Page 17 of R Is For Revenge: Part One
My stomach knots. The envelope is generous—too generous, I realize. It feels wrong.
“What’s up?” Cassidey is pulling on her coat, but moves toward me, eyes drifting down to the envelope of cash. “Let me guess. Grant.”
I nod.
“I didn’t flirt. I didn’t…”
Cassidy shrugs. “Look if he wants to give you a generous tip, take it. That’s nothing to him. And as long as you know what he’s all about, you’ll be fine.”
Before I can respond she’s already halfway out the door, muttering something about catching her train.
Okay, I think, I will. I’m already planning how I’ll spend the cash. I tuck the paper back inside the envelope, unsure whether to feel flattered or unsettled. Maybe both.
I’m slinging my bag over my shoulder, ready to leave, when Brent calls out.
“Jules. Hold up a second.”
I pause at the door. “Yeah?”
He nods toward the stairs. “Boss wants to see you before you head out.”
My brows knit. “The manager or Beck?”
Brent’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that makes my pulse stutter. “Beck. Said it won’t take long. He’s upstairs in his suite.”
“Is this normal?” I hesitate, fingers tightening on the strap of my bag. “Do you… know why?”
He just shrugs. “Didn’t ask. But he’s not the kind of guy you keep him waiting.”
The ball of nerves that have been sitting in my chest all night spikes sharp and hot as I turn toward elevator. The club is quiet now, almost eerily so. The low lights cast long shadows across the walls as I head up.
At the top, the double doors to Beck’s private suite stand open, spilling a warm glow of amber light into the hall. Why do Ifeel like I’m about to cross some invisible line when all I want to do is turn tail and run the other way. But with no choice, I draw in a slow breath, square my shoulders, and step inside.
The suite feels different tonight. That first night when Brent walked me up to meet Beck for the first time things had been quick, formal. A handshake, a few questions, a steady look that seemed to weigh every word I said before he told Brent to put me on the schedule. He’d had friends or business acquaintances. He was entertaining.
Don’t forget the half-dressed hooker with her tits out.I’m far from a prude, but that display left a bad taste in my mouth. Still, I’d feel better if she was here.
Tonight, it’s just the two of us.
I pause just inside. The large area is weirdly welcoming, aside from the fact that everything inside was chosen to project power without trying too hard. Dark wood, leather, soft amber light. A panoramic window takes up one wall, the city glowing beyond it. I bet he paid a fortune for someone to deck out the place.
Beck is near the bar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie gone, a crystal tumbler in his hand. He watches me. He’s quiet and still and my nerves jangle along with my heartbeat.
“Jules,” he says, voice calm and low. “Your first full VIP shift. How’d it go?”
I clutch my bag strap a little tighter, the envelope of cash tucked under my arm like it might burn through. “Cassidy said I did okay.”
“Cassidy doesn’t hand out compliments unless she means them.” He sets his glass down, eyes holding mine. “I’m glad.”
I nod but don’t reply because I don’t really know what to say.
For a moment, silence stretches long and thin, like a rubber band about to snap, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside. Beck steps closer—not crowding me, but close enough that the air feels denser, heavier. And suddenly I feel as if I can’tbreathe. This man makes me nervous as fuck. He’s too big. Too powerful. Too delicious. Too dark somehow.
He scares me and I’m not exactly sure why because truthfully, he’s been nothing but polite. Hasn’t made any passes or said anything inappropriate.
His gaze dips, just briefly, to the envelope in my arm. “Grant King leave you something?”
Distracted by his full lips, I exhale, hating the heat that rises in my face. I wonder how he knows. And nervous, clear my throat a bit. “He… left a note. And a tip.”
