Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I glance down as her hand appears from her side with a piece of paper in it.
She shoves it at me, so I take it, glancing briefly at Mr. Bane.
I read it carefully.
There are two options for appetizers, three for entrees, and four for dessert.
“This seems like a lot of trouble,” I say to her. “Whatever you were preparing for Mr. Bane is fine with me.”
“Choose, Juliet.” Kavan’s voice comes out low.
My gaze trails up his chest to meet his eyes. I see power there and determination.
Nodding, I choose the first thing listed under each heading.
Lobster bisque.
Aged prime rib with seared mushrooms and a pan sauce.
Pears roasted in wine with honey ice cream.
I read out each with a slight tremble in my voice before I hand the menu back to Nara.
She offers me a smile. “Excellent choices, Miss Bardin, and for the wine?”
I defer to Mr. Bane with a look.
Thankfully, he takes the hint and says the names of what I think are three different bottles of wine. The last is the only one I recognize. It’s very expensive. I know that because I debated buying it to celebrate my sister’s purchase of her apartment, but my budget wasn’t on board.
Nara disappears around a corner.
I take a deep breath. “Your home is lovely.”
He nods. “Take a seat, Juliet. I need to return a call. I’ll be back shortly.”
Grateful that I’ll have a second to catch my breath, I set out toward a large couch set in the middle of the living room. The color is a creamy light brown. A thin striped blanket is draped over the back.
In front of it there’s a coffee table that features a large metal bowl filled with some decorative leaves and berries. Next to that is a perfectly fanned-out selection of finance and business magazines. Sitting on top is the most recent copy of New York Viewpoint.
As I take a seat, I stare at the cover.
That takes me right back to my earlier conversation with Mr. Marks.
No harm can come from considering his proposition. I’ll go into this focused on Bane Enterprises, but if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll take it and dive deeper into the night that Ares Bane died.
I steal a glance around the room to see beautiful artwork hanging from the walls, but there are no personal pictures. I don’t see a framed photograph anywhere.
A soft sound behind me lures my gaze over my shoulder.
“Mr. Bane thought you might enjoy a pre-dinner drink.” Nara extends a silver tray holding one glass garnished with a speared sour cherry. “It’s a Manhattan. He said it was your favorite.”
With a shaking hand, I take it from her. “It is, but how did he know?”
She smiles as his heavy footsteps approach from behind her.
“The articles you’ve written are a wealth of knowledge, Juliet,” Kavan says, raising a tumbler partially filled with what looks like whiskey. “To the future.”
I raise my glass too and whisper the same three words while I wonder exactly what the future has in store for me.
Chapter Nineteen
Kavan
To glance across my dining room table and see another face is rare.
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve had a guest here for dinner. Not one of those people has been as beautiful as Juliet.
With candlelight bathing her skin, she looks delicate, vulnerable, and surprisingly, she seems comfortable being in my home.
I was confident that when I saw her in the alley, she was on her way to meet someone for dinner.
I’m still convinced of that, but whoever it is, they’ve been given the brush-off.
“How long have you lived here?” she asks as she sets her fork down.
Dessert was served fifteen minutes ago.
We spent the first two courses talking about the city, the weather, and the falling crime rate.
It would seem that Juliet is a statistic nerd.
She recited the crime rate, including those related to burglaries and arsons in Manhattan for the past five years.
I listened even though the numbers meant nothing to me.
I’ve built a fortress here. My home is my sanctuary. Anyone wanting entry must make it past a doorman and the elevator attendant before they come face-to-face with Alcott when he answers the door. He’s the son of the man who held the position before him.
My father saw the elder Alcott as his bodyguard. I view the younger Alcott, Birch Alcott, as more of a personal assistant.
He keeps things running smoothly in these ten thousand square feet of space. I not only live here, but this is where I do the bulk of my work.
Graham, Sean, and Harrison are permitted entry without having to jump through all those hoops, although I’ve instructed all six of the doormen to routinely give Graham a hard time when he shows up unannounced.
“A few years,” I offer because that tidbit of information isn’t relevant to the article she’s researching.