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I nod in understanding as I fall in step beside him.
We avoid a few people rushing out of the building. I assume they are eager to start their weekends.
As soon as we approach an elevator tucked around a corner, a man standing next to it presses the call button. He’s not dressed in the same uniform as the other two men who were holding open the lobby doors. This guy is dressed entirely in black.
“Welcome to Bane Enterprises, Miss Bardin,” he offers with a smile as the doors to the elevator slide open in silence.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Drawing a deep breath, I board the lift knowing that this is the path to my future and I can handle whatever or whoever is waiting for me.
Chapter Eleven
Kavan
She’s in the building.
I sensed it when I heard the ding of the private elevator announcing its arrival. That lured my gaze in the direction of the corridor outside my office.
I held my composure.
I didn’t move to the doorway to watch Juliet walk past. I was tempted, which is why I turned my back to look out at the dusk-filled skies of this city.
The click of her heels on the marble floor was sure and steady.
If she’s aware of what she’s walking into, I admire her. If she’s unaware, as I believe to be the case, she’s brave beyond her appearance.
I was met with mild resistance when I called Thurston Marks earlier today and told him that I was available for an exclusive interview, but only if Juliet Bardin conducted it.
He threw the names of other people at me. They are experienced journalists who have masterfully handled politicians, business people, and celebrities alike.
I scoffed at each name before I reiterated my terms.
It was Juliet, or the interview would never happen.
He reluctantly agreed before we ended the call with the understanding that Nigel would attend the preliminary meeting with Juliet to inform her of her latest assignment.
Since she’s here now, I assume that went well, and she agreed without question.
It’s a step up from reporting on lost dogs and engagement rings.
The sharp jarring ring of my cell phone lures my attention to it.
I’d ignore it as I often do, but the name splayed across the screen is always an immediate answer for me.
I tap a finger on the screen to connect the call. “Locke.”
“Bane,” Graham says in an almost giddy tone. “It’s Friday night, the stars are aligned, and I’m about to buy you a beer to end this week the right way.”
“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.”
