Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“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, really hurt 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.
And though those things could also be said about the man stepping onto the red carpet at my side tonight, Evan and Dylan could not be more different. Most importantly, Dylan is upfront with his intentions. All of them—his plan to use me to get back at Evan, and his plan to get underneath, behind, or on top of me. He’s being polite about it, but I could see his eyes roaming to my legs when I would shift them in my seat. And when he wasn’t looking there, his gaze was a mix of cold-hearted brutality and fiercely tamped down desire. Dylan is a man of hardness and raw emotion.
Days ago, I would’ve put him off. Now, his attraction to me, as well as his willingness to involve me in what seems to be a long-deserved revenge plot, both give me an extra jolt of confidence as a flash goes off in my face.
“Everything alright?” Dylan asks under his breath, and it brings me back to the moment. He offers me a hand, and I nod, taking it and wrapping my arm through his. His warmth is at odds with the chill air of fall.