Exposed: Her Undercover Millionaire

by Michelle Celmer

  After they made love, and she lay draped over him, as he drifted off to sleep he figured it was a safe bet that she wasn’t going anywhere until morning.

  He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Paige hadn’t meant to fall asleep in Brandon’s motel room, but when she woke, laying across his chest, it was 7:00 a.m. She had to get home, and ready for work, or she was going to be late—and she was never late. She tried to ease away without waking him, but the instant she moved, his arm slid around her, and when she tried to get up, he pulled her back down.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked in a sleepy voice, his warm palm sliding up to cover her breast, and just like last night, she was incapable of telling him no. She hadn’t meant for this to happen, to get so…involved. But Brandon was right. Like it or not, they did have a relationship. Sex, or more than sex…she didn’t know. It was so good that, at this point, she didn’t really care. Because she knew for a fact that anything this good, this sensationally smoking hot, was bound to burn itself out before things got too serious. It was inevitable.

  It was over an hour later when she made it home to get ready for work. She didn’t walk into work until nine-fifteen, which was unheard of for her. Cheryl was already sitting at her desk.

  “This is a first for you,” she said as Paige rushed through the door.

  “Sorry, I got a late start.” She walked into her office and set her case, with the work she had intended to do when she got home last night, on the desk. She was going to have to stay until midnight to catch up.

  “You look like you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” Cheryl said.

  “I was up late working,” she lied. It was kinda like work, just the really fun, pleasurable kind.

  Cheryl crossed her arms across her generous bosom. “You’re a terrible liar. And it doesn’t explain why you’re glowing.”

  Glowing? “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  Cheryl planted both hands on Paige’s desk. “I want to know what’s going on. Have you been holding out on me? Seeing someone in secret?”

  “Not exactly.” Maybe she could tell her, without actually saying who.

  “Is he married? Is that why you haven’t mentioned him?”

  “Of course not! And the reason I didn’t tell you about him is that we just met Friday.”

  “Oh.” Cheryl looked disappointed that it wasn’t some torrid, forbidden affair. “When you didn’t come back after the fitting with Mr. Dilson I should have figured you had a date, but…” Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open as she put the pieces together. “Oh, my God!” she shrieked. “Are you seeing Brandon Dilson?”

  Paige could feel her cheeks turning red, which told Cheryl everything she needed to know. So much for keeping his name a secret.

  “Oh, my God, you are! You bagged the hunky cowboy!”

  “Don’t get all excited about this. It’s only an affair. It’ll never amount to anything.”

  “Why, because he’s not rich and successful? Who cares? He’s hot!”

  She cared. And it wasn’t even that. She could get past Brandon not being rich and successful. Unfortunately, they wanted totally different things out of life, and one or the other would have to give up everything they cared about if they ever wanted to be together.

  Cheryl sighed wistfully. “It was amazing, wasn’t it? I mean, some guys you look at and you just know they’ll be smokin’ hot in bed. He has that look.”

  “Totally amazing doesn’t even come close,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing.

  Cheryl plopped down in the chair. “God, I am so jealous. Do you know how long it’s been since I met someone I wanted to sleep with, much less one who was better than totally amazing. In fact, I’ve never been with anyone who was better than pretty good. Men just don’t appreciate a full-figured woman.”

  “You can’t tell anyone.”

  She shrugged. “Who am I going to tell?”

  “I don’t know. But since technically he’s a client, it’s a serious conflict of interest.”

  “Paige, honey, you’re planning a party. Not to diminish what you do, because you know I think you’re a genius, but it’s not like the fate of the world is resting on your decision to sleep with the guy. I seriously doubt anyone would care.”

  Paige knew she was right, but when it could be so easy to fall in love with Brandon, she was desperate for some handle on reality. Yes, he was honest and hardworking, but how could she put herself in a position to know even a shadow of the poverty she’d endured growing up? Brandon had made it pretty clear how much he loved his job, and that he had every intention of staying there. Which would leave her no choice but to leave her job to be with him. To fold her company before it had the chance to flourish.

  She just couldn’t do that. She couldn’t take that sort of chance, not when there was so much at stake. She couldn’t imagine herself being content to live on a ranch foreman’s salary. And it wasn’t about the expensive clothes, because without her company she wouldn’t need or want them. And it wasn’t about having luxury vehicles, or pricey cell phones, or top-of-the-line home furnishings. She didn’t have those things now, yet she was perfectly content.

  What she couldn’t live without was the financial security. She could never endure the constant feeling that any day the other shoe could fall, that there could be some sort of accident or tragedy that would wipe them out financially. What if one of them got sick? She could afford a good health plan through work. Was he even covered? And what if he was hurt and couldn’t work any longer. She doubted he had a pension plan.

  There were just so many variables. Too many questions.

  “How does Brandon feel about this just being an affair?” Cheryl asked.

  “How do you think he feels? He’s a guy. Of course he wouldn’t balk at no-strings-attached sex.” But what was it he’d said about their relationship? He didn’t know if it would last a week, or a month, or fifty years. She was sure he was just trying to make a point. That he didn’t really expect this to last fifty years. They had agreed to keep it casual, right?

  But they had also agreed to keep it platonic. And before that it was only supposed to be one drink. It was getting hard to keep track of what was going on when the rules kept changing. Maybe they needed to discuss this, just to be sure that they were on the same page, set some clear parameters.

  “All of a sudden you don’t look so sure about what you want,” Cheryl said.

  “I know exactly what I want.” The question was, did Brandon?

  Nine

  Brandon sat in his truck in the parking lot of the Vista del Mar Beach and Tennis Club, dreading going inside.

  When he left the city fifteen years ago, he never imagined he would see this place again. Nor had he any desire to. Too many memories. Too many he would rather forget. Now he didn’t have much choice.

  He was about to open the truck door when his cell phone rang. The ringtone indicated it was Clint Andersen, his foreman. He flipped his phone open. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you, but I just got a call from that breeder in Texas. He’s interested in coming to give those mares a second look. He’ll be in the area Saturday morning.”

  “This Saturday?”

  “Yup. Says he can stop in around 8:00 or 9:00 a.m. on his way back home. Sounds like a serious buyer to me.”

  Damn it. Brandon was supposed to have dinner with Paige Friday night. He would have to drive to the ranch instead to make sure the horses were ready, and get the paperwork in order. That would completely screw up their plans. But this was business, and he still had a responsibility to the ranch. He and Paige would have to reschedule. Maybe they could do it Saturday night instead. He could probably be back in Vista del Mar by midafternoon.

  “Tell him to come by. I’ll be there.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  He hung up and shoved his door open. He headed th
rough the lot, past BMWs and Mercedes and pricey sports cars to the front entrance of the club. He hesitated there a moment, then opened the door. The interior still looked the same. It reeked of elegance and old money. During the summer months, when he wasn’t at the ranch, this place had been like a second home to him. Every room, every corridor had been burned indelibly in his memory. And as tempted as he was to look around, he couldn’t take the chance of someone recognizing him. He was almost positive that with his hat on, and his sunglasses hiding his eyes, no one would connect him with the fifteen-year-old boy who used to hang out there. Besides, what were the odds he would run into anyone he knew? The staff had to be different by now.

  Get in, get it done and get out.

  A group of women in tennis whites stood outside the lounge, eyeing him curiously. None of them looked familiar, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled the brim of his hat low over his eyes and headed down the corridor to the banquet hall. Down a hall to his left were the men’s locker rooms, and the door leading to the indoor-outdoor pool. He could even smell a hint of chlorine. It brought back memories of endless hours spent swimming with his friends, with Emma always there pestering them. There had been swimming lessons in the Olympic-size indoor pool, and splashing under the rock waterfall outside in warmer weather. While his mother sat in the bar drinking away her resentment for Brandon’s father, of course. Although occasionally she would indulge in a game or two of tennis with Brandon and Emma.

  When he was older he hung out on the beach, swimming in the cove with his buddies and kissing girls at the base of Busted Bluff, in the privacy of the rocks. He used to think he was pretty hot stuff. That changed when he was fourteen, the day his world came apart.

  He’d come home from the club to discover his parents fighting. Flinging hateful words and accusations. Which wasn’t all that unusual, but this one had been worse than most. He actually began to think that maybe this was it, the fight that would drive that final wedge between them. And in a way he’d wished it would. Then his father would move out and his mother would finally be happy. She would stop anesthetizing the pain with alcohol and pills.

  Eventually his father had stormed out, on the pretext of attending a late business dinner, but probably to see his latest mistress, even though he vehemently denied having one. But Brandon had heard the rumors, overheard people talking at the club and the factory.

  Brandon gave his mom a while to calm down, because he knew she didn’t like him to see her crying, then he went to look for her and found her unconscious on her bedroom floor. He’d called 911, and rode along in the ambulance while they had tried to revive her, but it had been too late.

  If only he had checked on her sooner, he might have been able to save her. If only his father had learned to keep it in his pants, she wouldn’t have been so miserable that she believed the only way out was to take her own life.

  If only.

  Brandon had stopped coming to the club after that. He couldn’t stand the whispers and conjecture. Because even though it had been ruled an accident, everyone knew Denise Worth had committed suicide. Knew she was nutty enough to do it.

  He shook away the memory. Now was not the time to be dredging up the past. Not when he had an appointment to keep. An appointment with a woman who, for the first time in his life, saw him for who he really was. Not a name or a bankroll. Just a man.

  As he walked through the open banquet-room door he bumped shoulders with a man who was on his way out, the last person he wanted to meet face-to-face. Rafe Cameron.

  Damn it! So much for not running into someone he knew.

  “Sorry,” Brandon mumbled, keeping his head low, hoping Rafe would just keep going.

  Instead, he stopped and turned. “Excuse me.”

  Did Rafe recognize him? It had been years since Brandon had seen anyone associated with the factory. Had he come this far, invested four months of his life, only to blow it now?

  Brandon stopped and turned. Rafe gave him the once-over, eyes narrowed with obvious distaste, and said, “This is a private club.”

  Brandon heaved a silent breath of relief. He didn’t recognize Brandon, he just didn’t want a nonmember—a man he obviously considered beneath him—roaming the halls, making trouble. As if his presence alone might stain the club’s good name.

  Wouldn’t he be surprised to learn that because of his father, Brandon, too, was considered a lifetime member. He recalled a time when Rafe hadn’t been welcome in the club. When he was nothing but the son of factory employees. Employees who had been fired for fraternizing with each other. But now, dressed in a silk suit and Italian leather shoes, Rafe was the antithesis of his former self. A new man.

  His hatred for Rafe, for everything he represented, clawed Brandon from the inside out.

  “Brandon, you made it,” he heard Paige say, and turned to see her walking toward them from the opposite side of the banquet room. She was wearing a designer suit, mountainously high heels and her hair was swept up in a twist. And despite his less than stellar mood, Brandon couldn’t help grinning a little.

  “Ms. Adams, you know this man?” Rafe asked.

  “Mr. Cameron, this is Brandon Dilson. He’s been working with one of the mentors and he’ll be the recipient of the outstanding achievement award at the gala. Brandon, this is Rafe Cameron, the founder of Hannah’s Hope.”

  “Mr. Dilson, congratulations on your success,” Rafe said, without an apology, or a single note of regret for his initial suspicions. Arrogant ass.

  Brandon had no choice but to accept his outstretched hand, masking his distaste with a polite smile. “Good to meet you.”

  Rafe turned to Paige. “I forgot to ask, where are you planning to set up the stage.”

  She turned and pointed to the opposite side of the room. “Over there will be best, I think. It’s what the club recommended.”

  While her back was turned, Brandon caught Rafe red-handed staring at Paige’s ass. His hackles rose and it took every bit of restraint he possessed not to punch the cocky son of a bitch in the jaw. Immature as it was, he had to fight the temptation to grab Paige and kiss her right there in front of Rafe, brand her as his own so the other man knew she was off-limits.

  Which, he was sure, would piss her off to no end because as far as she was concerned, she wasn’t Brandon’s to claim. But it gave Brandon a childish satisfaction that, while Rafe clearly considered himself the better man, Brandon was the one who had spent practically an entire weekend in bed with her.

  One of life’s little ironies.

  Paige turned back to Rafe and said, “If you had a different arrangement in mind, I’m sure we can work something out with the staff.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Are you sure? It isn’t a problem.”

  He flashed her a charming smile. “You’re the expert. I trust your judgment.”

  So why had he even asked? Was it simply to pull rank and make it clear to Brandon that he was in charge? Like Brandon gave a crap.

  Rafe looked at his watch—a fifty-thousand-dollar platinum, diamond-studded Blancpain—and said, “I have a meeting to catch. It was good to see you again Ms. Adams, and a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dilson.”

  Brandon couldn’t say the same. He nodded politely and stuffed his hands in his pockets, so he wouldn’t have to shake Rafe’s hand again.

  “So, that’s your boss?” he asked Paige when he was gone.

  “Technically, no,” she said. “I’m my boss. But if you’re talking about my client, Hannah’s Hope, then I guess he would be considered the one in charge. Although typically I deal with Ana Rodriguez. Why do you ask?”

  “He just seemed like kind of a jerk.”

  Her brow crinkled. “Why would you say that?”

  He shrugged. “Just my opinion.”

  “I thought you gave everyone the benefit of the doubt.”

  He had told her that, hadn’t he? But he already knew exactly who Rafe Cameron was. He just couldn’t tell h
er that.

  “When you turned around he was staring at your ass,” he said. “It was unprofessional and tacky.”

  A smile curled her lips. “Brandon, are you jealous?”

  “No.” He certainly hadn’t meant to give her that impression. Of course, his instant defensiveness did indicate a certain level of protectiveness for Paige. And okay, maybe some jealousy. He grinned and added, “Well, maybe just a little.”

  “Well, if it will make you feel better, Rafe Cameron isn’t my type at all. He’s too…stuffy.” She leaned close, and lowered her voice. “I prefer bad boys, remember?”

  She was close enough that he caught a whiff of her perfume. And if they hadn’t been in a public place, she would already be in his arms. And they would both be in various stages of undress.

  All in good time.

  “Mr. Cameron is definitely thorough,” she said. “He just spent the last two hours going over the plans for the gala down to the finest detail.”

  “Was he satisfied with what you’ve done?”

  “For the most part. He had a few minor changes he wanted to make to the menu. And he must have mentioned a dozen times how important it is that this go off without a hitch. Ward Miller will be announcing that his foundation is making another substantial donation, so he wants everything to be perfect.”

  He wondered how Rafe would feel if he knew that the unveiling of Brandon’s deception was on the agenda, and he could hardly wait to see Rafe’s face when he exposed him in front of all those important people.

  It wouldn’t be long before Brandon knew exactly what Rafe was up to. He had a friend from college who was creative about accessing information via cyberspace, and if all went well, Brandon would have copies of the foundation’s financial files by the end of the week. He would pass those on to a forensic accountant acquaintance who would comb the files for anything even slightly suspicious. Anything to warrant a formal investigation.