Filthy Rich Page 8

  Cara was being flip, but the memories of those terrible days had never gone away.

  “Yes you did. Loyal friend that I am, with my amazing Swiss-cheese brain and all, I forgot practically everything you said.”

  “Nice try. I know you didn’t. But here’s the thing. Davies was the last name of the creep who ruined my dad.”

  Iris didn’t respond right away. And in fact, she didn’t know everything. But she knew a lot.

  Years ago, when Cara and her mother had to move out of their little Long Island house to Brooklyn, she’d told no one except her new friend Iris about the financial scandal that had disgraced her dad, Hank Finch, and plunged the family into poverty when he couldn’t find work, unfairly accused of fraud he hadn’t committed.

  He’d been hoodwinked by the comptroller of the township’s pension fund, who’d looted the money and given it to another enterprising son of a bitch on Wall Street who in turn had made a fortune and then some before the Securities and Exchange Commission had caught up with him. Her father had died of a premature heart attack before that and her mother had barely survived a nervous breakdown. Even worse, her brother, Glenn, had suffered his first psychotic break. The doctors who’d finally diagnosed him indicated that the shock could have triggered an earlier onset of his illness.

  Carl Davies was the high-flying trader who’d parlayed the township’s stolen money into a fortune. She blamed him for what had happened to her dad, her mother, and even her brother. Hank Finch had taken the fall, not the comptroller, although the comptroller had later died in a car accident. And Davies had plea-bargained his case down to a few years in a golf-course prison. But Cara held on to her dream of someday clearing her father’s name once and for all.

  “Oh,” Iris said in a flat voice. “Yeah, I remember him. You don’t think—”

  “They’re in the same business.” Cara copied the URL for the yearbook photo into an email to Iris. “I’m sending you the link to a photo of Branden when his last name was still Davies.”

  “Branden, huh?”

  Iris’s dry statement wasn’t lost on Cara. Yes, she would have referred to him as Mr. Duke if she hadn’t been so attracted to the man. Fortunately, Iris didn’t push it.

  Several seconds. “Got it. Scrawny but sexy. Interesting how people turn out.”

  “Iris, I don’t know if I’m seeing things by this point or what. Can you look up Carl Davies and compare the two?”

  “Uh, yeah. Give me a few minutes. And do something constructive while you’re waiting.” Cara could hear the keyboard clacking from Iris’s side of the call.

  “I’ve been drinking—”

  “Not a good idea,” Iris warned her.

  Cara stifled a laugh. “Melted ice cream.”

  “Gross,” Iris said. “Okay, I got a few shots of Carl Davies from back in the day. Do you want to see them?”

  “No.” Cara didn’t want to explain to Iris that flashbacks to that time still made her feel physically sick.

  “No problem. I can compare Branden Davies and Jerk-off Davies for you. Yuck. He looks like those reptiles that live in dark caves. Everything but the forked tongue. Definitely from the 1980s with those big-frame glasses.” Iris slowed down and stopped typing. “Okay,” she said after a while. “Got the younger photos of Davies and Branden side by side. I would definitely say there’s no resemblance whatsoever. But hold the phone. I’ll see what I can find on Davies’s personal life.”

  Cara settled back into the pillows, keeping the phone propped on her shoulder. She pushed her laptop away from her for the time being.

  “Nothing much,” Iris reported. “Carl Davies never had kids. Hey, here’s an interview quote from the great man himself. Also from the eighties.”

  Cara steeled herself. That was before he’d gone to jail.

  “ ‘I love dames and I love dough. I just hate kids. No offense. But we all know the little bastards get in the way of everything fun.’ Not much else on him.” Iris cleared her throat.

  “Carl Davies is a convicted felon who’s wanted for fraud in five countries. I don’t think you’re going to find him on LinkedIn.”

  “You never know,” Iris said cheerfully.

  Almost without knowing it, Cara yawned, not stifling it quickly enough.

  “I second that yawn. Let’s quit for now,” Iris said. “My feeling is that the same-name thing is a coincidence.”

  “But why did Branden Duke change his?”

  “How should I know? Maybe his mom remarried and he took on his stepdad’s name. Ask him.”

  “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? Hey, Branden, are you related to the reptile who destroyed my dad? Just thought I’d inquire.”

  “It’s a start. Call me tomorrow. Maybe I’ll dig up something else.”

  “Thanks, Iris. You’re a true friend.”

  “I’m a tired friend. But good night. Try to sleep.”

  Cara couldn’t.

  The coincidence of the names still bugged her.

  A lot.

  She had more hunting to do. There were too many ifs at the moment.

  —

  Friday dawned with the rumble of garbage trucks far below. Cara jolted straight up in bed and shot a quick glance at her ringing alarm clock. She’d slept through that insistent ring for an hour? She threw the covers off but got tangled up in a sheet and almost face-planted on the decorative rug next to her bed. Not the way to start the day.

  After a quick shower, she grabbed the nearest outfit out of her closet—a black suit—and didn’t realize until she exited her building that the tights she’d pulled up her legs were dark blue, not black. No time to turn around and go back to her apartment—Branden Duke and her job waited.

  A now-familiar warmth spun through her core as the thought of Branden entered her mind. She needed to stop this visceral reaction her body had at each thought of him. A man like Branden Duke would confuse her life, and that she didn’t need. She needed her job and security—for her brother, Glenn, if not for herself. As she ran down the street, keeping on her toes so as to not break a heel, she ran a comb through her hair and hoped it would appear dry by the time she entered the lobby of D&M.

  Nope, she wasn’t so lucky. At the security setup, Rafe Sampson was leaving, probably headed to a morning meeting with a client, and grinned unkindly at her. “Save your wild escapades for Friday and Saturday,” he told her, and when she frowned, he laughed.

  What a pain in the ass. Like she hadn’t ever seen him slip in late before, bags under his eyes and a large coffee in his hand.

  As she skulked down the hall, Gail poked her head out of her own office and caught a glimpse of Cara.

  “Wow,” was all she said, but the word spoke volumes.

  Cara groaned. “That bad?”

  Gail hesitated, tipping her head to the side and sweeping her gaze up and down Cara’s body. “You don’t look like you’re making the Walk of Shame, but it’s pretty close. Need black stockings? I have extra.”

  “No time.” Cara glanced over her shoulder, down the hall. “I’m trying to get to my office before—”

  “Don’t worry, the new boss isn’t in yet.”

  Cara heaved a sigh of relief. “In that case, I’ll take the black stockings. I’ll owe you.”

  Five minutes later, appropriately color coordinated and with her hair partially blow-dried under the hand dryer in the women’s restroom, Cara entered her office and sat down heavily in the chair behind her desk. What a way to start the day. Not.

  Although a few new faces showed up—some man named Alex, who held a position Cara couldn’t quite figure out and whom she had yet to meet, a young Hispanic woman named Graciella, who’d ducked into an empty office and sat with her nose to a computer monitor, and an older man named Frank, who settled down into an empty seat in the bullpen, phone glued to his ear—Branden never showed. Neither did his snooty sidekick, Deena. Cara didn’t miss either of them. Plus, when work wasn’t distracting her, Branden was e
ver-present in her rollicking sexual fantasies. She’d known the guy less than forty-eight hours, yet she knew so much about him. A lot she’d discovered during last night’s research, but she also knew how he smelled. How he tasted. How strong and gentle his touch could be. How his voice sounded.

  And she knew she wanted to learn so much more.

  How he looked naked. How he felt naked. How he felt while inside her.

  Since none of that could ever happen, she told herself it was all right to fantasize. Besides, the reality of Branden Duke couldn’t possibly live up to the sex god status he’d attained in her dreams.

  Could it?

  God, why had a man suddenly invaded her every thought? Why had she acted all schoolgirlish during the day, checking the hallway and watercooler to see if he’d arrived? Keeping an ear out for the sound of his voice? Checking her emails on a near-constant basis to see if he’d sent one to her?

  The man wouldn’t leave her mind…and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  Chapter Five

  The weekend had not gotten off to a great start, not after another sleepless night fighting off erotic dreams about Branden Duke and more nightmares of her past and the fact that Cara had found herself back at D&M early Saturday morning, ostensibly to work. Finally, after she realized she’d been looking for the silhouette of a tall, intense man, she called Iris and asked her to go to her favorite spa in Chelsea with her. No sense in simply sitting in her office, pretending to work while really lying in wait for a man she barely knew.

  She’d had enough of acting like a love-struck teenager.

  The private room at the spa held two massage tables. Cara was draped in heated towels, her head swathed in a terry-cloth turban. She looked over at Iris, who was more swaddled than draped, and twirling a lock of hair between her fingers.

  Their schedules rarely synchronized, but they really were solid friends as survivors of the same tough high school. Not academically tough. Tough tough. They’d shared battered textbooks and sat at graffiti-scarred desks and graduated with sighs of relief.

  Iris had instantly befriended Cara, a transfer student from Long Island, when she and her mother had moved to Brooklyn after her father’s death. It had been a long time before Cara told Iris, who not only took everything in stride but told Cara to get over it and just live her damn life.

  Good advice. She’d tried to follow it.

  She and Iris had taken very different paths: Cara into the financial world and Iris into the arty nexus of Brooklyn. But they stayed in touch and had grown even closer as the years went by.

  Iris stretched forward and pulled at the curtain separating the private room from the main interior area of the spa. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Half-price days are always busy.”

  Iris dropped the curtain and wriggled back onto the table. “So Greg was a douche, huh?” She caught Cara’s wry look. “Definitely not someone you’d ever hit the sheets with?”

  “Nope.”

  “You don’t have to be in a long-term relationship to get some action, you know. You could just have fun. Go to the clubs. Meet someone online. All for a little adult fun.”

  Thinking of adult fun made Cara instantly think of Branden Duke. Butterflies shot through her stomach.

  “No way,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t give away her sudden tension. “Too many weirdos in clubs and online. Way too many.”

  “Aw, they can’t all be weird.”

  Cara shot her a look. “Oh yes they can, and you of all people should know that.”

  Iris shrugged her bare shoulders, loosening the towel that swaddled her torso. She pulled at it. “Treat yourself to an obsession. Unless you already have one that starts with B and ends with O-S-S.”

  Cara said nothing.

  Not surprisingly, Iris interpreted her silence as speaking volumes.

  “Thought so,” Iris said cheerfully. “Time for true confessions.”

  Cara hesitated, wondering how Iris always managed to hone in on Cara’s deepest, darkest secrets. She’d obviously picked up on the fact that Cara’s interest in Branden Duke went beyond any possible connection to Carl Davies, the man who’d ruined her life. She’d stayed silent on the subject of how much she wanted Branden, but the desire flaring up inside her seemed like it wouldn’t go away anytime soon. Maybe she should divulge a little. Share with Iris her big quandary…to go after Branden, or run full-out in the opposite direction.

  “Okay, you’re on to something,” Cara began. “You already know he’s handsome and rich. He’s incredibly sexy. And…I kissed him. At the party. And he’s made it clear he wants me. I guess I should have told you that from the get-go.”

  “You’re forgiven. Because I’m also guessing you want him. I’ve never known you to Google a guy. That’s something new for you.”

  Cara spoke very softly. “I more than want him. My body is hungering for him. For some reason, I want to tease him until his head explodes. Make him beg for what he thinks he’s never going to get. And then…then I want to give it to him. In the most mind-blowing way possible.”

  “Huh. That sounds interesting. Could you be more specific?”

  “About the fantasy part, no.”

  “Too bad.” Iris sighed. “But why does it have to stay fantasy? Why not treat yourself to some of that?”

  “Because I work for him. So do about a thousand other people in different companies. And believe it or not, I think the guy actually has morals. He’s trying to keep things professional. Trying being the operative word.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning his resolve seems…shaky.”

  “In other words, he gets close to you and forgets things like office rumors and harassment suits. All he can think of is doing you.”

  “It seems that way,” Cara confessed. “But he’s right. We can’t act on our attraction. Besides, although I do think you’re right about his original last name and Carl Davies’s last name being a coincidence, there were some gaps in Branden’s timeline.”

  “You’re paranoid.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re also pissed that he woke up your inner sex goddess. Or is it more than that? Is Mr. Davies/Duke someone you could see yourself falling for?”

  Cara glowered at her. “Based on a brief introduction, him listening as I explained my job, and some admittedly hot chemistry? No. I’m not interested in anything permanent with anybody. I said I want to toy with him, not win his heart.”

  “No?” Iris murmured.

  Their eyes met, but before Cara could reply, the peach velvet curtain parted. Two women in white stood outside. “Ladies? Are you ready?”

  “Yes, thanks,” Cara said quickly. She looked at her friend again, who smiled. A silent truce was declared.

  Blissed out, Cara and Iris just lay there side by side, relaxed to the point of being boneless as warm oil was poured over their backs and the skilled masseuses got to work.

  They sighed and moaned occasionally, but that was about it for intelligent conversation for the better part of an hour.

  Cara might as well have been alone. Given Iris’s teasing, she tried to think of anything and anyone but Branden Duke, but her mind kept going there, drifting to an irresistible fantasy that began with doing to Branden what was being done to her.

  It was so easy to imagine him on a table, mostly naked, and herself…well, not wearing a white coat, but mostly naked, too. Cara told herself to save the fantasy for later, when she really was alone. Or better yet, don’t go there at all.

  She surrendered to the healing hands and completely lost track of time, until steamed towels were laid on and brisk rubdowns began. Then their backs were patted dry.

  Small, smooth rocks that had been heating somewhere in the room were gently set in place on energy meridians by what seemed to be invisible hands. Voices drifted into the room, and Cara and Iris were left alone.

  The voices in the waiting room intensified, but Cara was too blissed
out to care until she heard Iris’s table creak as she shifted.

  “What’s going on out there?” Cara asked, staying flat with her eyes closed.

  “Dunno. But some client sounds pretty stressed.”

  There was a clatter as Iris lifted herself up on her elbows, inching forward on her belly. Cara opened her eyes to look at her.

  “You’re losing your pebbles.”

  “Story of my life.” Iris reached out and moved the curtain of the booth, peeking out. “Wow. She looks famous.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman who just came in.”

  “Actress?”

  Iris pondered that for a moment. “Maybe. Or a television personality.”

  Cara lifted her head and craned her neck until it hurt. When she saw who was making a commotion, sudden bile ate at the back of her throat. “Neither. Oh shit.”

  The woman at reception pushed her glossy black hair back over the shoulder of an impeccably fitted jacket. Her slender hand reached inside a costly Bottega Veneta tote and extracted a wallet to pay for her spa treatment.

  Cara ducked back down. “That’s Deena Raj.”

  “You know her?”

  “Just met her this week. She’s a financial software expert. Branden Duke put her in charge of IT.”

  “Oh.” Iris looked again through a gap that was a little too wide.

  “She can see you!”

  “I don’t think so.” But Iris dropped the edge of the curtain, still listening to what was going on beyond the peach velvet.

  Cara’s head was buzzing. The spa was a short taxi ride from the Wall Street area and popular with the handful of women at Dubois & Mellan. She and Gail had come several times before, as had Tammie. Someone might have recommended it to Deena Raj.

  “I hope she didn’t see me.” Cara swore. “I don’t want her telling Duke I skipped out of the office.”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “I know that. I came in late on Friday and should put in weekend hours. It’s an unwritten law.”

  Iris gave her a sympathetic look. “At least they pay you well for not having a life.” She gathered a towel around herself and slid off the massage table, padding over to grab a pair of courtesy slippers.