Filthy Rich

by Virna DePaul

  When Sampson and his friend headed to the door, Lee followed them. Iris was right; this was all very cloak-and-dagger.

  Branden and Cara finished their lunch and Iris cleared their plates. Then Iris came up to them carrying a small white bag. She handed it to him. “Here’s your leftovers. Enjoy!”

  She’s good, Branden thought. He’d have a lab run a DNA test on the glass. If and when the authorities found Davies and brought him into custody for those stolen bonds—which Branden suspected would happen eventually—he’d make sure they got DNA from Davies to compare to Sampson’s. Failing that, Branden would raid his mother’s house. She was a pack rat bordering on a hoarder, one who was prone to keeping items that belonged to all her exes, be it old clothes, empty beer bottles, or a piece of old wedding cake. If he could find something with Davies’s DNA, he could have it tested against Sampson’s to confirm whether the two men were indeed related.

  “Shall we go?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But first, I’m curious about something. A place like the Bull’s Den isn’t really the spot where you get a doggie bag, and you’re hardly the kind of man who’d accept one without even asking. Are you going to explain all of this to me?”

  “It’s probably best if I don’t. It has to do with business, and when it comes to mixing business and pleasure…”

  Her eyes grew hooded and she glanced away. “Right. Things are complicated enough as it is. Besides, it’s not like you really know me.”

  As she turned from him, he took her arm, unable to bear that clouded expression that she now wore. What was it with this woman that made him want her to know him deeply? That made him want her to trust him?

  “I know enough about you, Cara. This isn’t about trust. It’s about protecting you, the way I promised I would. You hear me?”

  She bit her lip, then nodded. “Yes. Before we go, I want to say good-bye to Iris and use the ladies’ room.”

  “I’ll take care of the bill and meet you by the door.”

  After he settled the bill, Branden saw Cara come out of the ladies’ room, and he was just thinking about how beautiful she was and how he couldn’t wait to get her home when the man sitting at the end of the bar said something to her. He didn’t hear what the man said, but he did see the uncomfortable look on Cara’s face. She continued past him and the man actually stood up and grabbed her arm.

  Branden saw nothing but red as he crossed the bar. When he got there, the man was still holding on to her wrist, despite the fact that Cara was trying to walk away.

  “Take your hands off of her,” Branden said. The man dropped his arm, but that wasn’t good enough. Branden shoved him several steps back. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “He works at another trading firm,” Cara said, her lips tight, her skin white. “Apparently he’s a friend of Greg’s.”

  The man held his hands up, palms out and said, “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “By what?” Branden said in a dangerous tone.

  The man swallowed hard, but he didn’t say anything.

  Branden looked at Cara and said, “What did he say to you before he put his hands on you?”

  “Branden, it’s fine. Let’s just go.”

  “What did he say, Cara?”

  “He called me the boss’s slut,” Cara told him with a look of distaste.

  Branden immediately grabbed the man by his collar and almost jerked him off his feet.

  “Branden, he’s not worth it,” Cara said.

  “Oh, I disagree.” Branden pulled his fist back and punched him in the face.

  When Branden let him go, he did so with a little shove so that the man landed facedown on the wood floor of the bar. Cara let out a little scream, as if she couldn’t believe what Branden had done.

  Branden couldn’t really believe he’d done it, either. It had been years since he’d been in a physical fight. He was so angry that he was actually tempted to pick the bastard up and punch him again.

  “No one, and I repeat, no one, messes with my woman,” he ground out, then grabbed Cara’s hand and dragged her out of the restaurant, as the phrase “my woman” ran through his head over and over and over again.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Monday morning, Cara was still feeling slightly shell-shocked at having a man come to defend her honor in such a way. After the fight in the bar, she and Branden had driven back to his penthouse apartment. Then he’d left, taking the bag Iris had given him with him, without even discussing the fight. Or the fact that he’d called her his woman. Was she his? But she couldn’t be. Branden Duke was a lone wolf. Untamed. Never to be confined by what a real relationship would bring.

  They were just playing, right? Having fun while they could?

  After he took off, she’d showered, crawled into bed, and done something she hadn’t done in a very long time.

  Cried herself to sleep.

  When she’d woken, Branden was beside her, but on the other side of the bed, his back to her. Given he hadn’t woken her when he’d returned, she suspected he was maybe regretting how far he’d taken things with her already.

  Calling her his woman, for a man like Branden Duke, was a lot. He probably hadn’t meant it and was now regretting the statement. They hadn’t talked before going to sleep last night, and though they’d talked in the morning, it had all been friendly. Oh so polite. No morning sex, not even any cuddling. Just the one soft kiss on the mouth he’d given her before she’d left, though granted it had been a lingering one. And by the way his hands had cupped her face, it had seemed like he’d been reluctant to let her go. Yet he had. Let her go. And the only explanation she had for his taciturn change in behavior was that he’d had second thoughts. That he’d begun to think she wasn’t worth the trouble of punching that man in the face. That he regretted it and everything they’d done together. And that made her heart ache almost unbearably.

  Now, at work, she felt like putting her head down on her desk and crying all over again.

  She didn’t understand what was happening to her. She’d never been one to be ruled by her body or her heart, yet despite everything that had already happened to jeopardize her professional reputation, she’d let Branden get inside her—and not just with his body.

  Trying her best to put Branden out of her mind, she turned on her computer, almost groaning at the number of emails that had poured in over the weekend.

  Minutes later, trembling and feeling as if all the color had leached from her face, Cara leaned forward and put her head in her hands. She was so tired of all of this, and suddenly all she wanted was her comfortable, boring life back. She was determined to get it back, but in truth she didn’t even know if it was possible given what she’d just seen. If there was any hope for it, she had to stop seeing Branden and move back into her apartment, pronto.

  But first she had some sleuthing to do.

  Then she had to show Branden what she’d just read.

  And seen.

  —

  A half hour later, Branden entered her office and closed the door behind him. He didn’t reach for a chair or even ask to sit down, just stood there, studying her with an expression of wary concern.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Emails.” Cara rose and turned her desktop monitor toward Branden so he could read for himself. “They were waiting for me when I logged in.”

  He came closer, standing so near that she could sense the warmth of him. She didn’t edge away. She refused to act like a nervous schoolgirl. She needed to maintain her control for once and prove that she could handle this. That she could handle him.

  Admit it, Cara. You were the mystery babe outside the mogul’s mansion. You looked hot. Hotter than hot.

  Branden cursed softly.

  Cara tapped the scroll key so he could read the second email.

  Silently, she reread the second one with him, feeling sick all over again. Branden’s thick brows drew together in a scowl. “Holy shit.”

&n
bsp; Got your attention? Good. I want you to know something else. I went upstairs after you did and Branden followed. You two didn’t hear me. Guess what? There’s more photos of your private party.

  “So where are they? That could be a bluff,” Branden muttered. “Nothing attached, I see.”

  “No. Here’s the next one,” Cara said.

  His dark gaze rapidly scanned the opened email.

  But you both kept your clothes on. HotnSaucey delivered the goods. Branden Duke loves blondes. Always has. The one in the sex tape got him all excited. But I couldn’t see her face. Was that you, Cara?

  “I want these traced.” Branden’s voice was rough with anger. “If I find this fucker, he’ll be happy to go to jail.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’d prefer jail to what I’d do to him.”

  “How do you know it’s a him? Could be a man or a woman. The emails aren’t signed.” As she spoke the words, she realized how dumb they sounded. Creep etiquette didn’t require real names.

  Branden gave a slight shake of his head, unconvinced. “Sounds like a guy to me.”

  “You’re probably right.” She took a deep breath. “There’s one more email. And this one did have an attachment.”

  “Show me.”

  She clicked on the email and video link. Then, biting her lip, she saw herself on the screen. With Branden. She was undulating against him, her blond hair tangled, her skin slick with sweat. He slid a hand into her hair and pulled her head back, making her cry out with a wild lust until he released her. She arched against him, her back to his chest, offering herself to the strong hands that cupped her breasts. His circling fingers tugged at her nipples until they were red and hard.

  She twisted and turned, rubbed against him, moving to a throbbing beat that came faintly from the speakers.

  It was a spliced and CGI-enhanced video that had been manufactured from the night they’d gone dancing. The movements were theirs, and it was her face, but somehow Cara’s clothes had disappeared so that she was completely naked.

  Start to finish, it was only a few minutes long, but it seemed as if it would never end. She had to tell herself over and over that she was looking at computer-generated imagery, created with obvious expertise.

  Branden was actually himself, heart-stoppingly handsome with a lot of character. Her body double was an invention.

  Her erotic response to her lover was all too real.

  His strong hands roamed avidly over “her” body, stroking “her” skin. Just watching was almost unbearable. Her mind refused to acknowledge her intense physical delight in seeing Branden pleasuring a naked woman who was and was not her, his lovemaking skill very much in evidence.

  His hands moved lower. Her body double arched against him. The rest was a mystery—like the modeling tape, it stopped short of the ultimate satisfaction. There was no sex, per se. Just a scorching prelude to it meant to stimulate and excite.

  It worked on both counts.

  It was a true feat of technological genius.

  It wasn’t real, but yet it was.

  It wasn’t as if Branden was blameless, but he could live this down—he was too powerful and too wealthy for a minor indiscretion in his past to mean much. Hell, he’d probably be touted as “the Man” and receive back slaps for weeks.

  For her, though? Sexy dancing in public was one thing. She’d been a little concerned about cameras the night at the club, but had agreed with Branden—photos of them together that night wouldn’t have done much to harm either of their reputations. People already knew they were dating. No shame in a little sexy dancing.

  But a sex tape? One where she was without a doubt an active participant?

  That was a big deal. That could break her.

  He remained silent, and she could feel the vibrations of emotion coming from him. She hadn’t looked at him once since the video started, and now a horrifying thought made her body jerk.

  What if he’d already seen it? The video could have been sent to every computer in the office, awaiting the first employee to arrive that very day. And sent to online media, who would post it immediately, complete with an adult content warning or strategically placed black bars. She shuddered when she thought of the headlines. Someone was bound to identify her by name sooner or later.

  Greg Johnson might, if he was still pissed off at her. She wondered fleetingly if he had made the video. The answer was on a spectrum from unlikely to impossible. His sense of humor was juvenile, going no further than the occasional frat-boy-style prank directed at a male coworker. The whoopee cushion and fake dog poop he’d used on his office mates were testimony to that. Besides, he was a numbers nerd, not a computer geek. He wasn’t capable of creating a sophisticated CGI fake like this, was he?

  The game that someone—who had to know them both—was playing was malicious and manipulative. The rules, if there were any, had just changed radically and the stakes had been raised.

  Her screen saver appeared, a stock photo of a midnight ocean. Moonlight shimmered on the tranquil dark water.

  She wished she could sink beneath it and disappear herself. Soon she’d have to walk out of this office. What if there were whispers? Open stares. Worse than that, the not-looks, the tactful silence, from colleagues who were kinder or less judgmental. She knew their underlying pity would be harder for her to take than open contempt or salacious interest.

  What could she do? What could she say?

  It wasn’t me in the tape, you jerk. Not at all. Okay, the face was mine. But not the body. What do you mean, prove those weren’t my tits? I can, though. Look. She imagined the sound of popping buttons and horndog yelps, or maybe she hallucinated both. See the difference? See?

  What if—oh no. Iris would be sure to find out about the second tape. And eventually, her mom, who had yet to hear about the first one. Although that would take awhile, because her mother’s bulky old computer didn’t work well and the cable bill went unpaid every other month, and she didn’t subscribe to any newspapers and rarely left the house.

  It didn’t matter.

  Cara bit her lip to keep from crying.

  “Cara,” he whispered, reaching for her, but she pulled away.

  “Had you seen it already?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I checked what I could.” Cara pointed to the screen. “That URL is for the desktop computer that some of the interns use. It’s in the traders’ bullpen.”

  The rows of connected desks were unoccupied, the several monitors on each showing blank blue screens. Wall-mounted TVs tuned to money news that were never turned off had been switched to silent mode. The few desks that held only phones, for discussions with secretive clients who preferred deal making without emails or paperwork, were also empty. A row of large clocks bearing the names of foreign cities in different time zones, financial centers on a par with New York, ticked away the hours.

  Fortunately, she’d known which computer to look for. tempstation@dubois.mellan.

  “The time stamps on the emails are 3:01, 3:02, 3:03, and 3:04. As far as I know, no one can even get into the building at that hour. Any ideas?”

  His answer was blunt and immediate. “We got hacked. Those emails didn’t come from that computer, they came through it.”

  “That doesn’t mean an outsider is responsible.”

  “Hard to say.”

  “What? Are you still thinking this is Davies?”

  “I doubt it, considering Alex found him in the Caribbean and he’s been busy with his own shady shit as usual, but who knows. He can have someone working for him. In any case, Deena needs to know about this right away.”

  “No!”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, his facial features tight and dark. “Come here, Cara,” he said quietly.

  “No. And stay right where you are,” she said quickly when he moved to come toward her.

  “Damn it, Cara.”

  “We’re over, Branden.”

  “Th
e hell we are,” he growled.

  “We should never have started. This is my fault.”

  “No, this is the fault of some bastard coward with too much time on his hands.”

  “Time he or she is clearly using to try and take us down. I won’t give that person the satisfaction of going to her for help.”

  His brows went up. “Are you saying you think Deena is responsible for this?”

  “I’m not ruling it out.”

  He shook his head. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” The antagonism she’d felt on first meeting the glamorous tech expert hadn’t gone away. Neither had the memory of the lovely hand on Branden’s shoulder, staking a hidden claim. “Even if she isn’t responsible for this, she feels something for you, Branden. Don’t deny it. If she thinks you’re hers, showing her these will only lead to more trouble.”

  He laughed out loud. “Deena doesn’t think I’m hers. Not the way you’re implying.”

  It irked Cara that Branden defended Deena automatically. Then again, he’d brought her in as part of his new team. The nature of his relationship with Deena otherwise was none of Cara’s business. Especially now that anything personal between her and Branden was over. Still, for him to say he meant nothing to Deena…

  “Bullshit,” she said.

  His expression grew serious. “Careful, Cara. I’m already pissed off about all this. Don’t piss me off any more.”

  “Or what? You’re going to fire me? Maybe that’s what you were thinking about this morning. Regretting not only that we ever got together, but that I even work for you. Maybe this video just gives you the perfect excuse to do it.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  At the incredulous look on his face, she closed her eyes. She knew she wasn’t making sense. But the memory of his distant behavior this morning, coupled with the shock of this new video—it was too much for her to handle. Her feelings—feelings that clearly went beyond sexual—for Branden were too much to handle.