Cruel (The Buck Boys Heroes 2)

Chapter Ten

Juliet

“Your phone, Miss Bardin.” Nigel holds out a palm as the driver of the SUV we got into pulls away from the curb.

I look to the left where he’s seated beside me on the back seat. “What?”

“Your phone,” he repeats without any context.

My hand dives into my purse to grab hold of my phone. I haven’t looked at it since Hugo told me we were going to see Mr. Marks. After our meeting, he rode the elevator down to the lobby with Nigel and me.

He pulled me aside briefly to tell me that he was proud of me.

By the time that conversation was over, Nigel was instructing me to follow him to a black SUV idling next to the curb in front of the office tower that houses Marks Creative.

I got inside without question because I’m chasing my dream, and this is the path it’s currently taking.

With my phone firmly in my grasp inside my purse, I stare blankly at Nigel.

“The moment your signature is on the required legal documents, I’ll return your phone to you.” His hand still bounces in the air, awaiting one of my most prized possessions.

It’s also my lifeline in the event something goes horribly wrong. Why do I feel like I’m inching toward that right now?

“I’ll turn it off,” I offer in compromise.

“You’ll watch me slide it into my pocket.” His hand drops to pat the front of his suit jacket. “I will never leave your sight. It’s strictly for security measures, Miss Bardin. Mr. Bane is a very private person.”

“You’re not going to take it and then drive me to a remote stretch of road to strangle me, are you?” I kind-of-but-not-really joke.

“I’m not driving,” he deadpans before a smile slides over his lips. “You have my word that your phone will be in your hand as soon as we get the legal work out of the way.”

I glance out the car’s window. We’re crawling through the early evening traffic in Manhattan. Since I already opened the window a crack, I know it wouldn’t take me more than a second to inch it down more to call out for help.

There is no way that Mr. Marks would send me into a lion’s den to fight for my life.

I try to quiet my overzealous imagination with a deep breath.

“We’re almost there.” Nigel’s hand is back to its mid-air position. “The phone, please, Miss Bardin.”

Against my better judgment, I tug it out of my purse and drop it in his hand, wishing I had taken two seconds before I got in this car to do a quick online search for Kavan Bane.

“Thank you,” he responds as he slides my phone into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

As the car pulls into a spot on Madison Avenue, I shove my hand into the pocket of my jacket. I take my keys in my hand and position them the way my father taught me to, so I’m ready for a jab, jab, slash if need be.

When my knuckles brush against the silk of the pocket square that I’m still carrying around with me, I close my eyes.

I survived an attempted mugging a block from here less than two weeks ago. Whatever I’m walking into now, I can live through too if I stay aware, keep my wits about me, and remember to check where every exit is.

My fingers lessen their death grip on my keys as soon as we exit the SUV.

I look up – way up – as my gaze travels the height of the building we’re about to enter.

It’s a sleek silver column. It’s taller than all of the other skyscrapers on this block, and architecturally it’s a stunning work of art.

I look straight ahead to see the name of the building emblazoned in silver over the lobby doors.

Bane Enterprises.

I’m not up to speed on the big names in New York City business, but judging by the exterior of this building, Mr. Bane ranks high among them.

“This way, Juliet.” Nigel motions for me to step into the lobby through one of the doors held open by a man in a crisp navy blue uniform, complete with a cap on his head trimmed in gold stitching.

“Good evening, Miss Bardin,” he says in greeting.

That stops me mid-step. I turn to look him in the eye. “Good evening.”

He offers me a smile and nothing more.

I’d ask how he knows my name, but I suspect Nigel is a stickler for details and a gentleman, so he warned the doormen that I’d be returning with him.

That was presumptive on his part, but no one in my position would turn down an assignment that results in a promotion that would otherwise take years to secure.

“We’re headed to the right,” Nigel instructs me. “There is a private elevator that will take us up to my office.”