Filthy Rich

by Virna DePaul

  The hustle and bustle made it easy to be invisible and indulge in a little people watching before she had to be imprisoned behind a desk and stare at columns of numbers. She had decided long ago that Excel software was user-friendly as Microsoft products went, but it sure as hell wasn’t her friend.

  And speaking of friends…or rather, not friends…

  She took a sip of coffee and headed to the security setup at the far end of the lobby, wondering what she should say to Greg when she saw him. She knew she should be more pissed he’d left her stranded. It would be perfectly within her rights to verbally lash out at him. And yet, she’d rather just be done with him altogether, she realized as she stepped behind Rafe Sampson, one of her coworkers, in the security line. Rafe swept his gaze over her and raised his brow, and she had to wonder if Greg had said anything to Rafe about her at the party last night.

  Greg had ultimately done her a favor by leaving her to the mercy of a host she hadn’t been introduced to, not knowing that she’d eventually catch a ride with Branden’s limo driver. Now she had the perfect excuse to not see him again outside the office.

  But the memory of Branden’s dark gaze came back to her with unsettling intensity. She could still imagine the brush of his hand against her cheek, even though it hadn’t happened. She had to have dreamed that. Not the kiss, though. Or the heavy petting.

  The memory aroused her. But something deeper lay just below her arousal: a purely emotional desire for his touch. A sharp pang of longing coursed through her for several seconds before she could shake it off. Or rather, she tried her best to shake it off as she entered the security setup and swiped her magnetic ID through a computerized turnstile, waiting for the buzz to sound.

  What was it about Branden Duke that had her so fully in a tizzy? Why was her body reacting in such an intense and new way? Was it that he was sex on a stick and the men she’d dated before had been bland? It couldn’t be the fact that he was filthy rich—money was something she needed, but she wasn’t starving for it. And she’d never compromise her values simply to hook up with a rich dude. As different as she and Iris were when it came to types of men, they had one thing in common: neither felt compelled to go after a man because of his money.

  Maybe it was simply that he didn’t seem cookie-cutter: all the men she’d dated in the last few years had seemed to have been popped out of the same mold.

  Branden Duke hadn’t come from a mold. He’d have broken the mold. Made a new one. And broken that one behind him.

  That had to be it—she was simply attracted to his differences. His uniqueness. That hint of bad boy that made her finally, finally, coax a man onto a dance floor with her so she could tease him with the brush of her body and the promise of more to come.

  It took another swipe of her card before she was validated. After the machine beeped, she stepped through, continuing toward the much more modern part of the lobby that led to the new structure built above the old one. Dubois & Mellan commanded the uppermost floors. Clients were supposed to be impressed by the spectacular view. A few, the megarich, didn’t even seem to notice the skyscrapers or the bridges or the expanse of harbor, as if they owned it all and couldn’t be bothered. There was such a thing as too much money.

  The view still impressed her. There were days when she didn’t quite believe she worked in a place like this. Cara, along with five other D&M employees, ID badges around their necks, entered the elevator. Inside, she leaned back against the mahogany paneling, steadying herself for the whoosh upward and worked to ignore the loud laughs of Rafe Sampson and his perpetual sidekick, Larry Gills. Both men irritated her—too loud, too obnoxious, and sharing too many details about the party the night before.

  A few minutes later, the doors opened and she straightened, following the men, and walking out onto thick carpet that softened her footsteps and all other sounds. Well-heeled clients and visitors experienced a respectful hush as they entered the brokerage and private investment firm of Dubois & Mellan, a workplace hush that, like others, had long since supplanted the hectic screaming and rushing around on trading floors.

  Which was still how a lot of people imagined stock exchanges. The reality couldn’t be more different.

  Behind the scenes, the office tended to be noisier than the halls that led to it, even though most trades were executed in split seconds through high-speed computers on the other side of the Hudson River in New Jersey, sometimes in anonymous buildings she could see from her office.

  Walking through a maze of right-angled turns, headed to her office, she heard the soft call of her name. She stopped at the office a few doors down from hers and leaned against the doorframe, smiling at Gail.

  “Sorry I bailed so early,” Gail said, her voice strained. “How was the remainder of the party? Did you meet the host?”

  At the mention of Branden, Cara found herself suddenly inhaling, then worked to calm her idiotic body’s even more idiotic response. She liked Gail, and had shared a few personal details with her over lattes and the occasional shopping foray, but letting the woman know even a hint of what had gone down between her and Branden the night before would not work. Instead, Cara nodded at Gail—slightly older but a replica of who Cara would be someday: conservatively put together, a neat and tidy hairstyle that lacked any verve, and muted makeup. A body that had edged its way to No Return and was one croissant away from tipping over the edge.

  “I’m afraid I ducked upstairs and avoided most of the activity—had a headache,” she said. At Gail’s understanding smile, she added, “I did meet the host, though. He’s intense. But in a good way.”

  The buzz of Gail’s phone grabbed the older woman’s attention, and she waved a hand at Cara, indicating they’d pick up the conversation later.

  Cara heaved a deep breath of relief and headed on. Her office was another huge perk, considering that she had just turned twenty-three when she’d joined the company. It even had a window with a thin slice of the spectacular view. Thick translucent glass panels set into the interior walls afforded an illusion of privacy from the general commotion. Never having to deal with the distractions of a cubicle where anyone could look over her shoulder meant she got a lot more work done—and meant she could hide out and stay late. Her office felt more like home in some ways than her apartment.

  She was grateful for a lot of reasons to have a door she could close, and that had been true from the get-go. Cara kept a safe distance from most people in the firm, unwilling to risk the emotional connection. She had Iris for that. Yes, she’d occasionally gone out shopping or to lunch with Gail and Tammie, but they’d kept conversations superficial. The few times she’d gone out with Greg amounted to the only occasions she’d broken her rule against office dating. She knew why she’d finally accepted his dinner invitation—she’d been overworked and lonely, and he was nothing she couldn’t handle.

  Not like the mysterious Mr. Branden Duke.

  At the door of an office on the other side of the department, a group of people stood in a huddle. Many more than usual for this hour of the morning. Something was going on, but Cara was in no mood to engage in office gossip, or to find out whatever sports event was big news. She was grateful to reach the door of her office without being seen.

  But why was her door closed? The office cleaners usually left it open. She turned the handle and stood frozen on the threshold, a sense of cold easing over her. Greg.

  “Hiya.”

  She closed the door behind her with a sharp click, frowning at Greg and not answering his cheery greeting.

  There was a wad of filthy chewing gum stuck on the sole of one of his wingtips. Maybe he didn’t know that. But he still looked way too comfortable, reclining with his feet up, uninvited and unwelcome.

  “Why are you in my chair?” she demanded. “And why are your feet on my desk?”

  “Gee whiz, Goldilocks.” He swung his legs off her desk and got up. “At least I’m not sleeping in your bed. Mind if I ask where you ended up last night?�
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  She set the take-out coffee cup on a low bookcase and hung up her coat, even more annoyed. “Mind if I ask why you left me without a ride?”

  He frowned. “Look, you’re the one who ditched me—”

  She sighed and interrupted him. “You’re right. Because we both know we were bored out of our minds with one another. Thanks but no thanks, Greg. Let’s do what we should have done three dates ago and get back to being colleagues. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do. I know you must, too.”

  Greg shook his head. Cara realized that he was looking over her shoulder. She followed his gaze.

  The translucent panel revealed the shadow of a tall man who had just stopped in the corridor when someone else’s hand tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Who’s that?” Cara murmured.

  A female voice that she vaguely recognized—Ashley? Emma? She didn’t remember the staffer’s name—bubbled a welcoming hello.

  “I think that’s our new boss,” Greg said quietly.

  Cara just stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s been making the rounds. Him and his entourage. Although I think most of his posse is still on the lower floors. But he’s on our floor now. I’m surprised you didn’t bump into him already.”

  “Why didn’t I know the company had been sold?”

  Greg shrugged. “He just bought D&M. Boom, like that. Paid cash. Not a lot of fanfare. Makes sense—he seems like the quiet type. But you don’t have to make noise when you can swing a hundred-million-dollar deal overnight.”

  That wasn’t monster money on Wall Street, but it was a lot more than Cara would have thought the company was worth. But she hadn’t heard a word about plans for the company to be sold. Unless Greg was pulling her leg.

  “D&M was bought? Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope.”

  Cara felt her stomach tighten. Drinking her coffee would only make that worse. She didn’t even bother to remove the lid, and instead tossed the cup into the refuse bin. Wow. They’d been sold. It happened.

  So much for her reasonably good mood. She had never taken this job for granted considering it was a four-year program with the option to hire her on permanently, but she’d had the security of those four years. Something told her that was no longer the case. Acquire and fire, that was how it went, especially in this business. Handshakes all around, and then the heads began to roll. She told herself not to panic. The cardboard boxes came before the pink slips. No trace of either. She hadn’t heard muffled sobs from the cubicles or the screech of packing-tape dispensers sealing up everyone’s hopes and dreams and knickknacks.

  But she could probably kiss her three weeks of accumulated vacation good-bye.

  Something struck her. “Wait—you said he seemed like the silent type. Did you meet him already?”

  Greg shrugged. “I didn’t know he was our new boss at the time, but I met him last night. Guess you didn’t.”

  No. She’d been upstairs napping and then making out with the homeowner. Branden Duke. Maybe she should have stayed downstairs and been a good girl, as usual. She would have met the new boss then. Would have learned about the sale of D&M. No wonder her boss, Max, had tried to talk to her as she’d come down the stairs from Branden’s office—he’d wanted to tell her the news.

  A slight commotion in the hallway drew her attention back to the silhouetted man.

  “Looks like he’ll be stopping by your office soon. I’ll leave you to meet him on your own,” Greg said.

  “Right.” After he left, Cara’s gaze fixed on the translucent panel. She needed a minute or two to compose herself. The shadow stayed away. She heard nothing other than the subdued voices outside.

  She smoothed her suit, which wasn’t wrinkled, and shoved miscellaneous paperwork into the nearest drawer. There wasn’t much clutter. No framed mottos, no kitty cat art, no personal photos. A single orchid sat on the corner of her desk, its elegant magenta blooms adding a little color.

  Cara made a beeline for her chair and got busy pulling up files on the screen, opening her top desk drawer for her hair clip and her reading glasses, which she shoved onto her face. She didn’t really need the glasses to work on the computer, but they made her look capable and serious. A good hard pull on the hair clip and she looked almost stern.

  She was typing gibberish, sitting superstraight and focused on the monitor, wishing she’d asked Greg the man’s name. It would have been nice to be prepared—to know the new owner’s name, at the very least.

  “Hello.”

  Oh no. Cara swallowed hard. The masculine greeting startled her beyond belief—not because the man had snuck up on her, but because the sensual timbre of his voice and the way it reverberated in a quiet room were unforgettable.

  She swiveled in her chair to face Branden Duke.

  “Um. Hello,” she said, forcing herself to not stammer. There were several words for the way she felt. Bewildered. Flabbergasted. Blindsided.

  He wore an expression of professional neutrality, but his gaze still seemed to pierce her. With her seated and him standing, he appeared taller than he had last night. But still sensual. Still different. Still unique and sexy and breathtaking.

  Oh, God. She’d initiated a sexual encounter with her new boss. And clothed or not, it had been hot. Was it possible he’d planned it? Had he known…he could have known…hell and damn. Had he set her up? And as his employee, did she dare ask?

  What was she supposed to think?

  Cara took in the details. He was even better looking in the clear, cold light of day. His thick hair, the get-your-hands-in-it kind she preferred and exactly what she’d done while kissing him with unabashed lust, wasn’t quite as dark as she remembered—more brown than black. There was the strong jaw she’d caressed and there were the faint creases around his mouth that suggested a smile even when he wasn’t smiling.

  Which he wasn’t. And unlike last night, there was no hint of amusement or warmth in his gaze.

  Wait—he didn’t think she’d come on to him as a way of working her way up the corporate ladder, did he? Nerves sent her stomach churning.

  She cleared her throat, wishing he would start the small talk. Where was the HR representative when you needed her? Peggy Noyes normally showed the new hires around and she was great at small talk, Cara thought desperately. Oh hell. She couldn’t just sit here. She half rose.

  “Please, don’t get up,” he said cordially. “Mind if I sit down?”

  “No, of course not.” She whipped off her reading glasses and set them down, indicating a teak chair, one of two. Hoping her hands weren’t shaking. “I just—wasn’t expecting this. I mean, you. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  He moved the chair closer to her desk and settled his long frame into it, resting his hands on the polished wood armrests. The subdued elegance of his suit emphasized his remarkable physicality and self-assurance. By dark of night or in broad daylight, Branden Duke radiated ultramale confidence. And he was unbelievably sexy.

  Her mouth went dry. Thank God he wasn’t mentioning, not even hinting at, what they had done last night. Yet. He had amazing self-control. Unless he was trying to drive her crazy all over again. God, what was she supposed to say here?

  “I was sort of saving meeting you for last,” he said.

  What did that mean? “Oh. Great. I mean, thank you for the ride last night. I got home safely.” She winced and whispered, “Obviously.”

  He nodded. “It was my pleasure.”

  That wasn’t a reference to their full-on make-out session, right? It couldn’t be. He simply was being polite. right? The silence stretched, long and uncomfortable. She’d have to do it. Talk about what happened the night before. Clear the air. But was she ready? Nope, not yet. “So…” she said. “You’re my new boss…” And I kissed you. And you thought I’d been lying in wait for you. Literally.

  “That’s right. I’ve had my eye on Dubois & Mellan for some time. Your company seemed like a very attractiv
e acquisition.”

  “It’s not my company. I consider myself lucky to work here.” Her words had come out strong, confident, but inside she was a mess, thinking things like, I’d like to keep working here. Please don’t fire me. And please don’t be the type of asshole who’d make my job dependent on sleeping with you. Because as much as I’d love to do exactly that and dreamed of it last night and even fantasized about you in the shower this morning, that’s so not going to happen. Even if it means losing my job…

  For a moment, his expression softened. “You’re far too modest, Cara. But I find that particular trait, along with everything else about you, quite…enchanting.”

  She sucked in a breath. How gallant. And a little old-fashioned.

  Before either one of them could say anything more, a booming voice came from the hallway outside her office. “Branden, where are ya?”

  The voice belonged to Max Dubois, the company founder—and her boss. The boss she shouldn’t have blown off last night when he’d tried to inform her of the company’s purchase.

  For a long moment, Branden didn’t take his eyes off her, nor did he reply. Then he called out softly, “I’m in with Cara, Max.”

  The other man appeared in the doorway. “Ah, right. Hi, Cara.” Max beamed at her, then turned to Branden. “I woulda introduced you two if you’d waited for me. Quit walking so fast.”

  It was more a question of leg length, Cara thought. Max was barely five feet tall and paunchy, with curly gray hair and shrewd blue eyes.

  “She’s one of our rising stars,” Max informed Branden. “The one I was telling you about last night.”

  What was up with Max? He’d never singled her out for such extravagant praise. Maybe he wanted Branden Duke to know what a fabulous deal he’d made.