“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.