Rich Man's Deception: Complete Boxed Set Bundle: Billionaire Boss / Corporate Espionage Romance

by Gibson, Valerie S.

  I could tell it made him uncomfortable, me airing my dirty laundry, being so candid about my sexual exploits. That fact annoyed me. If I had been a man, they would be conquests, but as a woman, they were my shame. I refused to feel that way about it. I mean, I had been sleeping with the King of Capitalism himself, why shouldn't I be proud?

  “After the first time, in the office. We were inseparable. We were having sex so often that I wasn't even able to document it all. It would have been impossible. Even for me,” I said, watching the interviewer squirm.

  “So, despite everyone's warnings, despite what was at stake, despite your career itself, you decided to develop a sexual relationship with Mr. Payne.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I didn't decide it. Neither of us did. It's just what happened.”

  “But you made no attempt to prevent it.”

  I shrugged. “I wouldn't have even known how to,” I admitted. Looking back, it made me realize just how little control over our lives we really have. We were all as helpless as a feather on the wind. That would have made a good title for my next article. If I was still employed anyway...

  “So what happened after your sexual encounter in the office? Was Mr. Payne open with his intentions? Did either of you tell anyone about your budding relationship?” the interviewer asked, his eyes greedy for information.

  I shook my head. “No. We didn't really think about that honestly. When you're wrapped up in it, nothing else really exists. Love is kind of like being in the eye of the storm, I think. Getting there is rough, leaving is too, but in the midst of it, all you see are blue skies.”

  The interviewer nodded thoughtfully. “That was quite poetic, Ms. Adams. Are you sure Mr. Payne felt the same way you did?”

  The question slipped under my rib like a blade. I would be shown no quarter here, apparently. I had the feeling that even if I keeled over now, my interviewer would prod my dead body until he had gotten every last morsel of information.

  I shrugged. “I guess I can never really be sure. He told me he loved me a handful of times, but actions speak louder than words.”

  “And how did Ian act after the affair in the office?” the interviewer pressed.

  I smiled vacantly, overtaken by a sense of serendipity. “Like a prince,” I said, as the memories came rushing back.

  * * *

  I stared blankly at the blinking icon on my laptop. Two hours. That's how long I had been sitting here, and I hadn't written a single word. I just couldn't stop thinking about him. Was it two, or three days since we made love on this desk? I couldn't remember, the days seemed so long now, and I hadn't seen him since the incident. I felt abandoned, cold. Mostly though, I missed his touch, his smile. I just wanted to talk to him. Did he regret what we did? Did I? No. Maybe at first I did, but not anymore. Now I just wanted to see him. 'He could at least tell me it was a mistake in person. Be a man about it instead of hiding in his lab,' I thought angrily. For the past hour or so I had considered storming down there myself, demanding that he talk to me, but that just wasn't rational. This wasn't high school; we both had careers to consider. None of these thoughts seem to stop the throbbing longing in the pit of my stomach, however.

  “Pssst,” a voice hissed. It nearly made me jump, but I guess I was too depressed to be afraid.

  “Ian!” I nearly shouted the word when I saw him standing in the corner of the room. He strolled up to me with that carefree smirk painted on his face. I adored it, and then remembered how angry I was at him. “Where have you been? I haven't seen you in days,” I demanded.

  Ian's head drooped a bit, but his smile never left. “I'm sorry. Logan has been surgically grafted to my side lately. It's always a conference here or a development lecture there. I haven't had a chance to get away. It's driving me crazy,” he said.

  He did look weary. There were bags under his eyes and they were blood-shot. I had never seen him look less than perfect before. Pity swirled in my stomach, but I ignored it. I would not let him get away with it that easily. “Couldn't you have called me? Texted me? Anything? After... well, you know, you didn't say anything! Anything! Do you know how that feels?” I spat.

  Ian frowned. “I know. I'm sorry. I just haven't even had time to breathe lately. I'm just constantly lost in thought. All I can think about-”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, your big new project. I know.”

  “No,” Ian said, grabbing my hand. My pulse quickened, and I felt a warmth blossom in my chest. “It's you,” he said, looking at me with those big, beautiful blue eyes. Behind them was genuine emotion. I could feel the warmth radiate from them, my icy heart melting their gaze. I had almost forgotten why I was angry.

  “Me too,” I said. Then I looked away from him, and my senses returned. I shook my head. “This is a bad idea.” I removed his hand from mine.

  “I know,” Ian agreed, moving closer.

  I got out of my chair. “You have your company to think about Ian. I mean you're a famous billionaire and I'm your secretary. What would people say? This would never work,” I said.

  “I know,” Ian said again, his smile growing wider. He kept following me around the room.

  I was pacing now. “The public would never accept it,” I couldn't believe what I was saying. Even being in the presence of Ian made butterflies swarm in my stomach. But he didn't care about me, I reminded myself. It was Ms. Potters. That's who he wanted.

  Ian put his hands on my shoulders. His touch made the tension slip away. He looked me in the eyes. “They don't have to know,” he said.

  My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What, so you want me as some kind of discreet affair? You want me to be your mistress or something?” I wanted to slap him, to strangle him, to kiss him.

  Ian shook his head, holding my right hand gingerly in both of his. “No. I just don't want them to sully it. I've spent most of my life in the spotlight, Ms. Potters, and one thing I've learned is that you can never please everyone in the crowd. As many people want to see you fail as they do to triumph. They would only try to tear us apart. So what business is it of theirs, of anyone's? Why should they need to know, why do they deserve to know? Knowledge is dangerous in the wrong hands. You learn that in this business. Why do you think I'm so secretive? Why do I take so much precaution to stay out of the public eye? You see Ms. Potters; love can't exist like that, not truly. Only a crafted, imitated version, one cleaned up for everyone else's approval. None of that should matter. The essence of love is between two people who are free to be their true selves, free of societal shackles. So truthfully, the only real love that can exist is the secret kind,” Ian said, drinking me in with his shimmering eyes.

  He was beautiful, as beautiful as his words. He was also right. “You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?” I asked.

  Ian smirked. “Maybe a little,” he said sheepishly.

  “Did you practice that speech?” My suspicion was mounting.

  “Only in my head. I never wrote it down or anything,” he said.

  I laughed. “Was that before or after your scheduled lecture?” I asked, wrapping my arms around him. It felt so easy, so right. I felt as if I was soaring over the clouds. Who was I to deny such a feeling?

  “Somewhere in the middle of it. Between quantum computation and hybrid circuitry logic gates,” he said, rocking me gently back and forth.

  “It's not fair,” I said.

  Ian cocked an eyebrow. “What's not fair?

  “Why do you get to have everything? You're good looking, intelligent, and obscenely wealthy. Considerate too, humble, and sensitive. Most people only get one of those, some not even that. What makes you so special?” I asked, almost as irritated as I was awed.

  Ian shrugged. “Well, my father was an inventor.”

  I was confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Ian smirked. “Everyone gets one masterpiece. You're looking at my father's greatest work,” he said with a wink.

  I
rolled my eyes. “Okay so maybe not so humble. Having a flaw just makes you seem more perfect though,” I realized.

  Ian shook his head. “I'm not as perfect as you think. There's a lot you don't know about me,” he said darkly.

  That's when reality came rushing back. “Me either...” I said. This wasn't going to end well, but like a train derailed, there just didn't seem to be any way to stop it now.

  * * *

  When I finished recounting the story, my interviewer looked pleased. “So this is when both Ian and yourself made the conscious decision to begin seeing each other?”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding.

  “In secrecy?” he asked, pushing the tape recorder closer.

  “Yes. He, WE, thought it was best, all things considered. At least to explore our emotions, to see where it would lead. At the time, I didn't think any real harm could come of it.”

  My interviewer nodded. “You found out later, however, that you had been mistaken.”

  I averted my gaze to the floor. The floor never passed judgment. “Very.”

  The interviewer shook his head. “That still does not excuse you for letting it get so out of hand. You could have ended it at any time; made up any lie or excuse to stop. You weren't only toying with a man's heart, but his career and future as well. And him being a brilliant scientist, you were potentially jeopardizing the future of society as a whole. What excuse do you have for that?”

  Each word the interviewer said weighed heavier than the last. Everything he said was true. I had been so stupid, so weak, and so selfish. “I have no excuse,” I said, the words caught in my throat, coming out as a squeak. “No excuse other than the fact that I loved him.”

  The interviewer rolled his eyes. “That's all well and good Ms. Adams, but your love was based on a lie. That's not how love works.”

  A sudden flash of anger filled me. “Oh, and you know how it works better than I do?”

  The interviewer was taken aback by my sudden outburst. “No, that's not what I meant.”

  “Then what did you mean?” I growled.

  His eyes bulged. “J-just that love should be beautiful, honest. Love should be genuine.”

  I shook my head in agreement. “You're right. Love has to be all those things, just not at the same time,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” the interviewer asked, confused.

  “Even love founded on a lie has moments of honesty, of beauty. Let me show you what I mean,” I grabbed the diary. “This is when Ian and I had our first date.”

  * * *

  Entry #15

  The dress Ian had laid out for me was breath-taking. It was silk, colored a deep, rich red as decadent as the chocolate covered strawberries he had left on my bed. I examined my naked body in the full-length mirror. A pale, curvy reflection stared back. I checked my skin for any blemishes, any blotches. I wanted to be perfect for him. For our first real date. Ian hadn't given me any clear instructions. Only to meet him on the roof at midnight, dressed, “Like you were an Oscar nominee,” as he had put it.

  I slipped the dress over my erect nipples. The fine texture of the material clung to me like a second skin. Only this skin was softer, more flawless than mine could ever be. Ian's maid approached me. She was an older woman, very stern, but always full of wisdom. She had taken a liking to Ms. Potters, too, which only made me feel guiltier about my cover. But tonight was all about me. I let all those concerns fall to the wayside as I took a sip of the red wine left on the dresser. More vain, superficial things worried me now. “How do I look?” I asked Mabyl.

  Mabyl smiled, her face shrinking into a bundle of wrinkles as she did. “Don't be so worried. Men are simple dear,” Mabyl said. “They aren't so concerned with the clothing as they are with what it's clinging to. And trust me, with a figure like that you could wear a burlap sack and I'm sure Mr. Payne would still be drooling like the dog he is.”

  I laughed, all the jitters in me disbursing. I hugged Mabyl. “Thank you, Mabyl. You always know what to say.”

  Mabyl shrugged. “Just telling the truth. Hell, if I was 20 years younger I'd probably have a go at you too.”

  My face flushed a deep red at the comment. “Mrs. Welshire!” I said, mouth agape.

  Mabyl scowled. “Oh don't look at me like that. You act like you never went to college. You were in a sorority, so don't tell me you've never played for the other team.”

  She wasn't wrong, regarding Rachel Adams at least. Ms. Potters however had been a proper girl and would never behave as such. There was a sparkle in Mabyl's eyes though, like she knew, that stopped me from bothering to protest.

  “Well,” Mabyl said, “I guess I'll get out of your hair. Nothing spoils the mood like a wrinkled old crone hobbling about. Good luck dear,” she said.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Welshire. You're really a sweet wo- Oww!” Mabyl pinched my cheeks.

  “What was that for?”

  “Sorry,” Mabyl said, “you needed the color.” She let out a cackle and then wandered out of the bedroom, chuckling to herself the whole way.

  I looked at the mirror once more. She was right. I was incredibly pale. Would Ian like that? Did he prefer a more olive colored skin? I glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. No time to worry about it now. I took a bite of one of the strawberries; the bite of the chocolate was smoothed out by the sweetness of the fruit. I washed that all down with the rest of the wine, then made my way to the roof.

  When I opened the door to the rooftop, a cold gust of wind greeted me, but that wasn't what took my breath away. Hundreds of candles were lined up in two columns, creating a pathway illuminated by candlelight. Between the two rows of candles, a bed of colored flower petals blanketed the floor, creating a rose colored road. Further down, the distance between the candles grew, forming a circle around a table with two chairs around it, one of which was occupied by Ian in a navy blue suit.

  “Ian, it's beautiful,” I said as I reached him.

  Ian smiled at me; his sharp features were slightly dulled by the candlelight, and my senses by the wine. He looked like a dream, a real prince, the ones you read about in fairy tales. “I'm glad you like it. I was concerned about the configuration. I did it all myself you know, no maids, no butlers, just me,” he insisted.

  I smiled. “Impressive. You didn't even burn down the house.”

  “Ha, ha,” Ian said. “Are you ever going to sit down?

  I did so. Behind Ian, a full moon hung pensively in the night sky. It looked to impossibly big, as if it was only one leap away.

  “I'd bring it to you,” Ian said.

  “What?” I asked, my attentions back to him.

  “If you asked for it. I would bring you the moon.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Uh, you realize it's a lot bigger than it looks right?”

  Ian laughed. “Then I would find a way to shrink it, and I would put it in a ring, and you could wear the moon on your finger.”

  “Don't be ridiculous. You couldn't shrink it. Could you?” I asked, filled with a sudden uncertainty. Ian was always full of surprises. He only smiled mysteriously.

  “You make me feel inadequate,” Ian said finally.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, staring out over the rooftop. The view was stunning. The city below was nothing more than shimmering diamonds set in shadows, like a second sky. Only this one was more organized, more symmetrical.

  “I have created some of the most remarkable things. Masterpieces of both form and function, but nothing I have ever created is even half as beautiful, half as remarkable as you are,” he said, looking at me with those feverish eyes. Those eyes that penetrated me so deeply. It was hard not to believe him when he said it with such conviction.

  The statement almost made me angry though. Don't be so stupid! I wanted to scream. I was just a glorified secretary. Not even that, I realized. I was a farm girl from Ohio who thought she could make it in the big city. I was in over my head. “Ian, I t
hink there is something you should know about me,” I said, trying not to choke on my own words. This was too much. I had never wanted this. It just happened.

  Ian moved closer, stroking the nape of my neck with his hands. The movement was so soothing. “Shhh,” he said, kissing my forehead. “We have all the time in the world to learn about each other. Right now, I just want to hold you, to appreciate you. You're the first real masterpiece I've ever seen,” he said.

  So I believed him. I let him stroke my hair with his firm, yet gentle caress. I buried my head in his chest, and let his cologne seep into my nostrils. It was so peaceful, so indulgent. Everything else fell away, muted. I looked up to the sky and frowned. “It would be the perfect night, if only the stars were out,” I said. A thick cloud front had set in, shrouding the moon in mist.

  Ian looked at the stars and grimaced. “If they won't come to us, then we will just have to go to them,” he said.

  “Yeah...” I said vacantly, hardly hearing his words.

  “Come on,” Ian said, giving my arm a tug. He grabbed the champagne bottle, and before I knew it, we were taking off in his helicopter.

  “Watch closely,” he said when we were a few thousand feet up. “As soon as we break the cloud cap. Get ready...”

  It was then that the clouds enveloped the helicopter. Panic surged through me as a pitch black filled the cabin. It was short lived however, and when the darkness gave way, a regal spectacle awaited. It stretched on for eternity. Beneath us was a wall of clouds, above, a globe of shimmering starlight, like glitter raining down all around them. Swirls of green and purple mixed with the sombre blues and blacks of the broad, unending night sky. It was a whole new world, with new horizons never explored. It was immense and awe-inspiring.

  Ian began massaging my neck with a warm hand. “Who's piloting the helicopter?” I asked in sudden horror.