Graham, Sean, and Harrison deserve a heads-up.
“What?” This time the question is shrouded in disbelief.
I toss my head back and exhale. “It’s not about that night. It’s about my vision for the future growth of the company. This article is designed to shift the focus from the past to the future.”
“You think that’s going to work?”
“It will,” I insist as I shoot a glance in his direction.
“What big name landed this interview?” he asks, concern edging his tone. “You’re doing this in print, right? You’re not going to appear on my TV screen.”
“Print,” I assure him. “The reporter’s name is Juliet Bardin.”
“Juliet Bardin?” he repeats. “Isn’t that the woman who just nabbed the exclusive photos of Corla Berletti’s engagement ring?”
A deep-seated chuckle escapes me. “How the fuck do you know that?”
He taps one of the pockets of his jeans. “Sean sent me the link.”
“He’s a Melster.”
Graham’s head falls back in laughter. “That’s some funny shit, Bane.”
I fight off a smile. “Juliet will interview me, and the article will appear in New York Viewpoint.”
He pushes his dark hair back from his forehead. “She’s going to push you about the past.”
“She won’t.”
“She will,” he argues. “Any journalist worth their weight will.”
He’s right, but Miss Bardin is too eager for the brass ring that has been dangled just out of her grasp. She wants a permanent job with New York Viewpoint, so she won’t fuck this up.
Graham scratches his chin. “I hope to hell this goes the way you want it to, Kavan.”
“It will.” I sip from my glass. “Tell me why we’re here, Locke. You didn’t call me down here to probe me about my life.”
He leans back. “You’re right. I didn’t.”
I wait with a perked brow for him to say more, but he closes his eyes.
I give him a nudge with my elbow. “Spit it out, Graham. What do you need? Name it.”
When his eyes pop open, I see something I’ve rarely seen before. Emotion has taken hold of my closest friend. The last time I witnessed this, he clumsily confessed to falling in love with his wife.
“What’s going on?” I press. “Tell me.”
His hand lands on my shoulder, and with a squeeze, he looks me dead in the eye. “I want you to be the godfather for my daughter, Bane. Trina and I are expecting a baby girl in six months.”
I turn to the side to face him. “What the fuck?”
His hand doesn’t move. “Trina insisted on waiting to tell anyone until she was past the first trimester. We talked about this, Kavan. Trina wants you to be the baby’s godfather as much as I do.”
I have no idea what the hell that entails, but I’d do anything for Graham and his wife.
“I’ll do it.”
He moves to embrace me. It’s only happened a handful of times during our friendship. Most notably, the night I was released from jail.
Graham flew down to Miami to hire the best attorney in the state to represent me. Sean and Harrison trailed after him on the first flight the following morning.
Two days later, I was out on bail and headed back to New York City with a cloud hanging over my head that has yet to leave.
I give him a hearty pat on the back. “Congratulations, Locke.”
Graham is on track toward the future he’s always desired, and I’ve taken the first step to escape the past I’ve never wanted.
This is a night we’ll both remember.
Chapter Sixteen
Juliet
I rush into the lobby of the building that houses Marks Creative’s offices.
It’s currently just past six p.m. on Saturday.
I was about to sit down for dinner with my sister at her favorite restaurant when I received a call from Mr. Marks.
My hands shook as I answered.
Margot was practically bouncing in her heels.
I haven’t explained my newest assignment to her because legally I can’t, and also, I don’t want to worry her.
If I tell her that I’m going to be spending a few days next week interviewing one of the most notorious accused murderers in the country, she’ll insist I take a job with her.
She’s been trying to get me on staff for more than a year.
First, she wanted me to work as her assistant. That would have been an epic fail since I have zero experience in that capacity.
Her second offer was to write all the website copy for Arten Lorey. I explained that my journalism degree didn’t afford me the insight I would need to make gingham napkins sound irresistible to her clientele.
The pay and perks were tempting, but journalism is where I want to make my mark.
I jab a finger into the elevator call button three times.
Mr. Marks sounded serious during our call. He requested a meeting as soon as possible. He didn’t need to tell me what it pertains to. I assume he wants an update on how my initial meeting with Kavan Bane went.
Fortunately, the NDA I signed at Mr. Bane’s office allows me to speak to Mr. Marks about my article.
I jump onto the elevator the moment the doors slide open. Pushing a finger against the button for the top floor, I take a breath.
This is what I’ve always wanted, yet, after spending most of today reading a book titled The Bad Bane, I feel a knot of anxiety deep inside.
That book, written by a reporter based in Miami, portrays Kavan as a heartless killer with no regard for anyone.
That doesn’t match with the man who saved me in the alley from the mugger.
That man showed compassion and concern.
He also said something to the mugger that convinced him to tell the police that I was the one who restrained him. I imagine Mr. Bane did that to keep his name out of it.
I understand why.
Even though the charges against him were dropped, he’s still an accused murderer in everyone’s eyes.
I have to wonder if that’s who he is to me.
I shake off those thoughts and turn to look at one of the mirrored walls in the elevator car. I’m wearing an off-the-shoulder black and white fitted dress and a pair of red-soled heels my sister bought me last year. I don’t consider this look professional, but there was no time for me to race home from the restaurant to change into something else.
Mr. Marks didn’t summon me here for a fashion show. He brought me here because of the assignment he trusted me with. That assignment is about to change my life forever.
“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”
I glance across the desk at Mr. Marks. Apparently, Saturdays aren’t casual days for him. He’s dressed as he always is in a dark blue suit complete with a bowtie.
“Of course, sir.”
He nods. “Were you able to meet with Mr. Bane last night?”
Crossing my legs, I lean back in the chair. “Yes, it was brief, but we met.”
“Good,” he says as he studies my face. “I’m wondering about something, Juliet.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s your connection to Kavan Bane?” His eyes narrow. “There must be a reason why he chose you to handle this assignment.”
I could confess that Kavan saved me from a mugger a few weeks ago, but I want Mr. Marks to focus on my talents as a journalist, not on some random encounter in an alley.
“He didn’t say,” I answer honestly.
Mr. Marks drums his fingers over the top of his desk. “When Mr. Rothe contacted me, he insisted that the article focus on the future of Bane Enterprises and Kavan’s vision to turn the company around. I want to make my wishes clear to you, Juliet.”
I perk up in my seat. My back goes ramrod straight. “What are your wishes, sir?”
He leans forward. “Kavan Bane killed his father five years ago, and every journalist in this country has been on the hunt for an exclusive with the man.”
Tension grips my shoulders because I know where this discussion is headed.
Mr. Marks locks his eyes on mine. “I believe that you have the skill to shift the focus from Bane Enterprises to Kavan’s story.”
I hold up a hand in objection. “Sir, Mr. Bane made it very clear that the subject of his father’s death is off-limits.”
“You have been given an opportunity that people with decades more experience than you have been fighting for,” he explains in an even tone. “It’s your job to push the envelope, Juliet. Get him to open up. Convince him that this is his opportunity to set the record straight.”
“I don’t believe he wants to set the record straight.”
“He does,” he says with conviction as if he has access to Mr. Bane’s private thoughts. “Anyone in that man’s position would want that.”
Feeling cornered, I struggle to find the right words. “Sir…Mr. Marks… I’m not sure that Mr. Bane will allow me to continue the interview process if I push him on anything personal. He was steadfast when he told me that the circumstances surrounding his father’s death are off-limits.”
“Juliet, this is your chance to prove that you are worthy of a senior position.” He glances past me to the open door of his office.
Even though it’s Saturday evening, many people are in the building, including on this floor. The news never stops.
“I understand that,” I assure him.
“Keep this to yourself, but I’ve promoted Courtney Cooper to a position with our London bureau. She’ll make the move six weeks from now.”
I try to hide the surprise that I’m feeling.
Courtney Cooper has been the face and voice of the morning news on Rise and Shine for more than two years. It’s the most popular national morning news program.
“That’s incredible for her,” I say, wondering why he’s telling me the new direction Courtney’s career is taking.
“And for you,” he whispers.
“For me?” I ask with skepticism. “How so?”
“If you nail this interview, Juliet, and get an exclusive on the night Ares Bane died, you are first in line to fill Courtney’s chair when we start looking for a replacement.”
This feels like a gift and a bribe all wrapped up in a not-so-tidy little bow.
I haven’t even entertained the idea of an on-air position. In the furthest recesses of my mind, I briefly considered that it could be an option years from now after I’d put in my time researching hard-hitting topics.
“I want you to understand that if you don’t nab an exclusive with Kavan about the night his father died, you will still have a position at Marks Creative.”
Why do I feel as though that’s his way of telling me that I may be knocked back down the ladder to RumorMel?
“I’ve been doing this for a very long time, Juliet.” Mr. Marks smiles. “In my experience, when a person like Kavan Bane reaches out to the media, deep down they want to share their story. They may frame it one way, but with compassionate and careful guidance from the journalist, they just may see the light. After all, releasing a burden as heavy as the one he carries could very well change his life.”
“And mine,” I whisper.
“Exactly.” His eyes shine. “Take it slow. Get to know the man from the inside out. A lot can be gained by observing, and since you’ll be by his side gathering research, I believe you’ll deliver an article that we can all agree will benefit everyone.”
An exclusive on the death of Ares Bane from the man accused of his murder will benefit Mr. Marks most of all. It will up his bottom line because he’ll sell a hell of a lot of magazines in print and digitally.
“As I said yesterday, I’m available night and day for you, Juliet.”
My gaze drifts to four framed pictures sitting on a shelf behind him. One is of him and his wife. I recognize her from the many searches of Mr. Marks that I did before I was interviewed for RumorMel.
The image next to that is of Mr. Marks and his son, Grayson. I know him from his award-winning poetry. Margot is a fan, so I gifted her a copy of his book for her birthday.
Another framed picture features a dark-haired man and a beautiful woman alongside two identical twin girls and an infant wrapped in a blue blanket. The last image is a woman who must be about my age. She’s standing on a corner, holding a bouquet of roses while she smiles brightly at the camera.
“Family is everything, isn’t it?”
My gaze trails to Mr. Mark’s face. “Your family is lovely.”
“They are,” he agrees. “There is an image online of Kavan and his father taken just hours before his death on a beach in Miami.”
I nod because I saw that photo online last night. I must have spent fifteen minutes staring at it.
Kavan’s hair was shorter, and his blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses, but all the emotion he was feeling was visible.
He was smiling broadly with his arm wrapped around the shoulder of a man who stood a few inches shorter than him in the sand.
Ares Bane had the same black hair as his son and the same strong jawline.
With the ocean as their backdrop, the men stood side-by-side, obviously happy to be together, comfortable, content in a way that sometimes we can only be with our family members.
Less than five hours later, Ares was dead.
“There’s a story there that is waiting to be told, Juliet.” Mr. Marks glances at the framed photos of his family. “My gut never steers me wrong, and it’s telling me that what happened in that hotel room in Miami needs to be shared with the world.”
My gut is telling me that Kavan Bane would do anything to keep that story hidden forever.
“You’re in a very enviable position,” he goes on, “I know you recognize that and will do your best to take full advantage of it.”
I read between those lines.
My boss wants me to dive deep into Mr. Bane’s past even though I’ve been warned not to by the man himself.
