Page 22 of R Is For Revenge: Part One
I arch a brow, setting my cards down. “She’s not my girl.”
“Yet,” Huxley says, voice smooth, sipping his drink.
“She’s a means to an end. That’s it.”
Braedon grins like a cat who’s cornered a mouse. “Sure. And it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s got legs that kill and a face that would make most men forget their own name.”
I don’t rise to the bait. I say nothing.
Huxley studies me over the rim of his glass, his smirk fading just enough to let something sharper through. “You’re not dealing with property. You’re not breaking down a business. She’s flesh and blood.”
Before I can answer, there’s a knock at the suite door. Brent steps inside, nodding toward me. “She’s here.”
The room quiets slightly, the others exchanging looks—some amused, some curious—as I rise from my chair.
“Let her in,” I say simply.
Brent disappears back into the hall. A moment later, I hear the soft click of heels on the hardwood outside, the quiet rustle of movement as Jules steps into the lion’s den for the first time.
The air shifts as the door opens, the warm amber light catching on her dark hair, the black clothes I told her to wear. She pauses just inside, her eyes flicking over the room—at the smoke, the cards, the men who own more of the world than most will ever see.
Jules steps inside like she’s trying to make herself smaller, shoulders drawn just enough to suggest nerves but not fear. Her black blouse is simple, modest, but it hugs her shape in a way that earns Braedon’s slow, appreciative glance from across the table. She doesn’t notice—yet.
But I fucking do.
Her eyes flick across the room, taking in the smoke, the low light, the men she probably recognizes from business headlines if not the society pages. When her gaze finally lands on me, there’s a flicker—something sharp, like she’s bracing herself without even realizing it.
“Jules,” I say, my tone even, cutting through the low hum of conversation. “Drinks are set on the bar. Food’s coming up in ten. Keep glasses full, ashtrays cleared and stay quiet unless spoken to. Understood?”
She doesn’t like the way I framed things. I see it in the way her eyes narrow a bit. “Yes, sir,” she says softly, nodding once.
Braedon leans back in his chair, his grin lazy as he looks her over. “I forgot how cute she is.”
I don’t glance his way. “She’s here to work, not to entertain you.”
Huxley frowns over the rim of his glass. “That’s a first. Usually you’re the one with the rule about not mixing business and pleasure.”
I ignore that, sliding my cards toward Abel for a shuffle. “Deal the hand.”
Jules crosses to the bar, her movements precise but careful, like she’s aware of every eye in the room. She pours Braedon a whiskey first—he must have snapped his fingers, the bastard—and delivers it without flinching even as his grin widens.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, low enough I barely catch it.
She doesn’t reply, just turns smoothly back toward the bar, and I catch the faintest exhale when her back is to us.
If I was a nice man, I might even feel sorry for her.
The cards are dealt, chips tossed in neat stacks, the banter rising and falling like a tide. Every so often, one of the guys tries to draw her into conversation—Braedon asking where she’s from, Huxley asking if she knows how to play. She deflects politely, always circling back to work: pouring, clearing, fading back into the edges of the room.
But I’m watching closer than they are. Not for nerves, but for tells.
The way her gaze lingers, just a beat, on the panoramic view of the city when she thinks no one’s looking. The way her shoulders ease slightly, when Abel—silent as ever—offers a soft thank-you for a refill, as if simple courtesy throws her off balance in this room of self-absorbed assholes.
She doesn’t belong here. Not yet.
And that’s exactly why I brought her. I want her off kilter.
Every hour she spends in this suite is another reminder of what kind of world she’s stepped into—a world where I set the terms, where the men around this table hold more power than most governments, and where one wrong move can make you or break you.
