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Her lips purse as if she’s hiding a smile. “Why are you doing this, Mr. Sharpe?” she asks suddenly. “You said there’s history with you and Evan so you can’t bring me into your firm—which, to be clear, would not be an issue on my side." She pauses, one brow arched as if giving me an opportunity to correct her. I drop my chin in a silent answer, and undeterred, she continues, “But there must be more than merely parading me around like a show pony to irritate him.”
I consider how best to answer her. Some degree of truth seems prudent, but I’m not prone to showing all my cards just yet.
“I’m an asshole who holds a particular grudge for Evan Faulkner. The hatred I feel for him is likely my only vice,” I admit with a sigh. “Long ago, he crossed a line that should never be crossed, and he did it with ease, taking joy in my pain. For that, I will happily watch him suffer and enjoy making him look like a fool, and feel like one too.” I pin her with a cold look, ensuring she sees the depth of my depravity. “Raven, I invited you tonight because I want to see Evan Faulkner’s cocky fucking smile fall at the sight of you on my arm. That moment.” I hold my fingers up, as if I can pluck that precious second and hold it in my hand.
“So, this isn’t about me?”
I’m careful with what I say next. “Yes and no. No, if he hadn't done that to you right before our interview, I would not have made the offer I did and we would not be here now. Then again, if you weren’t his jilted ex, our lunch interview likely would have gone very differently.” I almost tell her I would have hired her without a second thought, but I resist. “Yes, it is about you because I’ve spent a good amount of time since we met wondering first, how Evan got a woman as intelligent and beautiful as you to fall for his shit, and second, why he’d fuck that up. Especially at that time, in my restaurant, by throwing a meaningless affair in your face. It was needlessly sadistic, even for him.”
She winces slightly when I mention Evan’s indiscretion, and for a moment, I regret being so blunt. She swallows thickly before murmuring, “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
Her eyes glimmer with pain but also anger, and I nod approvingly, glad to see it. “Good. Remember that anger and use it. Tonight, you will be on my arm, and I promise you, that will sting Evan like salt on an open wound.”
She lifts her chin, stubbornly jutting it forward as she resets her armor.
“You will be the talk of the event, so be prepared.” Her eyes widen slightly, as though she hadn’t considered that. “Raven, you’ll be walking in with me, a man who rarely attends these things, and never with a guest. Everyone there will know who you are within moments of our arrival, and they’ll know about your recent relationship with Evan. Not to mention, your beauty could incite wars.” I scan her face reverently before chuckling under my breath at the irony. “In fact, it very well might.” More seriously, I conclude, “Like me, everyone there will have their eyes on you.”
She breathes in deeply and then stills, as if holding her breath.
“I’ll make the introductions,” I tell her, reminding her of the carrot in case the honesty of what we’re walking in to hasscared her. “But the charming, the arranging of interviews and meetings? That will be all on your merits, Raven.”
She nods, and I’m pleased to see her rising to the challenge. She clears her throat, her eyes sharp and absorbing everything. She’s in learning mode, which is smart for her. “How do you anticipate tonight’s events?”
“Well, other than a relatively long-winded welcome speech by one of the Faulkners, most likely Jerome Faulkner since he likes to style himself the head of the family, you can expect a passionate yet relatively empty speech by… well, I’m not honestly sure,” I tell her. “Each year, the Faulkners pick some charity to donate the money to, and they’ll have someone connected with the charity speak. They’ll spout a five-minute or so-long plea for donations, everyone will clap, and the rest of the evening is pretty much your standard cocktail party. Drinks, hors d'oeuvres, an area set aside for dancing, and the rest is all schmoozing.”
“So, mingle, be sociable and relatable, and allow the conversion to flow.”
She gets it. “Exactly. Any other questions?”
“One,” she says slowly, as though still formulating the question in her mind. “What happens after? I mean, I’ll get interviews, and hopefully, a job. But what about you and Evan? And you and me?” Her gaze drops as if she knows that sounds oddly intimate for what we’re doing. This isn’t a date, after all. It’s revenge via teamwork.
“And you and Evan?” I add, nearly choking on the idea, so I swallow it down with the remainder of my champagne. “There won’t be a big moment that fixes what Evan’s done to either of us. This is a win of symbolic increments. After tonight, my hope is that we walk out with an ounce of satisfaction at seeing Evan fall—publicly, personally, and professionally.”
“An ounce?” she echoes in disappointment. She lifts fiery eyes to mine. “I wish there were a way to hurt him more,reallyhurt him,for what he’s done.”
She’s not talking about killing him or anything that diabolical. I might’ve dreamed about it a time or two, but Raven doesn’t seem the type to find even imaginary joy in that. Still, as she stares into my eyes, the tension between us grows, and there is only one clear and obvious way to hurt Evan the way she’s insinuating. I’m a little surprised at the suggestion, but I’m certainly not averse to the idea.
“Perhaps we could discuss something further,” I suggest darkly, not sure how far she wants to take this. But I watch, transfixed, as a pretty blush races up her chest to color her cheeks.
She is a beautiful woman, and I’m a bastard of a man. There would be a delightful irony in fucking Raven hard enough to rattle any memories of Evan loose from her mind and rewrite myself onto her psyche.
We come to a sudden but smooth stop, and there’s a knock on the car’s door a moment before it opens. There are a few muted flashes from photographers outside, and Raven glances back at me, holding my gaze for a long moment. Not because she needs me, but rather because she’s with me.
“Ready, Dylan?” she asks, a polite, polished, perfect smile settling on her face.
“Ready, Raven.”
The greeter offers a hand to help her out of the car, and I watch as the round curve of her ass moves in front of me. Fuck, I’m going to need to adjust my dick just to walk this ridiculous red carpet.
This is going to be an eventful evening. I can’t wait.
CHAPTER 7
RAVEN
The Faulkner Building is a landmark here in the city. It used to be the third tallest skyscraper in the Financial District, and was built at the height of the family’s power and influence. At one time, the name ‘Faulkner’ was whispered in the same category as Ford, or Rockefeller, or Morgan.
Not that the Faulkners aren’t still influential, but the family’s not at the same echelon of beyond-the-law levels of influence as they used to be. In fact, I didn’t know any of the family history when I first met Evan. He was simply an attractive man who charmed me with his confidence, charisma, and intelligence.
