“I don’t drink beer,” I remind him.
“I do,” he replies with a chuckle. “You can order whatever the fuck you want if you’re paying. If you expect me to pay, limit that shit to whatever costs less than ten bucks a glass.”
Amused, I smile. “Later.”
“Later as in tonight or later as in never, and you’re about to hang up on me?”
“I’m in the middle of something.” I drop into my office chair. That pulls a groan from the leather.
“I heard that.” Graham’s voice lowers. “Are you at the office?”
It’s a fair question since I work at home most of the time. The whispered accusations that surround me whenever I am recognized have become a daily occurrence in my life that I’ve learned to live with.
However, I’ve come to realize that the people who work for me are far more productive when I’m not breathing down their necks.
I have no idea if fear grips them when they know I’m within arm’s reach, but the bottom dollar is what matters most to me, and besides, my home office is far more comfortable than this one that my father spent a good part of the last twenty years of his life in.
I glance down at the desk. “I am.”
“Why?” he spits that question out with a laugh. “You fucking hate that place.”
Truer words have never been spoken. “It’s a necessary burden sometimes, Locke.”
Silence greets me in response until I hear him sigh. “What’s going on?”
I glance up to find Nigel in the open doorway of my office. “I need to go.”
“Meet me at nine,” Graham says in a rush. “It’s important, Bane.”
“Make it eleven,” I begrudgingly counter before I end the call.
With a curl of my fingers, I beckon Nigel into my office.
“Sir.” He steps forward, scrubbing his hand over his forehead. “Miss Bardin has accepted the assignment. She’s signing the required documentation now.”
The documentation that prohibits her from discussing this project with anyone other than Thurston Marks, limits her ability to take pictures of me or anyone employed by me and guarantees that I get final say on her article before it’s published.
“Was she resistant?”
Nigel sighs. “She requested a few minutes to look over the paperwork. I asked if she wanted me to bring in an outside attorney to go over the fine print with her, but she assured me that she has a grasp on the legal jargon we used. Her words not mine, sir.”
I don’t react even though I find her comment amusing. Everything she is required to sign is straightforward and necessary. There are no hidden clauses nestled within muddled language. It’s spelled out in the simplest of terms.
“I have a question if I may.” Nigel lets out a heavy exhale.
Leaning back in my office chair, I roll a hand in the air. “What is it?”
He steps closer to my desk and lowers his voice. “Why her?”
I perk a brow. “Explain that to me.”
“Sir,” he begins before he stops to shake his head. “I read some of her articles after you instructed me to attend the meeting with her and Mr. Marks.”
I nod. “And?”
“She hardly seems equipped to take on a task of this magnitude.”
Anger darts through me. I stop before I react because I don’t know where the hell that came from.
I don’t need to defend Juliet Bardin to anyone. I need to use her inexperience to my advantage, so I can put my past to rest and get this company back on solid financial ground.
“In my eyes, that makes her the ideal candidate.” I push to stand. “She’s not coming into this with a seasoned journalist’s perspective.”
Nigel nods. “She’s coming into this as a novice eager to get the byline. That means she’ll take the story she’s given. She won’t push for more.”
That’s what I’m banking on.
“I’ll check on the progress of the forms, sir.”
“I want her in my office within the hour.”
“Tonight?” Surprise edges his tone. “I thought we’d give her time for research before she’s…”
“Her research begins now.” I turn to look out at the skyline. “I’ll be waiting for her, Nigel. Send her in alone.”
“Very well, sir.” His footsteps trail his words as he leaves my office.
Chapter Twelve
Juliet
“I’m meeting Mr. Bane now?” I question Nigel as he scoops up the documents I just signed.
He glances at them before leveling his gaze on me. “Yes.”
Dammit.
I thought we’d call it a night after this, and I’d be able to rush home to start researching Kavan Bane.
If pressed right now, I’d guess he’s sporting just as much gray hair as Nigel and comes from old money.
Perhaps Mr. Bane wants to right a discretion by sitting down for an interview with me.
When I was reading over the documents Nigel left with me, my mind wandered to a few probable ‘what if’ scenarios.
What if Mr. Bane is the sweet older man I sometimes buy a coffee for in the morning? That man is loaded. I can tell by the expensive watch on his wrist. He always thanks me with a smile, so maybe that goodwill gesture has finally paid off.
The other possibility is that my dad called a friend to help push my career into high gear. I asked him to promise me that he’d never use any of the connections he’s made as a top-notch tax lawyer to aid me, but I wouldn’t put it past him to contact someone he knows in New York City to ask for a favor.
He did something similar when Margot launched her lifestyle brand.
My dad reached out to almost everyone he knew and told them to do whatever they could to help my sister market the products she’d curated for her home decor collection.
Her business blew up within a few months. By the time she was celebrating her first year as the CEO of Arten Lorey, she’d passed her first million in revenue and had expanded her offerings to her own line of dishes, napkins, aprons, and anything else her clientele have requested of her.
“Mr. Bane is waiting,” Nigel stresses each word.
I could ask for a momentary reprieve by pretending I need to use the washroom, but the curiosity of who orchestrated all of this is gnawing at me.
I suck in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
Nigel looks me over. “I can confirm that. You have nerves of steel, Juliet.”
“I don’t seem nervous to you?”
“Not at all.” He shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his fingertip. “Mr. Bane’s office is this way.”
I watch as his hand floats in the air with a finger pointing to the left down the corridor outside of his office.
“There is no time like the present, right?”
He nods. “Indeed.”
We set off side-by-side in the direction he indicated. As we approach a set of closed frosted glass doors, I turn to him. “He’s in there, isn’t he?”
Nigel glances at me. “You’re very astute.”
I’m also foolish since I didn’t bother glancing in that direction when I first arrived. I’d followed Nigel dutifully, keeping my gaze trained on his back because I was so deep in thought.