by Virna DePaul
She’d studied the photo after Mike Gaunt had left her office and gotten so worked up that she’d barged in here, wanting to speak to Branden before anyone else did, grateful that Max’s former assistant was on break.
“I don’t know who took it,” Cara said. “Or why anyone would post it.”
She looked around, wondering what had become of Max’s furniture. The oak desk and matching chairs, relics of the company’s early days, had been replaced by new pieces in sleek chrome and leather—including a couch that looked just like the one she’d napped on at Branden’s mansion.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.
“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.”
His reply pulled her attention back to him. “Great. Super great. Is that where I’m going to end up?”
Cara realized instantly that she shouldn’t have challenged him. Branden’s grin left no doubt as to what was on his mind, besides his awareness that she’d been studying the revamped office. It was his lair now. All the way. 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.
Contained. That was the word for the new look. If he had anything to hide, it was in the desktop computer, a slim widescreen framed in aluminum. Her sultry photo was tucked away in the hard drive, much to her chagrin. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought it to his attention. Somehow she’d just assumed that he’d been told about it, or pinged on it.
Everything around here had changed so fast. She supposed an office could be redecorated practically overnight if it was necessary. But why had he done it? Max had made a point of hinting that Dubois & Mellan was just another acquisition for the great and powerful Branden Duke. She wondered why he’d go to the trouble.
The couch in particular stood out. Wall Street offices weren’t designed for lounging around in. And she’d made the mistake of looking at it and then at him.
His dark eyes glittered as he leaned back in his chair and supported his handsome head on his crossed arms, eying her with lazy sensuality. “As to where you’ll end up, I have no idea. But I can give you a few suggestions. Unless I’m misinterpreting the question.”
“Oh please…” She couldn’t really blame him for the double entendre, considering that she’d taken the initiative from the start. The usual boundaries between boss and subordinate didn’t seem to apply somehow. Especially when she was alone with him. For one thing, she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “I didn’t mean the couch. I meant a supermarket checkout rack stuffed with stupid tabloids. If that photo hits any covers, I’m going to get rung up with a quart of milk and a dozen eggs.”
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“You’re not a celebrity.” Branden turned the monitor toward her. In high res, in the darkened office, she really saw every detail. He was right about the effects of the kiss they’d shared. Blurry mouth and embarrassingly dreamy eyes. Cara cringed inwardly.
“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.
“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.”
“Obviously you have better things to do than read tabloids. I find myself wondering if that’s anything besides work.”
“Isn’t work enough?” she said, evading. From the way he stared at her, he seemed to know exactly what she’d done. “And do you think people will come to the conclusion that Gawker got all excited over nothing?”
He gave a shrug that made it clear he really didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. “I have no idea. Their sphere of influence is New York.”
Cara glared at him and pulled her pencil skirt down over her knees. Not that he was looking anywhere below her neck. But damn. The eye contact was still incendiary. “Exactly. Which is where I work and live, and so do you.”
“I can take care of myself,” he said breezily. “But I appreciate your concern.”
“Guess what. It’s not all about you.” She muttered the words but he heard them just fine. “People outside New York read Gawker.”
“I suppose so.”
“A hot item 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.”
“Maybe that would be to your advantage.”
Cara stared at him incredulously. It was possible he was teasing her. “Are you again implying that I went upstairs for any other reason than to get away from that noisy party? Or that I set up that kiss?”
“No. It just happened. And it won’t happen again.”
He didn’t seem to really believe that. Not with that lusty gleam in his eyes.
“By the way, you said you went to the party with Greg Johnson,” Branden said casually. “Do I need to worry about a brokenhearted boyfriend who’s going to see that photo?”
“No. I mean, he’s not my boyfriend. Then or now.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. You don’t think he might have taken it?”
Cara shook her head, but not with certainty. “He’d left by then. You said so yourself.”
“Perhaps I was wrong. Something to think about, though.”
Something for her to think about, he meant. He didn’t seem to care either way. But then Greg was a junior employee and scarcely worth the attention of a CEO. “Whoever took the photo had to have known it could cause problems. For you and for me.”
“Why? It’s not like Gawker knows I kissed you. Just that you were at a not very exclusive party with about a hundred other people. The rest is spin.”
“Is it?” She waited for a reply, which he didn’t offer. “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 noticed the dodge. Which wasn’t to say that he hadn’t done that and worse. He just hadn’t been under suspicion or gotten caught.
Cara felt Branden’s gaze return to her. He hadn’t spoken, but knowing he was looking at her snapped her instantly out of her momentary reverie. “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 laser-beam focus turned on her, even though she had absolutely 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.”
“If you want, I could respond to the post. You know, defend you.” Cara made one last attempt to crack his composure. “That headline doesn’t make you look good.”
“It’s all bullshit. They really don’t have a story.”
“Looks like Gawker’s trying to crowdsource this one. You read the whole thing, right?” She pointed to the monitor. “Plus that par
t, where they ask for my name?”
“Noted. And I don’t see a single response.”
“That could change.”
“Websites like that update content several times a day. It’ll be gone by quitting time. My advice to you would be to forget about it.”
“Do I have your permission to monitor the site during work hours?”
“If you feel the need to, go right ahead. I have better things to do than breathe down your neck.”
“Perhaps there’s someone who won’t be so blasé about the post. Someone who won’t want me—never mind.” She had been about to mention Deena Raj. The new head of IT had probably started snooping through everyone’s hard drive by now.
The look in Branden’s eyes conveyed his thoughts on the subject, although he smiled pleasantly. Don’t go there, little girl.
Cara didn’t. She was more sure of the clandestine connection between those two by the minute. “I’ll update you if Gawker keeps going with it.”
He snorted. “It won’t—not without fresh information, and they won’t find any. I keep a low profile.”
She’d picked up on that during her hours of research on him. This couldn’t have been the first time something like this had happened. There had to be a flunky or more likely a team of them somewhere, scrubbing suggestive photos from the Net and erasing scandalous stories. Unless Branden didn’t generate any. Which seemed hard to believe. Exactly how he accomplished that was something he didn’t seem inclined to share.
Branden leaned back in his chair. “Even if they do, it will have absolutely no impact on your job, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”
“No?” She gestured toward her image on the monitor. “The pit bull you hired to manage us is going to be so disappointed in little me if he sees that.”
The disparaging reference to Mike Gaunt just slipped out. Cara was about to take it back when Branden chuckled. “Good description. And accurate. Mike has high standards.”
“So I gathered. Did he ever work for the FBI?”
“Go ahead and ask him.” The answer was noncommittal, but a ghost of a smile appeared on Branden’s leanly handsome face.
“No way. If you don’t care, I guess he won’t give me a hard time about it. Well, good. So this won’t affect our working relationship. We’re just boss and employee.”
“As far as Mike is concerned, yes. Between you and me, I think you know better than that.”
She sucked in a breath. “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’m having a difficult time doing that.”
“Really? Because it’s been…what? Over three days since we’ve seen each other? Seems like you haven’t had too much trouble putting me out of your mind.”
His expression instantly turned serious. “If you truly think that’s the case, then you’re misinformed. I’ve stayed 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 that all 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 see 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 voicemails. 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 and she suddenly remembered Branden asking her whether she thought Greg could have taken the picture.
Greg was just a guy she’d dated a couple of times and who’d brought her to the company party. And ditched her, she reminded herself, only minutes before she’d decided to ditch him. Had he hung around and done more drinking, then given in to a boozy impulse to snap her waiting outside looking slutty? He could have a pal at Gawker or know someone who did. Still, she got the impression Greg’s idea of pranking ran more to frat-house hijinks, not malicious hits on someone’s reputation.
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 periodically replaying her earlier encounter with Branden, she got a lot of work done. At one point, however, a sinking feeling slammed her in the gut. What if there were other photos? That erotically charged kiss had been sex with clothes on, nothing less. The door to Branden Duke’s upstairs lair had been open. They’d been so wrapped up in each other they never would have noticed.
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 website. As he’d predicted, the post was gone.
She felt only marginally relieved.
—
Hours after Cara came to see him, Branden heard a rap on his office door, then his stepsister’s voice.
“It’s Deena.”
“Come on in,” he said without looking up from the newspaper. Good, he could use Deena’s thoughts just about now. Not long after Deena had become an investigator with the agency, the SEC had approached him about working with her to uncover shady business practices for them. Most of the time, that didn’t involve buying companies, but in this case he’d already had his eye on D&M, so the purchase had served two purposes. He was here to turn a profit on his purchase, as well as help the SEC uncover any underhanded trading at D&M, but both those purposes had slid from his mind.
And he knew why.
The Wall Street Journal lay in peaks and valleys on the couch beside him. He was halfway through Barron’s weekly issue. Unfortunately, he could barely remember anything he’d read all day.
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 Gawker 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 staye
d away from her the past few days, 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 to be inside her and—
“Are you busy?”
He looked up at the sound of Deena’s voice.
Busy losing my mind, he thought. He set the weekly aside. “Not really. 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.” He and Deena had certainly had success exposing their fair share of well-heeled, well-dressed financiers trading in dark pools under shady circumstances, something that the SEC believed had been happening at D&M. It was why they, along with Mike Gaunt and a few other trusted members of their team such as Alex and Frank, were here. And why he really should be focusing on other things besides the delectable Cara Michal.
If anyone could get his mind off Cara, it was his highly intelligent, intensely driven, out-for-blood stepsister. Of his five half and stepsiblings, Deena was the one sister who bounced back time after time from the shit their various fathers put them all through. 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, but some wounds would never heal.
