Page 5 of R Is For Revenge: Part One
Before I can askwho exactlyI’m about to meet, Brent heads for the doors and gestures me inside.
The room is huge, designed like a cross between a lounge and a private club. There’s a long bar to the right, deep leather couches scattered around, and floor-to-ceiling windows on one side overlooking the city—the opposite are the two-way windows that overlook the club. The space has been redone since the last time I’d been up here.
I see four men and alarm bells begin to ring. Danger they say. Get the hell out. Heart in my throat I try to stay calm, but this doesn’t feel great.
One of the men is sprawled on a couch with a blonde draped over him, both of them laughing at something the other said. Two others lean against the bar, sipping from crystal glasses. The fourth…
The fourth is standing near the wide window that looks down on the main floor of the club. His back is to me, broad shoulders framed by a perfectly tailored shirt. Even from here, there’s something about him—stillness, control—that makes the air feel charged. I know in an instant he’s the one I’m supposed to see.
Brent clears his throat. “Boss, this is Jules Harper. She’s here about the position.”
The man by the window turns and everything in me goes still.
He’s… beautiful. There’s no other way to describe him. Thick dark hair cut expertly in a way that lets the waves frame a face made of hard angles and calm intensity. He’s sporting the kind of five o’clock shadow that enhances all of it. His eyes—God, his eyes—lock on mine, and I feel pinned in place, like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t even know I had. I can’t tell the color fromwhere I stand but they’re light. A perfect foil for his dark, good looks.
He doesn’t speak right away. Just studies me, slow and deliberate, cold even. As if deciding whether I’m worth the oxygen in the room. The silence stretches long enough that my palms start to sweat. Can he hear my heart beating like a fucking drum?
I don’t think I’ve ever had such a visceral reaction to a man before and I’m not quite sure what it means. Mouth dry I consider saying something, but what? My brain seems to be on hiatus and my feet feel like they’re encased in cement.
Finally, he sets his glass down and steps closer, each movement unhurried, precise. The two men at the bar fall quiet, watching. Even the guy on the sofa lifts his head and pushes the blonde off of his lap.
“So,” he says, voice low, smooth, but edged like a blade. “You want to work here.”
It’s not a question, not really. More like a challenge.
I want to turn my ass around and leave but I think of my brother. Of the bills marked overdue. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.
“Yes. I…Brent said you were hiring, and I’m?—”
His gaze doesn’t waver, and for reasons I can’t explain, my words tangle in a whole bunch of nothing. I can’t seem to make my tongue work. My pulse pounds in my ears.
There’s something about him—something dangerous and magnetic all at once. And standing here, with every instinct screaming that I should tread carefully, I realize something. I have no idea who this man is, other than knowing he’s a big deal.
But it feels as if he already knowseverythingabout me. I should be scared. Terrified even. Instead, I’m curious and maybe a little bit reckless. Not a great combination, but with limitedchoices in my immediate future, what the fuck as I supposed to do? Run?
I lift my chin and wait. I’m done tucking in my tail. Done with the shit jobs and shit pay. I want this job. And he’s going to give it to me.
CHAPTER 3
BECK
The elevator dings softly as Abel and Cade leave for the night, the heavy door of the suite swinging shut behind them with a muted thud. Braedon left with the blonde hours ago, her shrill giggles now silent. Thank fucking God.
Silence wraps around me in layers. It’s a weight I normally enjoy but tonight I’m too wired. Downstairs, the club is a low hum of music and laughter. There are deals being struck, secrets exchanged—but up here?
It’s just me and I’m restless. I briefly consider calling out for some paid pussy. Sex usually goes a long way in easing tension. But I feel like nothing will take off the edge tonight and like a caged animal I’ve been pacing for the last twenty minutes. My skin is tight and I don’t like the sensation.
I leave the private suite and take the stairs up another level to the penthouse. My real sanctuary. The walls are floor-to-ceiling glass on three sides, giving me a panoramic view of the city I’ve come to call home. I pour another drink, don’t bother turning on the lights. The city glows below me, enough to cast long shadows across the room.
I don’t sit. I keep on pacing. My mind works fast and I’ve got a plan in place before my tumbler is empty.
Jules Horner.
She looks like her father around the eyes. It took me a second to place it—the way her gaze searched the room, observant and steady. But it was there. The shape of her mouth, the set of her jaw, the curve of her cheek...those things she could thank her mother for. An ex-model with legs for days and the kind of face that graced billboards. But Harold Horner’s blood runs through her veins, and her big wide eyes belong to him.
She doesn’t know who I am.
Didn’t recognize the name Beck Gaines when I introduced myself. Didn’t flinch when Brent said“boss”or when the guys turned quiet the second she walked in. She stood there—no coat, no pretense, no fear—like a lamb wandering into a den of wolves. If I didn’t hate her so goddamn much I suppose a part of me would be impressed. Takes a lot for a woman to walk into a room full of men she doesn’t know and act with confidence. Like she belongs. Like she has control.
