Page 10 of R Is For Revenge: Part One
Luckily, I’m too busy to worry about it for more than a second.
The night stretches long, my feet already aching, but I’m too keyed up to care. I shadow Cassidy through table after table, carrying drinks, clearing plates, and trying to memorize every name and face she rattles off like it’s second nature.
By the time the clock edges past midnight, the floor starts to thin—some members lingering over drinks, others drifting toward the exits. Cassidy sends me to the end of the bar to wait while she settles a check for one of her regulars.
I lean against the polished wood, finally allowing myself a deep breath. Brent slides a glass of water my way. “You’re still standing. That’s a good sign.”
I smile faintly, murmuring my thanks as I take a sip.
That’s when I feel it—someone behind me. Close. Too close. My internal radar goes off and I freeze.
“Thought I’d find you here,” a low, familiar voice murmurs near my ear.
I stiffen slightly before turning. Grant King stands just behind me, his easy grin firmly in place, but there’s something sharper in his eyes now. He’s holding a tumbler of whiskey, his jacket gone, his tie loosened.
“Long night, huh?” he says, stepping closer, his arm brushing mine like it’s an accident. “Figured you could use some company.”
I force a polite smile and shift subtly, putting a sliver of space between us. “Thanks, but I’m just waiting for Cassidy.”
He leans in a fraction, his hand ghosting the small of my back. “Cassidy’s busy. And I thought maybe we could?—”
“Grant.”
The voice cuts clean through the hum of the bar. Smooth. Calm. But edged with something that makes the air go still. I know it right away and my heart ramps up, hitting so hard and fast I feel out of breath.
Grant straightens slightly, his head turning toward the source.
Beck. Thanks to Brent I have a name for the face of the man who’d interviewed me the night before.
Tall, composed, every line of him controlled, he smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t look angry, but there’s something in his gaze, something deliberate, that makes Grant shift his stance ever so slightly.
“Didn’t realize you were planning on monopolizing my staff,” Beck says evenly, his tone carrying a quiet authority that doesn’t leave room for argument.
Grant chuckles, a little forced, his hand falling away from my back. “Just making conversation, Beck. No harm done.”
Beck’s eyes flick to me for a moment—just long enough to make me feel pinned in place, like he’s assessing every detail in a heartbeat—before sliding back to Grant.
“Do me a favor,” Beck says smoothly, his tone soft but final. “Find conversation somewhere else.”
For a beat, the two men hold each other’s gaze, tension coiled tight enough that even I can feel it humming in the air. Then Grant smirks, lifts his glass, and steps away without another word. I swear he mutters something like,fucker,before he disappears.
Beck doesn’t watch him go. His focus shifts back to me, those dark eyes scanning my face like he’s cataloging every flicker of emotion. It’s unnerving how intense this man is. How darkly beautiful.
I give myself a mental shake and try to quiet my fast beating heart. I wonder, can he hear it?
“You alright?” he asks, his voice lower now, private.
I nod quickly. “Yeah. Fine. He just… surprised me.”
Something in his expression shifts, though it’s subtle, like a shadow passing across his face. Then it’s gone.
“Finish your water,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “Cassidy’s closing out. You’re done for the night.”
And just like that, he turns and walks away, calm and unhurried, leaving me standing there with my pulse racing and a dozen questions swirling in my head.
Whoisthis man, really? And why does it feel like, in a place full of people with too much power, he’s the only one who truly controls the room?
Cassidy appears a minute later, a printout in hand as she approaches the bar. One look at my face and she pauses, eyes narrowing.
