Page 9 of R Is For Revenge, Part One (The Billionaire Boys Club #1)

From the panoramic window, I watch Jules walk down the block, her dark hair catching the glow of the streetlamps, her steps quick against the wet pavement.

She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t see me standing here, glass in hand, tracking her every step.

She moves like a dancer, but then I bet the girl was into ballet. Don’t all rich girls take dance?

My sister begged my mom to sign her up for lessons but we never had the money. Thinking of Lola, I realize I haven’t spoken to her in a couple of weeks. The last time I got her on the phone I had the distinct impression she’d been trying to get rid of me.

Something’s up with her. I can feel it. I decide to call her tomorrow. Check in.

I’m still watching the street when my phone buzzes against the bar. Cade.

“Talk to me.”

“Got what you wanted,” Cade says, his tone sharp with the satisfaction he gets from pulling strings.

“Your girl’s living in a one-bedroom on the Upper West Side.

Place belonged to an aunt on the mom’s side who passed and she left it to Jules.

No trust fund, no cash cushion. She’s covering all her brother’s medical bills—guy’s in-home nurse confirmed it. ”

“Brother?” I’m shocked. I mean, I know about a son and his accident but I thought the guy was in his mother’s care.

“Yeah. William Horner. He was in a bad motorcycle wreck and has been in a private hospital ever since. Jules is broke, Beck. She’s not just working for fun—she needs this job.

As far as I can tell there was a small trust for her brother that doles out money every month, but it doesn’t cover the entirely of his expenses. She does.”

My jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as she turns the corner and disappears from view. “Anything else?”

“Nothing dirty yet. No boyfriends, no debt collectors, no skeletons on record. Just a broke girl keeping her brother alive. I’ll keep digging.”

“Do that,” I say quietly, hanging up.

I set the phone on the bar and finish the last swallow of my drink, the burn sliding down slow.

So she’s not the spoiled heiress I expected. Not the princess Harold Horner would have flaunted like a trophy.

Doesn’t matter. Not really. She’s still Horner’s blood. Still the key to nailing that last nail into his coffin.

And now I know exactly where she sleeps, but better yet, I know that she needs me.