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Instead, I cut her off. “I have an idea.” Thatgets her attention quickly, reigniting the fire of hope in her eyes. Oh, she still has some fight in her. That’s good, she’ll need it. “Are you aware of the Faulkner Estate event this upcoming Friday?” I speak barely above a murmur.
“Of course,” she says, and her expression softens. It’s the first glimpse through her façade to a different—and deeper—side of her. “I had hoped to go with Evan. Guess that won’t matter now,” she scoffs.
"Why don't you come with me instead?" I suggest, leaning back in the chair. I’m already celebrating the events unveiling themselves in my head and my well-deserved triumph over Evan as I dangle a tantalizing carrot in front of her. "I have a friend who might be able to use you in his firm."
Raven considers me, her gaze searching my face. I can clearly see the pain and sadness in her eyes as she understands the unsaid truth. She can’t work for me. Not after a relationship with Evan Faulkner. As beautiful as she is, I’m not that rash. Or stupid.
"I don’t have the job at Sharpe.” It’s not a question, but rather a blunt statement of the facts as she sees them. “So, why are you asking me to the fundraiser?”
Clever girl. She knows that her brains are not all she brings to the table. The question is… is she willing to use her beauty as a door-opener so that her brilliant mind has a chance to shine?
I hesitate. The truth is, after talking with her, I think she’s someone who could fit in with my firm. But all of this between her and Evan is something I can’t overlook. “No,” I agree coldly, “but coming with me will help you make connections you couldn’t make otherwise. Your resume’s good. Better than good. You’ll be a good fit somewhere, but not with my firm.”
I stare into her eyes, feeling more alive than I have in ages. I’m on the cusp of a revenge I should’ve had long ago but was too young and too green to enact at the time. That’s no longer thecase, and Raven’s appearance today is an opportunity I couldn’t have scripted to be more perfect.
I was barely even considering going to the Faulkner event Friday night. These fundraisers are mostly a chance for rich men and their trophy wives to pat each other on the backs under the guise of do-gooding, which is something I neither want nor need.
In truth, along with all the ass-kissing, there’s a fair amount of networking. Not something I worry about, but Raven? It’s a rare invitation to the big table. If she wants it.
If she turns me down, it’s not going to hurt me in the slightest. Really, it’s her own demise.
She nods tersely, not quite trusting me. “What’s in it for you?” she asks, obviously recognizing that my invitation comes with an ulterior motive. “Is that all? Just attending the event?”
Many women would make that sound like a proposition of their own, offering much more than an evening with them on my arm at the slightest promise of something in return. Raven does no such thing. She’s clarifying that she’s not interested in that sort of arrangement without spelling it out.
She rises another notch in my estimation.
“If that’s what you prefer,” I reply with a gentlemanly nod, despite not being one, and giving her the appearance of being in charge though we both know that’s not the case. “As for me, I will get to attend a function with a beautiful, intelligent woman at my side. One who was recently involved with someone I would enjoy knocking off his pedestal.” I measure the way her eyes flare at my blunt statement and offer a victoriously feral smile. “Is your answer yes, then?”
“I’ll think about it and let you know by tomorrow,” she answers. “Email?”
“No,” I reply, reaching into my pocket and taking out my phone. She takes out her own, and within seconds, I have her contact information,and she has mine.
There’s no way in fucking hell I’m giving her a business card. Though I’m playing it cool, I want this too much.
Revenge? Raven? Perhaps both? Surprisingly, that feels most accurate.
Standing up, she picks up her purse and outstretches her hand. “I’ll call you. Thank you for your time, Mr. Sharpe.”
“Dylan,” I correct as we shake. She blinks twice, her lashes fluttering as if she’s shocked at the concept of using my actual name.
With that, she leaves me questioning everything I’ve just said and done. The only thing I know for sure is…fuck Evan Faulkner.
CHAPTER 3
RAVEN
That’s it. I’m done.
Done with men. Done with today. Just done.
It took all of a single minute walking as quickly as I could down the crowded street before the tears started falling. I didn’t even try to stop them. I cried for the wasted time with Evan, the unexpected and public heartbreak, and the loss of the future I thought I had on lock with him. I cried for bombing my important meeting, losing any chance at the job with Sharpe, and for the interview turning into a request for a semi-date situation. Thankfully, the tears stopped before I made it to the subway, replaced with anger that’s carried me the rest of the way home.
“Fuck it all!” I growl as I unlock my front door, struggling with the key like it wants to let me down too. Down the hall, Mr. Anderson, our neighbor who seems to spend all of his time in the combination of sweatpants and a bathrobe regardless ofthe time of day, the time of year, or what he might be doing, shoots me a judgmental glance. “What?” I bite back, not interested in his opinion of me at this moment.
“Nothin’,” Mr. Anderson says, even though the scowl of moral high ground is still firmly in place. “Just?—”
“In this city, the word ‘fuck’ is heard more often than ‘thank you’, and I’ve had a rough day, so can you give me some grace?” Finally getting my door open, I step inside, and before he can answer, I slam it closed behind me. The sound is as final as my chances with Sharpe.
