Cruel (The Buck Boys Heroes 2)

“Sneaking down alleys,” she answers without pause.

I feel a twisted sense of satisfaction over the fact that she’s not inching away from me. She’s standing her ground, even though I’m confident that she’s had enough time to read about the sordid details of the night my father died.

“There are safer routes to take to get where you’re going, Juliet.”

“I know.” She looks into my eyes. “What’s life without a little calculated risk?”

“Those are wise words from someone so young.”

The lures another laugh from her, but this one is open-mouthed. “Someone so young? How old do you think I am?”

“You’re twenty-five.”

She nods. “You’re twenty-nine.”

“You’ve done more research.”

Her gaze drifts to the right. “It’s part of my job.”

“Let me guess.” I cross my arms over my chest. “You read some or all of The Bad Bane.”

Her eyes travel over my shoulders to my biceps and then trail down the gray sweater I’m wearing to the front of my black pants before she looks at my face again. “I don’t rely on fiction as a source for my articles.”

“It’s being marketed as true crime,” I point out.

“True to who?” She drops one hand to her hip. “The author? You’ve never spoken to him, have you?”

“I haven’t.”

“The first rule of journalism is to rely on cold, hard facts.” Her eyes never leave mine. “I prefer gathering information from the source than a third party who has no direct knowledge of the subject at hand.”

This is a woman who takes her job seriously. That’s not surprising given her inexperience and her eagerness to prove herself to Thurston Marks.

“Have you had dinner, Juliet?”

The abrupt subject change catches her off guard. I see a flash of confusion in her expression before she drops her gaze to the ground to find her bearings. “No. Not yet.”

“I live close.” I adjust the cuff on the sleeve of my sweater to uncover my watch. “Join me there for dinner.”

She considers the invitation carefully, not saying anything as she searches my face for my motivation.

She won’t find it there.

Necessity has taught me how to shroud my emotions behind a blank expression. I’m inviting her home with me so I can set this interview process in motion as soon as possible.

It won’t go further than a few general questions about Bane Enterprises, but it’s an unexpected opportunity to lay the foundation of what I want the article to look like when we’re done.

“I can do that,” she says. “To talk about the article.”

“Of course.” I motion to the end of the alley leading out to Park Avenue. “This way, Juliet.”

She falls in step beside me, and even though the city around us is bursting with the noise generated by horns and the people who call this place home, I hear the faint sound of her keys hitting the bottom of her purse as they fall from her grip.

Chapter Eighteen

Juliet

I wasn’t surprised that a private elevator brought us up to Kavan’s penthouse. An attendant was waiting at a side door of the skyscraper on Fifth Avenue. He let us in, and then we walked silently down a corridor to an elevator where a man greeted Mr. Bane by name.

He rode the elevator with us to the top floor of the building, and when we stepped off, he wished both of us a good night.

I thought I’d have a great night having dinner with my sister, but that fell to the wayside.

I’m currently standing in the foyer to Kavan Bane’s penthouse while he has a hushed conversation with a man in a dark suit.

The man can’t be much older than me. Behind them, a blonde-haired woman dressed in a chef’s coat seems to be waiting her turn to get in the conversation.

I tear my gaze away from them to focus on the room in front of me.

It’s an open space leading to a bank of windows opposite where I’m standing. Even from this distance, I can see the lit skyline of the city.

The décor is not what I expected, although I’m not sure what I thought I’d see when Kavan unlocked the door.

The floors are dark hardwood. The furniture is oversized and crafted in leather in masculine tones. There’s a large rug near the fireplace. Next to that is an antique table and lamp. A stunning wooden cart sits nearby. Atop of it is an array of beautiful decanters; all are half-filled with amber liquids of varying shades.

The ambiance of the space is both strong and calming.

“Juliet.” My name snaps off of Mr. Bane’s lips. “Take a look at the menu for dinner.”

A menu for dinner?

Judging by the chef’s jacket draped around the woman standing next to Kavan, I assumed that she would be cooking for us.

I approach him and the woman. She can’t be more than a few years older than me.

“Good evening, Miss Bardin,” she greets me. “I’m Nara. I’ve prepared several options for dinner.”