Chapter 5
Julia
I may have overdressed.
Just a little.
But I needed to make it clear to Mr. Vanetti that this job was mine. Not any of the other candidates. Mine.
As I entered the conference room, Quentin stood and pointed to a chair. "How do you feel about self-confidence?"
I stopped. Looked at the chair. Looked at him.
"Once I'm on your payroll, I'll expect to be treated equally, without regard to my sex." I gestured slightly toward the chair. "Where I come from, a gentleman doesn't command a woman to sit like she's a dog."
His expression shifted from shock to amusement in a heartbeat. "Touché, Miss Russell."
He walked around the table and pulled the chair out for me properly.
Oh.
That backfire could have gone worse.
"Thank you," I managed, sitting with as much grace as I could muster while my heart hammered.
"You're welcome." He returned to his seat, eyes never leaving mine. "I guess that answers my question."
"Confidence isn't arrogance when you can back it up." I held his gaze for one heartbeat, two, then glanced away. "I can."
"I believe you."
Something in his voice made my stomach flip.
He wore a dark gray suit today, midnight blue tie that made his eyes look stormy. Dangerous. My goal was simple: land this position, observe his business, find proof he killed my father.
Then eliminate him.
The plan was solid. Straightforward. Except for the part where looking at him made my pulse race for entirely all the wrong reasons.
Focus. You have a job to do.
"Shall we begin?" He opened a folder.
"Certainly." I forced my gaze to his chin. Safer than his eyes. Less likely to make me forget why I was really here.
"We'll be going over your résumé in more detail. My team has some follow-up questions."
When he shifted into CEO mode—all business, all command—he became even more attractive. Something about watching a powerful man direct operations, make decisions, control a room...
Stop it.
"I understand."
"Tell me about your work at the Port of Lake Charles."
I shifted slightly. This was the weakest part of my cover. "I worked logistics for Crescent City Hauling before they went under."
"Double books?"
"The kind that can land you in federal custody." I kept my voice steady. "I survived without handcuffs, which says something about my discretion."
"Did it make you nervous?"
Everyone gets nervous in this business unless they're a sociopath. Which I wasn't, despite being here to potentially kill a man.
"Of course. Ten years in prison isn't my idea of fun." I met his gaze. "But I'd never talk. I know how organizations like yours work. Snitching is fatal."
"Good." His smile was approving. Warm. "Tell me about the operations."
I gave him the condensed version—Crescent's Gulf Coast network, the owner's son who gambled with company money, the spectacular collapse. Just enough detail to sound authentic without boring him.
"When the Marshals showed up, it was over. The owner disappeared. Still on the FBI's most wanted list."
"The son?"
"Last I heard, running a hedge fund." I smiled. "Investing in cricket futures."
"Crickets?"
"Protein source. My trainer swears by them." I wrinkled my nose. "I tried one of those cricket protein bars once. Never again."
He laughed—genuine, surprised. "I'll pass on eating bugs."
"Wise choice."
Our eyes met. Held.
The air shifted. Charged.
He cleared his throat, looked back at the folder. "Your qualifications are solid. Your references check out."
"But?"
"But you're from New York."
My pulse kicked. "Is that a problem?"
"Depends." He set down the folder, leaned back. That assessing look again. "I've had some... complications with East Coast families recently."
Complications. He means my father's murder.
"I can't help where I grew up." I raised a brow. "But I can promise complete loyalty to whoever employs me."
"Can you?"
"Yes."
"Even if it conflicted with family obligations?"
The question was like a knife.
What was this? Did he suspect? Not everything, but maybe something?
“I’ve been on my own for a while, Mr. Vanetti.” I shrugged to make light of his comment. “I’m not married, or in a committed relationship at the moment. Besides the occasional family get-togethers, my time is my own.”
"I see.” His eyes flared with interest.
Had that been his way of asking about my love life?
Silence stretched between us. I should say something professional. Redirect to business.
Instead, I found myself noticing the way the afternoon light hit his desk. How his hands rested on the folder—strong hands, capable hands. How his tie was slightly loosened, like he'd been tugging at it.
What would it be like if this were real? If I'd met him somewhere normal—a coffee shop, a gallery, anywhere that didn't involve lies and potential murder?
The thought was dangerous. Distracting. Even a little exciting.
Exactly what I couldn't afford.
"Miss Russell—"
"Julia," I interrupted. "If I'm going to work for you, you should call me Julia."
"Julia." The way he said my name did things to my composure. "I'll be honest. You're one of two final candidates."
My stomach dropped. "Two?"
"You and Lori Johnson."
Liar. I could see it in his eyes. There was no competition. He'd already decided.
The question was whether he'd decided to hire me or dismiss me.
"I'm the better choice," I said.
"Confident."
"Honest." I leaned forward slightly. "You need someone detail-oriented, discreet, capable of handling sensitive information without flinching. Someone who can read a room, anticipate needs, stay calm under pressure." I held his gaze. "That's me."
"And humble."
"Humility doesn't get you hired."
His mouth curved. "No. I suppose it doesn't."
He stood. I stood too.
"I'll need to run a few more background checks. Standard procedure for this level of access."
"Of course."
"Including a polygraph."
My blood went cold. "A polygraph?"
"Standard for executive positions. You're not refusing, are you?"
Yes. I'm absolutely refusing because I'll fail spectacularly.
"No." I narrowed my eyes. "When?"
"I'll let you know."
We stood there, table between us, tension crackling in the space.
He extended his hand. "Thank you for coming back, Julia."
I took it. His grip was warm, firm. Lasted a fraction too long.
"Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Vanetti."
"Quentin." His thumb brushed across my knuckles—accidentally or deliberately, I couldn't tell. "If we're using first names."
"Quentin." The name felt intimate. Dangerous.
He released my hand. I immediately missed the contact.
You're supposed to kill this man.
The thought hit like cold water.
I stood here, pulse racing, skin tingling from a handshake, and imagined what it would feel like if he kissed me.
And I was supposed to kill him.
"I should go." I took a step back.
"Wait." He moved around the table. Closer. "I want you to meet my head of security. He'll be conducting the final vetting."
"Now?"
He raised a brow. "If you have time."
“Of course.”
He pressed the intercom. "Send in Stone."
The door opened immediately.
The man who entered was massive. Six-four, maybe taller. Built like he bench-pressed small cars. Military bearing. Eyes that missed nothing.
And those eyes went immediately from me to Quentin and back again.
Assessing. Calculating.
He knew. Somehow, he knew there was something between us.
"Stone, this is Julia Russell. Julia, Nathan Stone. Head of security."
Stone extended a hand that could probably crush mine. "Miss Russell."
"Mr. Stone." I shook firmly, refusing to be intimidated.
He studied me with uncomfortable intensity. Not sexual—analytical. Like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"Quentin speaks highly of your qualifications," Stone said. His voice was deep, neutral.
"I appreciate that."
"I'll need to ask you some questions. For the background check."
"Of course."
Stone's gaze flicked to Quentin. Something passed between them—a look I couldn't quite read.
Warning? Concern?
"Why don't we step into another room?" Stone gestured to the door. "Give you some privacy for this conversation."
"Actually," Quentin said, "I'll sit in."
Stone's eyebrows rose slightly. "That's not standard procedure."
"I'm aware."
Another loaded look between them.
"Fine. Then we might as well stay here." Stone's tone suggested he didn’t like it, but he wouldn't argue in front of me.
Stone moved to the other side of the table facing me. Quentin sat beside me. Close enough to watch my every move. Close enough to feel the heat from his body.
This is bad. But also good. I was so screwed.
"Let's start simple," Stone said, pulling out a tablet. "Tell me about your high school.” Stone looked at me like it was a gotcha question. “You graduated from Saint Veronica’s Academy in Jamaica Estates?”
“Yes.” I held back a smile. Because this was a private Catholic all-girl’s prep school, a place most of my close female relatives had attended.
I’d been there as Julia Russell, so none of it was fake.
I’d been on the honor roll and set some track records, too.
Fancy that. “I learned discipline there, although to be honest, being separated from the boys as a teenager wouldn’t have been my first choice. ”
Stone asked pointed questions. I gave careful answers. Quentin sat beside me, occasionally interjecting, his presence both reassuring and deeply unsettling.
Every time our eyes met, I remembered: I'm here to investigate him. Possibly kill him.
Every time he smiled at something I said, I thought: What if he's innocent?
And every time Stone's gaze sharpened with suspicion, I realized that he knew something was off. He just couldn’t figure out what.
"One last question," Stone said finally. "Why this job? You could work anywhere. Why here?"
"Because Vitality Ventures is a growing business. I want to be part of something ambitious. Something that matters. And I’m ready for a new start. A new beginning."
It wasn't entirely a lie. If I was going to spend a month investigating someone, at least the company was interesting.
Stone studied me. “You running from something, Miss Russell?”
I met his gaze without flinching. Perfect.
This was my chance to sell it. “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to some of that.
I was in a relationship a while back. It ended about six months ago, but it took me a little longer to admit that I needed a change.
A big change. When the agency listed this job, I jumped at the chance. ”
Stone nodded, like he’d finally gotten to the bottom of things. "Thank you for being honest, Miss Russell." His brows dipped. "I hope you don’t mind me asking, but will this person be a problem in the future?"
I raised a brow. “If he’s a problem, he’s my problem. Nothing for you or Mr. Vanetti to worry about.”
Stone’s brows rose. “I see.” He glanced at Quentin. “That’s all I have for now.”
“Good. Thank you, Stone.” Quentin stood, and motioned to the door. "I'll walk you out.”
"That's not—" Stone started.
Quentin pinned him with a look. "I'll walk her out."
Stone's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
In the elevator, alone with Quentin, the silence felt thick. Heavy.
"Stone doesn't like me," I observed.
"Stone doesn't like anyone until they prove themselves." He glanced at me. "Don't take it personally."
"Should I be worried?"
"About the background check? Only if you have something to hide."
Everything. I'm hiding everything.
"I don't," I lied.
The elevator reached the guest parking level. Doors opened.
He walked me to the entrance. Held the door.
"Quentin?"
"Yes?"
"Will I get the job?"
He smiled. "What do you think?"
"I think you've already decided."
"Have I?"
"Yes. The question is what you decided."
He stepped closer. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
"I think," he said quietly, "that hiring you is either going to be the smartest decision I've ever made, or the most dangerous."
My breath caught. "Which one?"
"I'm still trying to figure that out."
Then he stepped back, professional distance restored.
"I'll call you," he said. "Soon."
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and walked to my car.
Only when I was safely inside, doors locked, did I let myself breathe.
What am I doing?
I was supposed to be detached. Professional. Focused on the mission.
Instead, I was attracted to my target. Wanting him to hire me for reasons that had nothing to do with revenge and everything to do with the way he looked at me.
Like I was someone worth knowing.
Someone worth taking a risk for.
Someone who mattered.
I pulled out my phone. Texted Carlo: Second interview complete. Waiting for final decision.
His response came immediately: And?
I think I'll get the job.
Good. Don't fail, Jules.
I stared at the message.
Don't fail.
Don't fall for him.
Don't forget why you're here.
Don't lose sight of what matters.
I won't, I typed back.
But as I drove away, watching Vitality Ventures disappear in my rearview mirror, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd already failed in ways Carlo couldn't even imagine.
Because I didn't want Quentin Vanetti to be guilty.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.