Page 14 of R Is For Revenge: Part One
Huxley takes a slow sip, watching me like he can see every angle in my head. “Careful, Beck. You pull too hard on a thread, sometimes the whole thing unravels.”
“No one wants to hear your philosophical bullshit.”
“No one?” He grins. Takes another sip. “Or just you?”
I offer him a faint, humorless smile as we head for the exit. Outside, it’s bright with sunlight glinting off glass, traffic pickingup, people spilling onto sidewalks with coffee and purpose. It’s Sunday but I’ve got a shitload of work to wade through. No rest for the wicked and all that.
And tomorrow night?
Jules Harper will step into my world again, closer to me than she realizes, playing a part in a game she doesn’t even know has started.
And I’ll be waiting to make my first move.
Hux declines my offer of lunch. Says he’s got a meeting he can’t get out of but doesn’t elaborate. I know something’s up with him and pause as my driver pulls up.
“You okay?”
Hux nods. “Yeah.” He smiles and steps back. “Never better. See you Friday.”
“Friday?”
“Fuck sake, Beck. Get your head together. It’s poker night and it’s your turn to host.”
Shit. “Right. See you then.” I make a note to send out an invite and see how many of the boys can make it, then climb into my car.
“Where to, sir?”
“Home.”
It’s nighttime. Hours later and the city lights spill through the glass walls of my office, throwing long shadows across the floor. The desk in front of me is stacked with reports and proposals, deals that need my signature, opportunities and ideas that need implementation. Some need another look from my lawyer, while others need a fucking decision. Normally, I’d burn through them in an hour.
Tonight, I can’t focus on a damn thing.
Every line I read blurs into the same thought: Jules Harper.
I lean back in my chair, fingers drumming against the armrest. She’s only been in my orbit for two nights and already,she’s in my head. Not just because she’s Harold’s daughter. Not just because she’s the last thing the old bastard has left.
She’s not what I expected and that’s something I can admit now that I’m alone. It’s the way she carries herself. Calm, poised, but not fake. All that hair pulled back, clothes neat but simple. Like she’s walking a fine line between trying to look like she belongs and not having the means to do it.
She doesn’t act like a princess. Doesn’t evenlooklike one, aside from a body that doesn’t quit and the classic model looks she inherited from her mother.
Which makes me wonder what the hell her angle is.
I open my laptop and pull up a browser, typing in “Jules Horner” first. Hundreds of results, none of them her. Too common. I’m pretty sure she attended prep school in New York, so I add that and find a single old alumni page.
Jules Horner – B.A. in Art History, University of Colorado.
That’s it. No social media. No public career moves. Nothing that screamsHorner money.
She’s either good at covering her tracks… or she really has nothing left.
I already know her mother remarried when Harold lost his fortune. Serves him right, I think savagely. I already know her sister is married and living overseas. There was the brother but after his accident he’s been out of the picture as well.
What the fuck? Women in their twenties are all over social media. There’s not enough here. She’s too clean, too quiet. No one just disappears from the internet these days.
I grab my phone and scroll to Cade’s number. He picks up on the second ring, his voice rough like I dragged him out of a warm bed.
“Beck. You do realize it’s almost midnight, right?”
