Accidentally Married to the Billionaire 3(39)
“I’d never tell a soul if it were you, Brandon. And any woman stupid enough to stay behind in Manhattan and leave a man like you to sleep alone in Dubai deserves what she gets,” she said, her voice a mercenary purr. He withdrew his leg further under his chair to get away from her roaming foot.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I’m quite flattered, of course. You’re an amazing girl—woman. Lawyer,” he said, flustered and ready to bolt for the door.
“Come here,” she said, coaxing, and leaned over to whisper in his ear, “aren’t you curious? I’m not just dominant in the courtroom if you know what I mean. I have the most delicious little riding crop in my handbag,” she trailed her fingertips along his neck, and he got to his feet abruptly, out of her reach.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Gemma. I’m not feeling well. Do stay and enjoy dessert. I hope you have a lovely evening.”
Brandon Cates bolted from the very swank restaurant and fled down to the lobby so fast that he had to wait for his driver to get there. Once he was back in his suite, he allowed himself to worry that Gemma might quit her very lucrative position at Power Regions because he’d turned her down, or that she might sell some exaggerated story about him to the press. He counted on her self-preservation, her desire to have money, power and a sound reputation in the world of international law.
Hopefully, she was clever enough or embarrassed enough to keep this evening’s happenings private. It would only take one rejected woman like herself, bitter and hurt, to spin a tale about him making advances toward her or harassing her in some way—to discredit him to the stockholders, to Marj, to Power Regions as a whole. He couldn’t bear to think of it.
As it was, he wished he’d never gone to that dinner. It had been largely unproductive; the food was not at all what he liked, and then one of his lawyers sexually harassed him. All in all, a failure of an evening. While the zoning issue might shortly be solved, it could reasonably be at the expense of his working relationship with Gemma. He couldn’t imagine what made her think that he, her boss and a newly married man, would be receptive to a proposition. It was insulting to say the least.
Back at his hotel, he debated calling Marj. She wasn’t in the best mood where he was concerned, so he decided against it. But not before he ordered up a sandwich and a cup of coffee. He wasn’t going to drink the coffee, just smell it and be reminded of his wife who was an ocean away. It was rather pathetic, probably, but she’d never know about it. Brandon was a few hours into returning emails and double checking paperwork when his phone buzzed. The publicist. He’d grown to hate the sight of the publicist’s number on his phone screen.
“Mr. Cates, I didn’t realize how late it is in Dubai, and I apologize for bothering you at this hour, but damage control is an absolute necessity.”
“What have they said about her now?” he sighed.
“Not your wife, sir. Yourself. A photo has surfaced online from, evidently, this very evening, of you with a very attractive blonde woman leaning into whisper to you. The two of you look very cozy, and it doesn’t instill a great deal of confidence in your rather conveniently timed marriage to have pictures floating around of you tete a tete with another woman. Particularly one as gorgeous and obviously enthralled as this one.”
“That’s just Gemma, one of the lawyers in Dubai working on the zoning problem. She tried to get a little personal with me, and I managed to brush her off, hopefully with enough tact that she won’t go selling some salacious story to go with that picture. How on earth are there photographers inside exclusive restaurants in Dubai? Who is sending these people to follow an American businessman who is only recognizable from the society pages in Manhattan?”
“I suppose your stepmother. If not, then the tabloid reading public is suddenly enraptured by your whirlwind romance, and they’re more than ready to click on any article that seems to show its demise.”
“This is not the demise of my marriage. It’s a badly timed photo. Send me a copy and I’ll see exactly how damning it looks. There’s nothing to tell. You don’t need to spin it. I just need to talk to Marj before she sees it.”
He hung up and stared at the image filling his screen. The lovely Gemma, her long bare legs crossed high at the knee, her snug dress revealing cleavage as she leaned in toward him, her arm draped across his chair, her hand on his arm, her mouth close, too close, to his ear. It looked like they were confidantes. No, it looked uncomfortably like they were lovers.
Brandon called Marj, but it went to voice mail. He emailed her, texted her, asking her to call him right away, that he was fine but there was an urgent matter they needed to discuss. “I did not have sex with that woman,” is what he wanted to say. But he thought that would be a rather disturbing voice mail message, particularly if Marj hadn’t seen the picture yet.