Page 5 of R Is For Revenge, Part One (The Billionaire Boys Club #1)

“Stay close,” she murmurs as we weave through the floor, her voice calm but clipped. “Watch how I talk to them. Keep it professional. And for the love of God, don’t spill anything. These people are here to disappear from the outside world but trust me they notice everything.”

“Got it,” I whisper.

Cassidy hands me a smaller tray and nods toward the kitchen doors. “Test run. Just food. Appetizers. Table twelve—four guys. Don’t talk, just smile, drop the plates, and walk away. Easy.”

I nod, nerves buzzing as I balance the tray.

The kitchen is a blur of heat, steel, and motion, but the cooks know the drill and have the order ready. Four plates perfectly arranged. I line them on the tray, testing the weight, and head back out to the floor, Cassidy following in my wake.

Table twelve is near the corner—private but still with a good view of the stage where the band is playing. Four men sit there, all in expensive suits, all with the kind of presence that says they’re used to being noticed.

I set down the plates carefully and smile, trying my best not to make eye-contact.

I have no clue who these man are but considering they all have shoulders the size of Rhode Island, I’m guessing they’re athletes of some sort.

Professional athletes make me nervous. A girlfriend from prep school had a bad experience with some hockey guys our freshman year and I’ve never forgotten it.

“Enjoy your appetizers guys.”

But before I can back away, one of them leans slightly forward. “You new here?”

His voice is deep, smooth, and I glance up—straight into the face of Grant King. I recognize him instantly. Hard not to. Star quarterback, MVP, the kind of athlete even someone like me, who doesn’t follow sports, can name on sight. He’s dating some Hollywood actress. Or maybe an influencer.

“Yes,” I manage, my voice steady despite the fact that my pulse just tripped over itself.

Grant smiles, leaning back casually in his chair. “Figured. I’d remember a face like yours.”

The other men at the table chuckle quietly, clearly used to this routine. Grant doesn’t take his eyes off me.

“What’s your name?”

“Jules,” I say, because what else am I supposed to do?

Cassidy swoops in before the moment can stretch too far, setting down a bottle of Tequila with practiced grace. “Mr. King, Jules is still in training tonight,” she says smoothly, giving me a subtle time-to-go glance.

Grant’s grin deepens, unfazed. “Training, huh? Guess that means I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

I force a polite smile and take my cue, following Cassidy away from the table as my cheeks heat.

The second we’re out of earshot, she mutters under her breath, “Rule two—don’t flirt with the members. They can flirt with you, but you don’t take the bait. Unless you want to end up in a tabloid or worse.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” I protest softly.

Cassidy glances at me, one brow arched. “I’m not saying you were but guys like Grant King? They’re sharks. Smile, keep it professional, and don’t get pulled into their orbit. Trust me, it never ends well.” She sighs. “The stories I could tell you.”

I nod, heart thumping in my chest so loud it’s a wonder she doesn’t hear it.

The rest of the shift melts in a rush of orders, trays, and Cassidy’s quiet coaching.

I do my best to keep up, smiling when I’m supposed to, nodding when I don’t know what else to do.

But every so often, I feel it again—that prickling weight along my spine, the sense that someone’s eyes are following me.

When I glance up at the window, I can’t tell if anyone’s there.

Can’t tell if he’s up there.

Luckily, I’m too busy to worry about it for more than a second.

The night stretches long, my feet already aching, but I’m too keyed up to care. I shadow Cassidy through table after table, carrying drinks, clearing plates, and trying to memorize every name and face she rattles off like it’s second nature.

By the time the clock edges past midnight, the floor starts to thin—some members lingering over drinks, others drifting toward the exits. Cassidy sends me to the end of the bar to wait while she settles a check for one of her regulars.

I lean against the polished wood, finally allowing myself a deep breath. Brent slides a glass of water my way. “You’re still standing. That’s a good sign.”

I smile faintly, murmuring my thanks as I take a sip.

That’s when I feel it—someone behind me. Close. Too close. My internal radar goes off and I freeze.

“Thought I’d find you here,” a low, familiar voice murmurs near my ear.

I stiffen slightly before turning. Grant King stands just behind me, his easy grin firmly in place, but there’s something sharper in his eyes now. He’s holding a tumbler of whiskey, his jacket gone, his tie loosened.

“Long night, huh?” he says, stepping closer, his arm brushing mine like it’s an accident. “Figured you could use some company.”

I force a polite smile and shift subtly, putting a sliver of space between us. “Thanks, but I’m just waiting for Cassidy.”

He leans in a fraction, his hand ghosting the small of my back. “Cassidy’s busy. And I thought maybe we could?—”

“Grant.”

The voice cuts clean through the hum of the bar. Smooth. Calm. But edged with something that makes the air go still. I know it right away and my heart ramps up, hitting so hard and fast I feel out of breath.

Grant straightens slightly, his head turning toward the source.

Beck. Thanks to Brent I have a name for the face of the man who’d interviewed me the night before.

Tall, composed, every line of him controlled, he smiles though it doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t look angry, but there’s something in his gaze, something deliberate, that makes Grant shift his stance ever so slightly.

“Didn’t realize you were planning on monopolizing my staff,” Beck says evenly, his tone carrying a quiet authority that doesn’t leave room for argument.

Grant chuckles, a little forced, his hand falling away from my back. “Just making conversation, Beck. No harm done.”

Beck’s eyes flick to me for a moment—just long enough to make me feel pinned in place, like he’s assessing every detail in a heartbeat—before sliding back to Grant.

“Do me a favor,” Beck says smoothly, his tone soft but final. “Find conversation somewhere else.”

For a beat, the two men hold each other’s gaze, tension coiled tight enough that even I can feel it humming in the air. Then Grant smirks, lifts his glass, and steps away without another word. I swear he mutters something like, fucker, before he disappears.

Beck doesn’t watch him go. His focus shifts back to me, those dark eyes scanning my face like he’s cataloging every flicker of emotion. It’s unnerving how intense this man is. How darkly beautiful.

I give myself a mental shake and try to quiet my fast beating heart. I wonder, can he hear it?

“You alright?” he asks, his voice lower now, private.

I nod quickly. “Yeah. Fine. He just… surprised me.”

Something in his expression shifts, though it’s subtle, like a shadow passing across his face. Then it’s gone.

“Finish your water,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. “Cassidy’s closing out. You’re done for the night.”

And just like that, he turns and walks away, calm and unhurried, leaving me standing there with my pulse racing and a dozen questions swirling in my head.

Who is this man, really? And why does it feel like, in a place full of people with too much power, he’s the only one who truly controls the room?

Cassidy appears a minute later, a printout in hand as she approaches the bar. One look at my face and she pauses, eyes narrowing.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, though my voice feels a little too light to sound natural. “Grant King just… came over and was a little too familiar. Beck told him to back off.”

Cassidy exhales slowly, shaking her head. “Yeah. King’s a regular. Thinks everything’s a game because no one ever tells him no. Good thing Beck was around—he doesn’t usually let stuff like that slide in his club.”

His club? Wait. What?

“Beck owns this place?”

Cassidy looks at me like I’m the biggest idiot in the room. “Who did you think he was?”

I shrug. “The manager?”

“Nope.” She laughs and shakes her head. “Where did you blow in from? Beck bought this place a few years ago when Horner lost everything.”

My throat closes at the mention of my father, and I struggle to breathe. But Cassidy doesn’t notice. She keeps on speaking like everything is normal.

“And though he usually leaves the day to day to our manager, Royce, he’s here now and then. Has a place on the top floor as well as his private suite.” Her forehead wrinkles. “I hear he interviewed you personally.”

“Yeah.” I finally catch my breath and glance toward the far end of the floor, where Beck has disappeared into the shadows near the balcony stairs. He’s not talking to anyone now, just standing there with his hands in his pockets, surveying the room like a king over his kingdom.

Cassidy leans closer, her voice dropping. “Word of advice? Keep your distance from Grant. And…” Her eyes flick toward Beck, just briefly, before landing back on me. “Be careful around him , too.”

I blink. “Beck?”

She shrugs, looping her envelope into her bag. “He’s… complicated. The man looks like a God come to life, but he’s also got a dark side. Doesn’t usually get involved with the staff, but when he does…” She trails off, a knowing look in her eyes that makes my stomach twist.

“What does that mean?” I ask, but she’s already shaking her head.

“Just… don’t get on his bad side. And don’t get too curious.

Trust me, Jules. Beck Gaines isn’t the kind of man a sane girl tangles with.

I think a taste of him would be like heaven, but it’s the fallout that gets you, you know?

He’s a good boss, when he’s around, but he goes through women like candy.

” She winks and steps back. “And the guy has one hell of a sweet tooth.”

I don’t like her assumption. “Aside from the fact I’m not looking for any kind of relationship, or that he’s my boss, Beck is so not my type.”

She chuckles and hands me a printout. “Sweetie, that man is everyone’s type.”

I glance down at the piece of paper and my eyes widen at the tip allocation. Five thousand dollars?

“A third of that is yours. I’m not like some of the other girls here. I always tip a trainee. It will be e-transferred to your account tomorrow.”

“It’s so much,” I mumble, shocked.

“It is. And if you keep your head down and smile when you’re supposed to, your bank account will be happy.” She nods. “Welcome to the Club.”

I say goodnight to Brent and leave through the employees exit, which is out back.

The city is quiet, the streets slick from a light drizzle that must’ve passed through while we were working.

Cassidy gives a wave and heads off toward the subway, tossing me a quick “See you tomorrow” over her shoulder.

I tighten my bag strap and start the walk home, my breath puffing white in the cold night air.

Halfway down the block, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

Breaths falling fast I glance over my shoulder, but the street’s empty except for a cab turning the corner.

The Club disappears behind me, its stone exterior blending into the shadows like it doesn’t exist at all.

I slip mace from my purse and continue on.

From a darkened window high above the club, Beck stands with the lights off, a crystal glass in his hand. Watching.

Tracking.

He’s got a guy on her tail, watching. Making sure the last piece of Harold Horner’s legacy walks safely down the street…

for now. He smiles at the thought. Finishes his drink and then glances at the woman splayed naked on his bed.

He tells her to get on all fours. Usually a gentleman in the sack, tonight is different. There is no foreplay.

And as he fucks the senator’s date from the night before, it’s not her face in his mind. That belongs to someone else. And it won’t’ be long until that someone else is on all fours.

For him.

He smiles at the thought and snarls when he comes.