Cruel (The Buck Boys Heroes 2)

Very few people call me Kavan, and I prefer it that way.

Her hand disappears into the pocket of the leather jacket she’s wearing. She draws it out slowly with her fist wrapped around something.

“This belongs to you.” She extends a hand to offer me a piece of fabric.

It takes a moment for me to realize what it is.

It’s my pocket square.

I ignore the offering. “You had that with you today?”

Her hand drops to her lap. She opens it, smoothing a finger over the barely visible initials stitched into the fabric. The pocket square was a gift from someone years ago.

For anyone else, it might hold sentimental value, but for me, material possessions don’t have a direct link to my heart.

Little does.

“I thought that if I ever saw you again, I could return it.” She snatches it back into her fist and shoves it toward me. “I had it dry cleaned.”

I reach for it.

The moment my hand brushes against hers, her breath catches. It’s soft, barely audible, but it’s enough to draw my eyes to her face.

I hold her gaze, wondering if that reaction came from the same electricity that pulsed through me when I felt her touch.

I take the pocket square from her.

Her gaze trails my movements. “Thank you again for helping me that night, Mr. Bane.”

I nod. “I trust that Nigel explained the assignment to you.”

“Not really,” she says on a sigh. “All I’ve been told is that I’m writing an article about you.”

I lean back to rest my ass against my desk. Buttoning my suit jacket, I study her face yet again. “Do you know who I am, Juliet?”

A brief look of panic dances in her eyes before she regains control of her emotions.

It’s impressive and will be short-lived.

“You’re Kavan Bane,” she whispers. “You’re the man in charge of Bane Enterprises.”

Those puzzle pieces fell into place quickly based on my introduction and the name on the front of this building.

With both hands curled around the edge of my desk, I lean closer to her. “Correct, but there’s more.”

“More?” She swallows, luring my gaze to the elegant column of her neck.

“You’re going to rush out of here tonight and research me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she admits. “I need to prepare for the assignment.”

“The focus of your assignment is how I’m going to lead Bane Enterprises into the future,” I explain.

Her ass edges forward on her chair. She’s close enough now that I can smell the subtle fragrance of her perfume.

“I’ll research the company,” she says with confidence. “By Monday morning, I’ll know Bane Enterprises inside and out.”

That’s commendable but unrealistic.

Any online search she conducts will yield thousands of results that have little to do with the inner workings of this organization.

“By the end of the day, you’ll discover something about me.” I stop to stare into her eyes. “Something that is completely off-limits when it comes to your assignment. You’re not permitted to ask me any questions regarding it. I will never offer any details in relation to it. Is that clear?”

Curiosity lures her even closer to me. “What will I discover, Mr. Bane?”

I don’t break our gaze as I say the words that once felt foreign to me but have now become as much a part of me as my skin and bones. “I killed my father five years ago.”

Chapter Fourteen

Juliet

The key to being a good journalist is to never let your emotions steal the focus of the job.

My favorite professor gave that piece of advice to me during my first semester in college.

It has stuck with me since.

I sit and absorb each of Mr. Bane’s words.

If I break now, there is a very good chance I’ll lose this assignment and any chance of securing a job with New York Viewpoint.

“That’s off-limits,” I state clearly. “Understood, Mr. Bane.”

I can instantly tell that my reaction isn’t what he anticipated. With narrowing eyes, his jaw tenses under his five o’clock shadow.

“You want the focus of the article to be on your business,” I go on, convinced that my voice is coming out sounding strong and in control.

That’s the opposite of how I feel inside.

All of the cloak and dagger stuff that preceded this meeting suddenly makes sense.

No phone, no pictures, no speaking of this assignment to anyone but Mr. Marks.

All of that was done to protect the man standing in front of me.

Surely, if he were guilty of the crime he just confessed to, he’d be serving a life sentence at Rikers.

I glance down at the skirt of my dress. Circling a fingertip around one of the pink roses in the patterned fabric, I take a breath before I look up and into his face again. “Do you have materials you think would be beneficial for me to go over? Anything that is relevant to the article I’ll be writing?”

His arms cross his chest again. “I want to present a fresh perspective on Bane Enterprises, so I’d prefer if you garner all your information directly from me.”