Filthy Rich Alpha

by Virna DePaul

  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 leeched 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 woman 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.”

  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 “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?

  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 a while, 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.”

  “The 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 your 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 her 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. And more to the point, her feelings—feelings that clearly went beyond sexual—for Branden were too much to handle.

  “You want to know what I was thinking this morning, Cara? Why I probably seemed distant?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m going to tell you. I was dealing with the fact that what I told that bastard after I hit him was the complete and utter truth. I was dealing with the fact that my days as a single man are over. That you are mine, Cara, whether you’re ready to admit it or not. I was thinking of how to do it—how to feel what I feel for you, yet give you the time to come to terms with it and sort your own feelings out, too.”

  What he was saying caused both joy and terror to soar through her. She was too wary of the transient nature of joy to hang on to it, so she grabbed on to the fear instead. The fear was what would keep her safe. “This was all a mistake. Whatever you feel for me, Branden, whatever I feel for you, it’s too complicated. I can’t continue seeing you. I can’t continue working for you.”

  “Of course you can. You’re not a coward, Cara.”

  “No. But what I have been—careless and reckless and stupid—ends today. You know what happened with my father, Branden. You know how he died. It’s horrible, but I think some part of me always blamed him for giving up. For having a heart that wasn’t strong enough to get past all the stress and shame that Davies caused him. But the truth is, I’m just as weak. You make me forget what’s important and risk things I can’t.”

  “No, I’m not making you do that. You’ve finally allowed yourself to go for what you want. You said so yourself. I believed you when you first came to my penthouse and told me that, and I believe it now. Cara, life is about taking risks. About feeling. Enjoying. Allowing yourself to have the things—and people—you want. Things you haven’t let yourself have for a damn long time. And I’m telling you right now, you’re not quitting.”

  “Not right away,” she conceded. “I have three weeks of vacation time. I’m going to take that first while we try to track down the person responsible for this. But I can’t—I can’t be here, I can’t stand all the looks I’m going to get from people—”

  Her voice broke and before she knew it, Branden had pulled her into his arms. For a second, she leaned her head against his chest, wanting the comfort he so readily offered, but that just made her feel weak. “Please let me go,” she said, her voice brittle with tension.

  Slowly, he did. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe it is best if you take some time off while I look into this. It’s probably safer for you.”

  She pulled back. “Safer? Do you really still think this is about personal safety? Because I think this must be about revenge. Someone is gunning for you and using me in the process.”

  “You’re right. And I’m sorry about that, Cara. I really am.”

  She stared at him, then sighed. Rubbed her temple. “I know you are, Branden. I’m not blaming you. I got myself into this situation with my careless actions. It’s just finally time for me to act like a mature adult for a change.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Which means denying yourself any kind of life, you mean? Any form of entertainment or pleasure as you take the world’s troubles on your shoulders?”

  She shrugged those shoulders. “We can’t all be millionaires. Some of us have to live in the real world.”

  “And your real world doesn’t include me, is that right?”

  “No,” she said after taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t.”

  “Cara.” Branden put a finger under her chin and tipped her face to his. Her lips parted as she drew in a breath.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  His dark eyes searched hers. Then he took a step back. “As I said, I agree that taking some time off is for the best. But things aren’t over between us, Cara. Not by a long shot.”

  She swallowed hard, walked around him, and reached for the doorknob.

  “You’ve been in here much too long. Doesn’t look good. So…”

  She opened it.

  “Hello, Cara.
” Apparently, Deena Raj had been about to walk through the door. She smiled at Cara. And then at Branden. “There you are. I was looking for you. Do you have time to talk?”

  “Yes,” he bit out. He turned to Cara. “I’m looking forward to the complete report on those collateralized debt obligations, Cara.” He walked past her but glanced back and stopped. “Your preliminary calculations look rock solid. I know how many hours went into them. It’s definitely time for you to take some vacation time. Enjoy yourself and I’ll see you soon.”

  Deena’s finely arched eyebrows went up but she didn’t ask any questions. Instead, she simply slid her arm through Branden’s and walked away with him down the hall.

  Cara did the best she could to concentrate on work the rest of the day. She got a call from HR around three p.m. telling her Branden had approved her vacation request even though she hadn’t even put in for it yet. That was fine; she needed to get out of there, and the sooner the better. She left immediately, heading to Branden’s penthouse to get her things. When she got there, the doorman gave her an envelope. After slipping into the elevator, she read Branden’s message.

  I asked the housekeeper to gather and pack your things for you. I’ll be staying at the mansion tonight if you need anything. You are welcome to stay at the penthouse tonight and I’ll have my driver take you and your things to your place in the morning.

  —Branden

  Cara had to wonder if she really was losing her mind. Reading that note made her feel like someone had kicked her in the stomach. It looked like his promise to see her later had been quickly forgotten.

  She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks and couldn’t figure out why she was so upset. This was what she’d wanted. She’d needed to end things between them and get her life back to normal, whatever that meant, given she’d soon be unemployed. But to her amazement, it wasn’t her impending joblessness that had her so upset as much as the fact that she would no longer be seeing Branden.