Cruel (The Buck Boys Heroes 2)

Chapter Nine

Juliet

We step off the elevator on the executive floor of Marks Creative, and I need a second to take it all in.

I thought my sister’s offices were beautiful, but this puts them to shame.

The floor is polished stone. The reception desk is crafted from steel with sleek edges. The lighting is muted, but the fixtures themselves are breathtaking.

“Wow,” I whisper.

“I know, right?” Hugo shoots me a look. “The first time I was called up here, I snapped a few pictures for my wife. She’s an interior designer.”

I take one last glance to the left and then the right before my gaze lands on the man behind the reception desk. I suck in a deep breath. “Is it show time, Hugo?”

“It is,” he says, gesturing to the right. “They’re waiting for us, so let’s head in.”

I turn to look at him. “They?”

Hugo moves a hand, so it’s hovering just inches from my arm. “We need to get in there, Juliet.”

Nodding, I start in the direction I know we’re headed. “I wish I would have worn something else today.”

Hugo chuckles. “You look great. Stylish with a little edge.”

I glance down at my dress. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Smiling, he leads me around a corner past an open area where many people are seated around a large table. “Mr. Marks appreciates personality, and you have it in droves. It shows in your work, in your outfit…you’re one of a kind.”

This sounds like a pep talk my dad gave me before my first job.

I suspect Hugo is close in age to my father, so I take some comfort in his words of encouragement.

We round another corner with the heels of my boots clicking out a reminder of every step I’m taking toward the unknown.

“Good morning, Hugo.” A dark-haired woman wearing a brown pantsuit approaches us. “I need to run up to marketing for a moment. He’s expecting you. Go right on in.”

“Thanks, Shirlene.” Hugo smiles. “This is Juliet Bardin.”

“Hi, Juliet.” She raises a hand to wave at me.

“That’s Mr. Marks’s assistant,” Hugo whispers as Shirlene walks toward a corridor. “That woman is the salt of the earth.”

I nod, still taking in my surroundings while butterflies flutter in my stomach.

“This way.” Hugo gestures to the right.

I make the turn and then stop as soon as I see the open double doors that reveal a gray-haired man sitting behind a desk that outshines the one in reception.

He pushes to his feet.

It’s him.

Thurston Marks, the owner of Marks Creative, tosses me a broad smile, and with a clap of his hands, he calls out, “There she is. There’s the woman we’ve been waiting for.”

I walk into Mr. Marks’s office with Hugo on my heel. I have no idea if he’s sticking around, but I secretly hope so.

Having a familiar face nearby would alleviate a lot of the anxiety that’s taken hold of me.

Mr. Marks extends a hand as he rounds his desk. “It’s good to meet you, Miss Bardin.”

I shake his hand. “Please call me Juliet.”

He nods but doesn’t offer that same sentiment to me. Why would he? The man runs a media empire. I’m one of the thousands of people employed by him.

He buttons the jacket of his dark blue suit. “Juliet it is. I’d like you to meet Mr. Rothe.”

I follow the path of his hand as it trails to the right. Another gray-haired man in a suit nods at me. He’s wearing wire-rimmed glasses and has a phone in his hand.

When Hugo first hired me, I took an entire weekend to memorize the names of all of the executives at Marks Creative. I wanted to be prepared in case I ever ran into any of them in the elevator. Knowing someone’s name before they are introduced to you can leave a lasting impression on them.

It can also be creepy as fuck but, so far, I’ve managed not to creep out anyone at Marks.

If Nigel Rothe works here, he has to be a new hire because I don’t recognize his name or face from any of the headshots on the Marks Creative website.

“It’s good to meet you, Mr. Rothe.” I move closer to him to shake his hand.

He offers me a smile along with the handshake. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Bardin.”

“Juliet,” I tell him as well.

“Why don’t we all take a seat?” Mr. Marks motions toward three black leather chairs that are facing his desk. “We have a great deal to discuss.”

I move first, claiming the middle chair as my own as Hugo sits to my right and Mr. Rothe to my left.

“We’ll start with the non-disclosure agreement,” Mr. Marks says, flipping open the cover of a file folder. “You’ll sign this, Juliet.”

Will I?

I know better than to sign something I haven’t read.

He spins a piece of paper around to face me on the desk before he drops a silver pen on top of it. “It’s a standard NDA. Hugo signed an identical one earlier.”