CRUEL (The Buck Boys Heroes Book 2), page 8
“Thank you,” Nara whispers as she clears our dishes. “Is there anything else I can get for either of you? Perhaps a brandy?”
The Manhattan and the three glasses of wine that followed are enough for Juliet.
I hold up a hand. “We’re fine, Nara.”
“Yes. We. Are. Fine,” Juliet says with a flare of her eyes as she stares across the table at me.
Scrubbing the article and taking her to my bed is tempting, but that would complicate my life in a way I don’t need right now.
I grip the edge of the table with both hands. “Tell Alcott to arrange for Drew to take Juliet home.”
Nara mutters something in agreement before she walks away.
Juliet sighs. “The night has come to an end.”
“It has.” I push to stand before I round the table and place a hand on the back of her chair.
She looks up at me.
I stare into her eyes before my gaze drops. From this angle, the soft swell of the top of her breasts is visible.
“Dinner was nice,” she whispers. “I’ll see you on Monday, Mr. Bane.”
I step back to give her room to stand. She does just that, finding her balance quickly before shifting to the right in her heels.
“Thank you again for this opportunity.” Her eyes find mine. “I think it’s going to change my life in a very big way.”
It will. I have to wonder how much it’s going to change mine.
Chapter Twenty
Juliet
“Did you go on a bender last night?” My friend, Sinclair Morgan, asks as she slices a strawberry. “You could have skipped brunch for bed, Juliet.”
Sinclair lives in the same building as I do.
When Margot and I moved in, Sinclair stopped by with a big basket of chocolate chip muffins. It didn’t take us more than five minutes to realize that we both make our living as writers.
Sinclair does contract work as a ghostwriter. Her brother, Berk, owns a publishing company and has hired her to work on a few projects. Naturally, she hasn’t been able to tell me what memoirs she’s written, but it’s made for a lot of fun every time I try and guess.
I tug on the waistband of the blue sweatpants I’m wearing. “I had a Manhattan and three glasses of wine.”
Sinclair’s head turns so abruptly that it sends her brown hair whipping over her shoulder. “Way to pound them back.”
I rest a hand against my forehead. “I have such a bad headache.”
“You have a killer hangover,” she says as she breaks eggs into a glass bowl. “I knew it. I put a little something in your coffee that’ll help.”
I reach forward to scoop the ceramic mug from the coffee table. I give the contents a sniff, but all that greets me is the soothing scent of dark roasted beans. “It’s not a shot of something, is it? The last thing I need is more alcohol.”
“It’s a teaspoon of brown sugar,” she confesses. “My grandpa used to tell my brothers to drink that when they had too much beer.”
I take a small sip. I never put sugar in my coffee, but I may need to start. The sugar adds just the right note of sweetness.
Sinclair busies herself scrambling the eggs in a pan. “Were you on a date last night?”
One of the things we can talk about is the men in our lives. Currently, it’s the lack of men in our lives. We’re both casually dating and made a pact to never set each other up with anyone.
Bad set-ups can ruin friendships, and although I wouldn’t consider our friendship close, it’s fun, and having someone my age to hang out with has been a plus.
Shaking my head, I take another sip of the coffee. “It was work.”
“Who were you trying to get a scoop on?” She chuckles. “The owner of a bar?”
Despite my best effort to avoid moving too much, my head falls back in laughter. “No.”
“I know you can’t tell me, but nod if you got drunk with a man.”
I nod.
“A good-looking, single man?”
I nod twice.
She glances down at the pan in front of her. “Was flirting involved?”
I wince. “I think I called him hot. It slipped out.”
She points at me with a spatula in her hand. “What did he say when you called him hot?”
I look into the coffee cup. “Nothing. He skipped right on by that.”
“Arrogant asshole,” she spits out.
I laugh. “You have no idea, Sin.”
She puts the eggs on two plates next to the strawberries and whole grain toast. “I will once the article pops up on RumorMel. I’ll keep an eye out for it.”
I wish I could tell her everything. I wanted to tell Margot too, but I can’t. I’m legally bound to keep my mouth shut.
When the article is published in New York Viewpoint, I’ll finally be able to bask in the glory of securing an interview with one of the most notorious men in the country.
“Let’s eat,” she approaches me with a plate in each hand. “Do you want to watch our favorite Duke?”
I reach for a plate of food even though I don’t know how much of it I can stomach. “Absolutely.”
Sinclair tucks her legs under her as she takes a seat next to me on her couch. Her blue eyes scan my face. “Maybe once this article is published, you and whoever you got drunk with can have some fun together.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
She takes a bite of the corner of her toast. “You don’t know that.”
I reach forward to place my coffee mug back on the table. “He’s intense, Sin. Crazy intense. This is an assignment, and once it’s over, it’s over.”
Her gaze drops to the plate on her lap. “It’s not over until fate says it is.”
Fate.
That’s a concept I used to believe in until fate proved that what it dishes out isn’t always welcome.
Wearing a pair of charcoal gray pants, a short-sleeved white blouse, and my black heels, I step toward the SUV that I know Mr. Bane sent for me.
I recognize the driver, Drew, immediately.
He waves a hand as he pulls the vehicle next to the curb in front of my apartment building.
“That’s your ride?” Ricky, the doorman, questions from behind me.
He asked if I needed help when I stepped off the elevator. I told him I was fine since the strap of my purse was wrapped around my body, courtesy of Margot. That did make it easier to carry my laptop case.
Nigel mentioned that I’d have an office to work in, but my own computer is a must.
I’m still considering what Mr. Marks said about the article. I know he wants me to dive deep into the night Ares Bane died. My plan is to test those waters to see how Kavan reacts.
After the other night, I’m more confident that I can push the envelope a bit without risking the assignment.
I glance over my shoulder. “It is.”
Ricky smiles. “I hope you have a wonderful day, Juliet.”
I offer him the expected, “I hope you do too,” as Drew exits the car.
“Good morning, Miss Bardin,” he greets me before opening the back passenger door. “You’ll find a cup of coffee there for you. Cream and sugar are on the center console. There is also a selection of pastries and fruit for you.”
“Wow,” Ricky whispers as he moves to stand next to me. “Someone is going all out to make your ride to work a special one.”
I turn to look at him. “Don’t mention this to Margot, okay?”
The last thing I need is my sister questioning me about the full-on buffet on wheels that swooped in to pick me up today.
“My lips are sealed, Juliet.”
I guarantee that by handing him the twenty dollar bill that I tucked in the front pocket of my pants. I do that every morning, so I can stop and buy a large coffee and a pastry from Palla on Fifth.
They make the best cup of coffee in the city. It’s pricey, but it’s an investment that has always served me well. The extra jolt of caffeine keeps my energy level high for hours.
He thanks me with a curt nod of his head. “Let me help you with your laptop case.”
Before I can hand it off to Ricky, Drew has it in his hands. “It’s my pleasure to help in any way that I can, Miss Bardin.”
With a shrug of my shoulders, I say goodbye to Ricky again and settle onto the soft leather of the back seat.
Scooping up the cup filled with coffee, I let out a sigh when I see the distinctive logo stamped on the side of it.
It’s from Palla on Fifth.
Mr. Bane is either a mind reader, or the man knows almost everything there is to know about me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Juliet
“I thought I’d be working at the Bane Enterprises building,” I stress the last three words to Nigel.
He steps aside as a man with a briefcase rushes past us on the sidewalk.
“Mr. Bane prefers to work from home.”
I look up at the building that houses Kavan’s penthouse.
When I left here on Saturday night, I had no idea that less than thirty six hours later, I’d be back.
“We can conduct the interview at his office,” I suggest. “Then I can work there piecing it together while he comes back here to work.”
He shoots me a look. “That won’t work. Mr. Bane is expecting you. I’ll see you up and get you settled in your office.”
“I have an office in his penthouse?”
He nods as if that’s a normal thing. “I do as well.”
I’ve heard stories about eccentric billionaires before, but this tops them all.
I understand that Mr. Bane has his reasons for wanting to stay out of the public eye, but this seems extreme.
I don’t get to set the rules for this assignment, so I nod. “All right.”
Nigel moves to grab my laptop case. “I can help with that.”
I hold tightly to the handle, wanting to maintain control over something. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”
He offers me a small smile. “I realize this may seem unorthodox, Juliet, but I assure you that you’ll find your office comfortable.”
“I’m sure I will,” I say, even though I don’t believe it because I didn’t think I’d ever step foot in the penthouse again.
“Shall we head up?” I take one last long lingering look at the SUV that I just climbed out of.
It’s my escape route. It’s the way back to the normalcy of the life I had up until a few days ago.
It’s also the direct route to either my desk in the RumorMel office or more likely, the unemployment line.
“I’m ready,” I say with all the confidence I can muster as I head into the building where Kavan Bane is sitting in wait for me.
I get the once-over as soon as I enter the penthouse.
Mr. Bane, dressed in a dark gray three-piece suit, black button-down shirt, and matching tie, rakes me from head-to-toe.
I look professional. My outfit won’t win any awards for best-dressed journalist, but it’s fine.
I’m here to gain insight into the stunning man in front of me. That’s my only objective.
“I trust that the drive here was satisfactory.”
It was in a luxury SUV with a free hot cup of coffee and delicious berries and grapes.
I usually take the subway to work, so this edges out that ten-fold.
“Yes, it was fine,” I say because I don’t want to focus on a car ride when there are much more important things to discuss.
“I have a conference call shortly.” He glances at the big silver watch on his wrist.
It’s an Abdons watch.
I know that because several of the celebrities I’ve chased after for stories have had similar watches.
“All right,” I offer in response.
“Nigel will show you to your office.” His hand motions to a corridor. “If you require anything, he’ll help you.”
I nod.
“We’ll get started once my call is done.” He glances at Nigel. “I need you back at the office by eleven to meet…”
“Understood,” Nigel interrupts him in a rush as if Mr. Bane was about to reveal the name of someone notorious.
“Mrs. Baxter,” Kavan finishes his thought.
That’s a name I know, and there’s nothing notorious about her. Beverly Baxter heads a charity that is focused on helping young pregnant women. Baxter House provides lodging and medical care. They also have many programs that support the moms and their children after birth and beyond.
In the limited research I’ve done on Bane Enterprises, I haven’t found a link between Baxter House and Bane Enterprises.
I make a mental note to question Kavan about that.
He studies my face. “I’ll speak with you soon, Juliet.”
I stand next to Nigel as I watch Kavan walk down a corridor and disappear into a doorway before the door softly closes.
“Are you ready to see your office?” There’s a bright note in Nigel’s voice.
I look up at him. “How long have you known him?”
I can tell he’s debating whether or not he should answer the question. His eyes flit across my face before he looks down. “I was one of the first people to hold him after he was born.”
As hard as that image is to render in my mind, I try.
“His life has been spotted with misery, Juliet.” He lowers his voice. “He’s come out of that with a level of strength that I admire.”
Adjusting the strap of my purse over my chest, I nod. “You care about him.”
He lets out a heavy exhale. “Like a son.”
If a man as gentle as Nigel sees Kavan in that light, he can’t be as bad as all the books I bought portray him to be.
“I trust him with my life,” he adds. “There is no one else on earth that I can say that about.”
I take in the slight smile on his face.
It suddenly disappears and is replaced with laughter. “Don’t quote me on that, Juliet.”
I laugh too. “Consider it off the record.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kavan
Scrubbing a hand over my forehead, I slam my phone on my desk.
My father’s connections in business are still haunting me.
He was the type of man who bought up companies that could barely stay afloat. With his magic touch, they’d blossom into something formidable. That always made the former owners proud.
Under my leadership, many of those same subsidiaries have breathed their last breath.
That’s not a reflection of my business acumen. It’s more about the ebb and flow of the economy and new trends that have taken over.
The conference call that just ended included two men who worked closely with my father for decades. They sought out those struggling businesses, made the introductions with my father and the owners, and took his direction when helping build them up.
Recently, I put both of them on notice.
They are well past the age of retirement, and it’s time for them to move on and enjoy the trappings of the salaries and bonuses my father set them up with.
They are fighting me on that.
One went so far as to threaten to write a book detailing his knowledge of the months leading up to my father’s death and the immediate aftermath of that.
I laughed in response.
I’ve lost count of the number of self-proclaimed insiders who have put pen to paper to write what they want to market as the ‘shocking tell-all.’
Since no one was in that hotel room in Miami but Ares and me, a tell-all will never hold the truth that I do inside of me.
A soft knock on my office door lures my gaze to it.
“Come in,” I call out, wondering if it’s Nigel, Juliet, or a member of my staff.
Nara and Alcott are here, as are a few other people I view as essential.
Drew is no doubt milling about, as is the woman who sees to it that my wardrobe is always in order, and my home.
As the door opens, Nigel appears. “I’m going to leave for the Baxter meeting, sir.”
I move to stand. “Good.”
“Juliet is in her office.” A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “She’s comfortable there. It’s obvious that she met Nara before today. They had a spirited discussion about honey ice cream.”
I didn’t see a need to fill Nigel in on my impromptu dinner party, but he’s fishing for information now, so I satisfy his curiosity. “I crossed paths with Juliet on Saturday. She joined me for dinner.”
“She did?”
Nigel doesn’t do feigned surprise well. He had already pieced all of that together on his own.
“She’s lovely, sir.” He glances at me. “There is something refreshing about her.”
I won’t go down this path with him. Juliet Bardin is here for one reason and one reason only. She’s going to write an article. Simple. When that task is complete, we’ll part ways.
“The Baxter meeting, Nigel,” I remind him with a tap of my finger against the face of my watch. “Don’t keep Beverly waiting.”
“Don’t keep Juliet waiting,” he counters. “She’s eager to begin the interview.”
I’m sure she is.
I’ll take a moment to respond to a few emails, and then Juliet will be my only focus for the next few hours.
“You wanted me to overhear Beverly Baxter’s name,” Juliet accuses as soon as I’ve sat down in a leather chair in the corner of the office I had set up for her.
It’s a suitable space with a white table desk, a few flowering plants, and several pieces of framed art on the walls. All those are feminine and bright and will find their way into an auction benefitting Baxter House once Juliet’s assignment is complete.
The artist is an up-and-comer that I’ve had my eye on for some time.
I cross my legs. “Did I?”
She tosses me a smirk from where she’s seated in the white leather chair behind the desk. “Of course you did. You don’t strike me as the type of man who lets anything slip.”
