Filthy Rich Alpha Page 5

  Iris hissed in a breath. “Wow. Looks like there’s a lot you need to catch me up on. A kiss you say? Your lips look…hmm. Crushed by passion? And who messed up your hair like that? This doesn’t look like a girl who got a mere kiss.”

  Cara stared at the photo then glanced up when someone knocked on her door.

  It was Mike Guant.

  “Um…can I call you back, Iris?”

  “Definitely and without delay, girlie.”

  “Talk soon, I promise,” Cara said, then hung up.

  She whisked her smartphone off the desk and into a drawer before pasting on a wide, fake smile. “Oh, hello. You must be Mr. Gaunt. Please come in.”

  The stout man entered and chose a chair, sitting down without leaning back. Cara took a deep breath. “Sorry. That was a friend of mine. I usually never take personal calls in the office.”

  A semblance of a smile appeared on his face, as if Mike Gaunt wasn’t too accustomed to smiling. “I know. The phone records confirm it.”

  Not just a manager, she thought with dismay. A micro-micromanager with control-freak eyes. Which were boring into her.

  “You have a completely clean record, in fact. There are employees here who abuse their perks and privileges. But not you,” he said. “You could be our poster person for work-appropriate conduct.” That awful pseudo smile appeared again.

  Cara guessed that Mike Gaunt didn’t read Deets. And she thanked her lucky stars for that.

  Chapter 5

  A half hour after discovering the photo of her on Deets, Cara did the only thing she could do—she made the trek to Branden Duke’s office and told him about it.

  “Hmm. It’s a little out of focus.” Branden had pulled up the photo of her on his monitor at Cara’s request. “Let’s get rid of the glare so I can get a better look.”

  He pushed a button. New blinds with ultra-thin metallic slats began to lower automatically, concealing the tall windows inch by inch. The heavy silk drapes in old gold—the color of serious money, Max Dubois used to say cheerfully—had been removed from Max’s former office.

  In the short time he’d been there, he’d revamped the office. It was his lair now. The towering bookshelves were gone, too, along with a jumble of aging printouts and thick binders. The walls showed no scars from the removal because expensive hardwood paneling had been installed, covering everything. There was no art. Nothing personal anywhere. The new desk had no drawers and no work in progress atop its highly polished surface. There was a couch that looked just like the one she’d napped on at Branden’s mansion. Just as long, just as black. But much less inviting, with no white cashmere afghan to soften its hard lines.

  Cara stared at Branden as he studied the photo.

  He was being so nonchalant, but she supposed the view had to be different when you lived on top of a mountain of money. A hint dropped on a gossip blog that he was up to no good, financially and otherwise, proved exactly nothing, and he had lawyers and PR flacks at his beck and call to take care of bad press. To say nothing of outside tech specialists who could make oh-so-embarrassing online mentions sink down in the rankings. She didn’t. Plus, it didn’t matter that she and Branden were both single. He was her boss, and the last thing she needed were rumors that she was sleeping her way to the top.

  “I don’t know who took it,” Cara said, feeling like she needed to say something when he remained silent. “Or why anyone would post it.”

  “The answer is obvious,” he said matter-of-factly. “Because you look sensational. That just-got-kissed mouth and the messed-up hair are made for a tabloid cover.”

  She frowned. “Great. Super great. Is that where I’m going to end up? On the cover of every tabloid in the supermarket, getting rung up with a quart of milk and a dozen eggs?”

  “I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

  “But you’re not me! And I am worried. I don’t want people…whispering about me. Making up stories,” she said, unable to hide the distress she was feeling.

  “Look, you’re not a celebrity. I’m sure this will blow over quickly and quietly.”

  “If I’d known there were reporters and photographers roaming around your place, I never would have—”

  “What? Tried to seduce me?” He was almost laughing.

  “Now hold on,” she snapped.

  He held up his hand. “I was kidding. Calm down. And don’t worry. I’m not a celebrity, either.”

  “And yet apparently, despite the fact I’d never heard of you, you’re a celebrity on the Street. And practically anything can go viral. Reputations get shredded.”

  He sat up straight, extending his long legs under the contemporary desk as he rested his elbows on the top of it, studying her. “I just don’t think yours will. You’re not doing anything in that photo except standing there looking gorgeous. Since when is that a crime?”

  She felt herself blush. Fortunately, the darkened room hid it. “Sooner or later I’ll be identified. As your employee.”

  “Right. My beautiful employee who had just attended a not very exclusive party with about a hundred other people. The rest is spin.”

  She thought about what he was saying. She supposed it made sense. For the first time since she’d seen the photo, her shoulders relaxed and she started to breathe easier. “I assume you didn’t miss the bit about you muscling in.”

  “No.” He seemed almost bored. “Most takeovers could be described that way. But even a hostile takeover isn’t illegal. Insider trading, market manipulation, now those would be bad. I’ve never been accused of either.”

  She bit her lip. “Well, if you’re not concerned, I guess I shouldn’t be.”

  “I’m really not. If you want me to have a word with Mike Gaunt—”

  “That’s all right. I’d rather you didn’t.” Cara didn’t want that man’s laser-beam focus turned on her, even though she had nothing to hide. “I just wanted to talk to you before anyone else did,” she added.

  “I appreciate that.” His tone was smooth. “But rest assured, it’s not something that bothers me.”

  “Um, good. Well, thank you. I should be going now.”

  “Cara.”

  The way he said her name made her blink. In a split second, his entire demeanor had changed. Gone was the laid back but authoritative boss. In his place was the dreamy, desirable man she’d met in his mansion.

  “Yes?” she managed to reply.

  “As far as this photo is concerned, I’m not worried and you shouldn’t be. As far as what we’re going to do about the attraction between us? Well, that’s a different matter.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I don’t understand. You said it yourself. We need to forget that ever happened.”

  “I said we had to keep things professional. Maybe that means we should forget what happened, but I’ve been having a difficult time doing that.”

  “Really? You stayed away yesterday and somehow I think if I hadn’t come here to see you about the picture, you would have managed to stay away from me today, too.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she tried to back track. “I mean—”

  His brows furrowed and he leaned forward, his forearms taut and defined on his desk. “If you truly think that’s the case, then you’re misinformed. I stayed away yesterday and would have continued to stay away in part because I thought I was respecting your wishes. But maybe you don’t know what you really want, after all.”

  She swallowed hard. Cursed herself for challenging him. What had that been about anyway? She’d actually sounded like she’d felt he was neglecting her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why—”

  “Don’t you, Cara? Because I certainly do.”

  She shook her head. “We can’t—”

  “We’ll discuss it later. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at your place of business.”

  But he’d be fine making her uncomfortable out of the office?

  She raised her chin. “I really don’t s
ee the purpose of looking for trouble twice.”

  “Generally, I’d agree with that,” he said softly. “But I find that with you, things are different.”

  “But—”

  Branden got up and walked around the desk, stopping just short of touching her. “I said we’ll talk about it later, Cara. But if you continue to push things, I’ll be glad to set you straight about my level of interest in you. Is that what you want?”

  She was sucking in breaths like a locomotive now.

  She immediately turned and walked out. She took the long way back to her office, through the maze of right angles, and fantasized about doing him on Long Leather Couch Number Two, really aggressively. Scratching. Biting. Kissing him hard. Riding him harder, straddling him, on top. Making him pay for the intensity with which she wanted him.

  She closed the door to her office once she was inside. Anyone who needed to talk to her could take a hint and save it for later. She paced for several minutes, trying to quash the instinct to return to Branden’s office and beg him to touch her. She didn’t care where as long as she finally felt his hands on her again.

  Lord, what was wrong with her?

  When her heartbeat stopped thundering and she’d finally calmed herself down, she plopped down in her swivel chair and glanced at the phone. No red light, no voice mails. She tapped a key and looked at the monitor. No new emails, either. She turned and gazed at the slice of river view without seeing it.

  Her mind was whirling.

  She stared at the phone, half expecting it to ring off the hook and force her to field what-were-you-thinking questions from colleagues and curious friends.

  Hours passed. Nothing happened.

  Despite her mind continually replaying her earlier encounter with Branden, she got a lot of work done. She supposed her brain was getting used to the multi-tasking. Still, her worry began to outshine even her dedication to work and all things Branden.

  Branden wasn’t worried about the photo she’d shown him, but what if there were others? Their erotically charged kiss had been nothing less than sex with clothes on. The door to Branden Duke’s upstairs sanctuary had been open. They’d been so wrapped up in each other they never would have noticed someone sneaking a photo.

  If there was more to come, she wouldn’t be able to ignore it. And neither would Branden. Dreading what she might see, Cara checked the Deets website. As he’d predicted, the post was gone.

  She felt only marginally relieved.

  Chapter 6

  Hours after Cara came to see him, Branden got a call from his stepsister Deena. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Yes,” he said and hung up, knowing she’d be there in less than a minute.

  He was thankful she’d called. If anyone could get his mind off Cara, it was his highly intelligent, intensely driven, out-for-blood stepsister. Of his five half and step-siblings, Deena was the one sister who bounced back time after time from the shit their various fathers put them all through, both before and after Branden’s mother was through with them. His mother had been married six times and Branden had done what he could for the sisters he’d acquired over the years to help them through the tough times.

  When he’d first heard Max Dubois was selling D&M, he’d contacted Deena, to see if the company was legit. She was an investigator for the SEC, and they’d worked several investigations together to bring down dirty traders. Deena had told him the SEC suspected the company was involved with underhanded trading and the SEC was looking for a way in. He’d made the decision to buy D&M, partnering up with the SEC as he did so. Dirty traders were the lowest of the low—taking advantage of widows, the disadvantaged, those too trusting to know what they were about to lose until it was all gone. Between him, Deena, and the SEC folks in place, they’d root out the rot that had slipped into the cracks of the company. Lately, however, the investigation hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind.

  His mind was filled with Cara Michal. How beautiful she was. How delicious she’d tasted. How it was best to stay away from her, but every time he saw her, he found himself wanting to do the exact opposite. The picture in Deets hadn’t helped. It had brought to the forefront of his mind every small detail that he’d tried to forget about that night and the wild kiss they’d shared.

  She’d looked like she’d just been thoroughly fucked rather than just kissed.

  And all he could think about was making her look like that again.

  And again.

  He’d stayed away from her, trying to do the right thing, and she’d had the gall to accuse him of not being interested. God, he’d wanted to make her eat those words. Show her in every possible way how much he wanted inside her and—

  Someone knocked on his door and he looked up as Deena opened it.

  “Made any headway in our little investigation yet?”

  She closed the door behind her. “Keep your voice down, Branden. The halls of Dubois & Mellan are seldom empty.”

  “As the company’s new owner, I should be investigating how to trim the fat. That shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, and if it does, well…” He spoke loudly, as if he was addressing anyone wandering outside his office door.

  Deena rolled her eyes and perched herself on the arm of the couch that was farthest away from him. She pulled down the slim skirt of her coral suit almost primly.

  “You look great,” he said in a softer voice. “I’m surprised my new brother-in-law lets you come out to play.”

  “This isn’t play. It’s constructive work.”

  “More like sabotage.”

  She hummed a little tune. “I prefer to call it encouraging delusional behavior. We don’t have to do anyone in. Most people seem able to achieve that on their own, don’t you agree?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Deena ran a hand over the back of the couch, as if the taut leather needed additional smoothing. “How long do you think we can get away with our little act this time?”

  “Until someone smart gets one step ahead of us.”

  “That may have already happened. Any news on the Deets post?”

  Branden shrugged irritably. “It’s anonymous. They claim to be a news blog and they’ll protect their sources. At this time, there’s no reason to think it’s anything but tabloid fodder. Still, I wish I knew who took that photo of Cara.”

  “Do you.” The needling remark wasn’t a question. Deena rose and paced the austerely furnished room. “It would be so nice to not be noticed at all.”

  Branden’s distant gaze didn’t seem to see the graceful form of the woman who passed in front of him several times. “But I was. And you may be next.”

  She turned and faced him squarely. “I don’t think so. Not by anyone other than Cara, at least. She’s not dumb. She’s caught on to my iciness and ‘back off’ attitude where you’re concerned. Something I wouldn’t have to do if you’d kept your hands to yourself.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Cara seems to have captivated the enemy. One that seems to have various connections. Have you seen the second post?”

  “No.” There was a second post? Cara wouldn’t like it. And neither did he. He’d tried to play it cool in order to reassure her, but he’d been pissed by the online publication of that photo. What they’d shared had been intimate. Private. It didn’t matter that he was often depicted in the media with beautiful women; that had never bothered him before. This was different.

  He hated the idea of anyone witnessing his time with Cara, if that was what had happened, even though only a suggestive outside shot of her alone had been published.

  “Actually, it’s a link. On a different site. From the time stamp and various comments made, it’s been online for hours. Click on it and you go somewhere else that might surprise you. Maybe not. After all, you were there. You and Cara.”

  Something in the meaningful lift of her eyebrow got him up and in front of his computer again. He pulled up the website and clicked on the link. What he saw surprised and a
ngered him, but when he navigated the additional links and investigated even more, he was livid.

  A muffled ringing made Cara frown. It was just past eight o’clock and the sun had long set. She was home for once, knitting to reduce stress, rather than slaving away at the office, generating even more stress. But where was her phone? Her armchair liked an occasional smartphone snack. She slid her hand between the upholstered back and the seat cushion. The trick was to extract it before it stopped ringing. She answered with a distracted hello, not looking at the number.

  “Yo. It’s me.”

  “Hello, Iris.”

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Contemplating my uncertain future.”

  “That calls for a stiff drink. I assume someone at work saw that photo.”

  “Not that I know of. No one stopped by my office.” She left out the conversation with Branden for now, not up for Iris’s analysis of how weird that had been. “No one called to chat.”

  “Keep your head down.”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “So I guess you don’t want to go out.”

  “No thanks. I’d rather knit.” Cara lifted a tangled pile of yarn from her lap and made clicking noises with the needles.

  “Nice sound effect,” Iris said. “Are you working on that scarf you started a year ago?”

  “Yeah, I just wish it looked more like a scarf and less like a dish scrubber.”

  “Take a hint from the universe. Use it to scrub dishes,” Iris suggested.

  “Won’t work. It’s four feet long. Besides, it’s really soft.”

  “I know someone you could donate it to.”

  “No one would want this, Iris.”

  “The laundry room cat doesn’t like the sock box anymore.”

  Cara, who dropped off all her clothes at the dry cleaner’s, had spent many peaceful afternoons with Iris in her Brooklyn building’s laundry room, watching the suds slosh and the dryers spin while they talked and plugged coins into the machines. Each lone sock was deposited in a cardboard box in the hopes of being reunited with its mate, which never seemed to happen. The calico cat, a stray, had wandered into the building since Cara had last been there and found kitty heaven on earth in the warm, windowless room below street level and the overflowing box.