Accidentally Married to the Billionaire - Part 2 (The Billionaire's Touch)

by Sierra Rose

  “It was fine. Yes. My wife liked it,” he said pointedly, giving himself credit for the mention.

  “I’ve never been but it looks amazing. Did you see the flier I left out? I wondered if you’d like to train together, on days when you take lunch?” she offered. She was almost shy in her manner and he recalled again that she’d lost her mother, like him. That she ran to escape, like him, but also to remember. It was too personal, too resonant a connection to ignore.

  “I’ll be busy in the run-up to the race. You’ll want to find another running partner,” he said, not unkindly.

  “No problem,” she said. He respected the fact that she didn’t begin with a wheedling, ‘I just thought since you liked running and all…’ Still, he didn’t want to spend extra time with her.

  “You seem tense,” she observed. No shit, he thought.

  “Just preoccupied,” he said dismissively and gave his instructions for the PowerPoint handouts.

  Marj had seemed thrilled with their trip but at the same time, she was oddly quiet, not making jokes all the time. He wondered if something was off with her, but he back-burnered it and got to work. Every time Holly came into his office, he wanted to throw things at the door and shout for her to leave. This was not his usual reaction to being offered useful information or coffee. It was Holly herself, temptation on the hoof—or rather on understated French ballet flats. She had one tendril of gleaming pin-straight blond hair that had somehow escaped its proper place and trailed down along her cheekbone and jawline. That itself was perfection. He wanted to sweep it aside and—never see her again for even one second. He was disgusted with himself for being attracted to her and wanted to use half of his HR team for target practice because they’d sent her up to the thirty-ninth floor to work for him. After sending her to make some fairly useless copies, he phoned his head of HR and demanded Holly be reassigned.

  “Will do, boss. She just seemed so perfect for you…” Roz said, a little bewildered.

  “Yeah. I know. It’s a mistake. Send her at least ten floors down. I don’t want to run into her.”

  “Wow. That offensive?”

  “Even more so,” he said, “she’s perfectly competent in some other capacity. Just not for me,” he said decisively, feeling absurdly proud of himself for spurning the temptation and sending it packing.

  “I’ll have her reassigned by the end of the week. Is that soon enough?”

  “That’ll be fine, Roz. Thanks.”

  He hung up, relieved. He knew that Holly would get the call that she was being moved. He wondered how she’d react but it didn’t really matter. Her feelings were none of his concern. Brandon tried to call Marj but kept reaching her voice mail. She never checked her voice mail. He sighed, and broke out one of the lemon waters in celebration of his victory over the weakness of the flesh.

  “Mr. Cates? Sorry to bother you. The final documents just arrived. I brought them in as soon as I signed for them. I knew you’d want…”

  Holly closed the door behind her and Brandon wanted to kick over the trashcan and scream for her to get out. GO! He thought. GO FAR AWAY! He could be a professional, he told himself. Only a few more days. Nothing to worry about. The die was cast.

  She leaned over his desk to give him the documents. Couldn’t she just slide them under his door? Toss them from across the room? She smelled good. She smelled like whatever that perfume was that his college girlfriend wore…he’d bought it for her a couple of times…Eternity. It went straight to his head, careening him through memories of backseats and narrow dorm room beds. He was sweating now. Damn sense memory. He pushed his chair back and darted over to open a window, breathing in fresh air.

  “Thanks. That will be all,” he said tightly.

  “Are you sure I can’t help you with anything? You seem so tense. I know I said that earlier but I can just sense it, the waves of tension rolling off of you. Here. Let me rub your shoulders. I did a course in acupressure and I can…”

  Holly crossed the room, stood behind him at the window and set her hands on his shoulders. He shrugged away from her and shook his head.

  “Just go,” he said shortly.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve done something to anger you. It wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to…I feel like I understand you, Brandon. Can I call you Brandon? I felt, since that day we talked about running, I felt like there’s a connection and maybe I could help you. I know that sounds strange. It’s just—”

  “Holly. Go back to your desk,” he said.

  She bit her lip. She stood there, looking perfect, biting her lip in embarrassment over her concern for him and he felt like a complete jackass for rejecting her offer of friendship, her genuine worry for him.

  “Listen, I—I’m under a lot of pressure now. You’re right about that. The best way you can help me is by taking care of things out in the front office, so I can concentrate. Okay?” he said. When had he EVER ended a sentence with that infuriating upspeak, that question instead of making a declarative statement? Since when did he care about his secretary’s feelings? This blonde was fucking kryptonite. If he drank alcohol, he’d be half a bottle down right now.

  She smiled at him.

  “I’m glad you’re not mad at me. If I overstepped, I’m sorry,” she said, he lovely face open and warm, still somehow hopeful.

  Holly lingered in the doorway for what seemed like forever before she returned to her desk. He considered deadbolting his office door and swearing it was for the sake of confidentiality when in fact it would be to preserve his last shred of sanity. It was like Holly had been designed meticulously to bring him to his knees. Again, Marj’s phone went straight to voice mail. It was probably just as well since he couldn’t very well beg her to come save him from his assistant. He’d sound deranged. He felt deranged, though. He didn’t want Holly. He just wanted her to go away as in, Get behind me, Satan.

  Brandon couldn’t get through a single email without his eyes flicking, paranoia style, to the door. She was out there, just on the other side, and he had no business thinking about it. He dreaded walking past her, having to make small talk or ask about her weekend. When his phone lit with a call from Marj, he grabbed it like a lifeline.

  “Hey, Cates. Why all the missed calls? Are you trapped under something heavy?”

  “No, I just wondered what you were doing. How your day’s going,” he said lamely.

  “Missed me that bad? Maybe come home before midnight. We can have dinner together,” she suggested.

  Brandon glanced at the agenda on his monitor and shook his head.

  “Can’t. I have too much on the docket for tonight. Maybe by eleven-thirty if traffic isn’t bad.”

  “Right. So, you called to tell me how busy you are? I, on the other hand, just bought mascara because mine was all clumpy and I talked to Britt about, wait for it, bottled water versus getting one of those reusable bottles with a carbon filter. She said the water tastes like charcoal, so I decided against it. Anything else exciting you’d like to know?”

  “No, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice,” he said.

  His screen flashed with an incoming Skype so he had to hang up with Marj. It made him feel better, hearing her flippant take on the day, her reassuring liveliness. He went through the preliminary negotiations on a land deal out in Montana and when Holly brought him a wrap and some hummus for lunch he nodded at her in thanks and continued to talk.

  Still, he had to deal with his assistant at some point. That’s why he had an assistant, to delegate tasks. So he called her into his office, steeled for a terse, professional exchange. And there she was, at his door promptly, looking utterly destroyed. She swiped her fingertips under her eyes as if she’d been crying, her brow furrowed, her lip trembling. He had to ask what was wrong.

  “I just heard from HR that I’m being put through cycle training again and sent down to IT. You know, where they don’t actually have to deal with real people? What—I can’t figure out what I did that was so terribl
e. Was I too slow? Was it because I came in running clothes that time? Because I changed right after…” she shook her head in disbelief.

  Holly looked hurt, shocked, and completely unsure of what her infraction had been. You’re too perfect, is what he should have said.

  “It’s nothing you’ve done. Simple personality conflict. Happens in business from time to time. You’ve a glowing reference from me anytime you need one, but I hope you’ll stay with Power Regions in the future,” he said.

  Holly nodded, lips pressed together. She stepped closer until she was standing before him, less than an arm’s length away. Leaning on the corner of his desk, she bit down on her lip, eyes bright with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, a tear slipping down her cheek, “I know what the problem is, and I’m truly sorry. I should have resigned as soon as I figured out it was going to be a problem. I have…feelings for you. It’s totally inappropriate, and you’ve never done anything to encourage me in that way. You didn’t harass me or anything. You didn’t even flirt with me, no matter how hard I tried. And to be honest, this is the first time I’ve ever wanted someone who didn’t just act completely grateful I was interested. I know that sounds arrogant, but it’s also the truth. I’ve never had trouble getting men to notice me before now.”

  “I’m married, Holly.”

  “That never stopped anyone before,” she said ruefully.

  “I don’t know what to say to you except that this interdepartmental transfer is truly the best thing for everyone.”

  “I know for a fact you don’t love her,” she said. “Do you?”

  Brandon didn’t answer.

  “So answer my question,” she said.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It’s an easy question. Yes or no.”

  Holly scooted up until she was sitting on the corner of his desk, her long legs crossed right up in his face.

  “She’s the love of my life,” Brandon said.

  “Interesting. But you can’t tell me if you truly love her.”

  “Why are you trying to seduce a married man?”

  “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Marj isn’t right for you. You married her when you were drunk in Vegas. What you two have isn’t real. But me and you can have something real. Are you willing to throw away a shot at us being together over a girl you barely know and don’t love? We have so much in common, and I know you feel the chemistry between us. You just have to give us a chance.”

  “Who told you I was drunk?” he asked.

  Nobody knew that but me and Marj…and the people at the chapel.

  Lena could’ve paid for details. She could’ve thrown thousands of dollars at those people for more information.

  “Kiss me,” Holly said, her voice soft and wistful, full of longing. “If you don’t feel anything, I’ll leave and never bother you again. But don’t you think we both owe ourselves at least that?” That golden tendril fell alluringly across her cheek and she leaned in toward him.

  His heart was pounding. That had to be why he didn’t hear the door. He saw her, though, from the corner of his eyes. The flare of auburn curls and a green dress filling his doorway, a hiss as she caught her breath.

  “I see I’m interrupting something. I thought, stupidly, that you needed me. I thought you called me because you—you know what? Forget it. I don’t need a repeat of catching my lover fucking the secretary. Story of my damn life!”

  Her face flamed with humiliation and he jumped to his feet. Marj was gone before he made it to the door. She was on the elevator, doors closing behind her. She had run from him, fled as if pursued. Because his gorgeous assistant was perched on his desk looking like sex on legs when she walked in. He turned around and kicked the wall, grinding his teeth.

  Holly smiled at him. “Oops. I hope I didn’t cause a problem. I guess wives don’t like mistresses much. But then again, I didn’t think fake wives would even care.”

  “Get out!” he shouted. “You’re fired. Leave immediately!”

  “You can’t fire me. I work for Lena.”

  She laughed as she walked away.

  Yes, everyone on the executive floor was now turned around to stare at him. Yes, they had just heard him drop a dammit and fuck at work. Yes, they had just seen his wife run out on him, had seen his own pursuit of her, had seen his secretary wander out of the office all dewy innocence. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what must have upset Marj. It looked damning. There was no way she’d believe him, not after what her last boyfriend did with his secretary. It was so neat, so perfect, such an ideal trap.

  “Fucking Lena.” He ground out and kicked the wall again.

  Brandon slammed into his office, locking the door. Calling Marj did no good because obviously she wouldn’t answer. Flowers were a tacit admission of guilt. What he needed to keep her was proof. Proof that Lena Cates, his stepmother and heiress to the Cates fortune in the event of Brandon’s failure to meet terms of the will, had framed him. Had hired the luscious Holly to tempt him and drive a wedge between himself and his wife.

  How had she known? His type, his triggers? He dropped his head into his hands. Once in college, he’d brought home a girlfriend, a tall, athletic blond with long straight hair. He was a runner, which was well known. And as for the dead mother connection, that didn’t take a genius. The perfume was spot on. Everything was malice at its most brilliant. His weaknesses exposed and preyed upon. Perhaps his father had taught Lena a thing or two in their marriage, he mused.

  Brandon dialed Roz in HR and told her to email him everything in Holly’s personnel file and a summary of how this girl ever came to the company’s attention.

  Chapter 13

  Shit, shit, shit, shit.

  This was worse than Luke. This was nuclear. This was ten times, fifty times worse than Luke because she had a wedding ring on her finger and feelings she’d been fighting, and then this stupid phone call, this stupid thread of hope had started in her. Marj had believed for an hour or so that Brandon Cates might miss her, might need her for more than an inheritance. There was no way to encompass how idiotic that idea had been, nor how easily she’d chased after it.

  Why did she let feelings get involved? Feelings ruin everything. But Brandon was so damn sexy, so sweet, so charismatic, and the way he kissed and fucked… He could deny feelings all he wanted to. But she could tell by the way he looked into her eyes, the way he passionately kissed her. It was like he was pouring out all his heart and soul into the kisses during lovemaking. It was so sensual, so romantic, and so emotional.

  It wasn’t sex. It was making love.

  Her heart ached.

  Obviously, it meant nothing to him. Already screwing around on me.

  Maybe they should’ve gotten married with no sex. Just kept it all business. It hurt Marj to think about how he made love to her, and then made love to the gorgeous blonde in his office too. Yes, feelings were definitely involved on Marj’s side. She swore they wouldn’t happen. But damn it! They did! And her heart was bleeding on the floor.

  The plan was that she would surprise him at his office, he’d clear his schedule, and they’d be together. Either he’d leave work early and they’d have dinner and then get naked or, if his schedule was really so awful, they’d just get naked on his desk. Then she’d go home and wait for a late-night wake up call from him, maybe leaving her lacy panties in his desk for a memento.

  She had changed underwear for the occasion, had hurried to the townhouse, wriggled into tiny white lace panties (which itched on her fresh wax job) and rushed to him. She had been ready, so ready to see him, to be wanted by him and touched by him. Instead, he had already found someone to fill those particular needs. That blonde—oh, Marj could have yanked her off that desk by a hank of perfect hair and kicked her flat! But she didn’t. She was an adult, for one thing, even if she felt like a heartbroken teenager. For another thing, the blonde wasn’t the one who made vows in front of Elvis to love and honor her for
the next six months to a year and be honest and supportive and NOT to bone his secretary, for fuck’s sake.

  Maybe the part about not boning his secretary hadn’t been in the vows explicitly, but it was definitely implied as far as Marj was concerned.

  She couldn’t get her mind around it…the incontrovertible fact that Brandon Cates, her husband no less, had been dicking around with her. He had been doing exactly what Luke did only worse and better…he was better in the sack and worse on her heart. If Luke had made her so cynical she could never have a healthy relationship without waiting for the other shoe to drop, then Brandon had damn near killed her, and that was all there was to it. She might as well go sit in a corner, rocking herself and eating peanut brittle until she grew chin hairs and had to go get some cats to live with her.

  What could she do? She could go sit at their home, at his home and wait for him to come tell her that it wasn’t what it looked like, which is obviously what everyone who’s cheating has said every time they got caught. She could go have a bath and cry and think of pathetic ways to win him back. Or she could go have a drink and maybe feel better about herself.

  Marj whipped out her phone and reactivated her Tinder profile. He could have his fun, so could she. It wasn’t like they were in a real relationship. It wouldn’t be cheating. Because they were never really a couple. They were nothing more than business acquaintances that were attracted to one another.

  Her friend Beth called, and Marj spilled about how her and her new hubby had gotten into a spat. Beth listened and was supportive. Marj was careful not to let out any details about the fake marriage, so Beth just thought it was one of those fights couples have.

  “Wanna come out with me and the girls?” she asked. “Carla and Delli have been asking about you, and Tracy misses you like crazy.”

  Marj sighed. “No, it’s best I stay here. I don’t want Brandon mad when I get back.”

  “And you care, why?”

  She pondered. “You’re right. Let’s go out.”

  Marj put on leather leggings, over-the-knee boots with a sharp silver heel, a formfitting tank and a loose, drapey blouse over it, sheer enough that the black tank was visible through the soft pink of the fabric. A long silver chain draped around her neck inside the collar, trailing down her chest and disappearing under the tank top’s low neckline. She left her hair down loose, a riot of curls. Plummy gloss made her full lips alluring but not too made up, not intimidating like her favorite Ruby Woo had rendered them. She took a clutch purse, leaving her doomed white panties behind on the nightstand.