Filthy Rich Alpha - Virna DePaul Page 0,19
took that photo of Cara.”
“Do you.” The needling remark wasn’t a question. Deena rose and paced the austerely furnished room. “It would be so nice to not be noticed at all.”
Branden’s distant gaze didn’t seem to see the graceful form of the woman who passed in front of him several times. “But I was. And you may be next.”
She turned and faced him squarely. “I don’t think so. Not by anyone other than Cara, at least. She’s not dumb. She’s caught on to my iciness and ‘back off’ attitude where you’re concerned. Something I wouldn’t have to do if you’d kept your hands to yourself.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Cara seems to have captivated the enemy. One that seems to have various connections. Have you seen the second post?”
“No.” There was a second post? Cara wouldn’t like it. And neither did he. He’d tried to play it cool in order to reassure her, but he’d been pissed by the online publication of that photo. What they’d shared had been intimate. Private. It didn’t matter that he was often depicted in the media with beautiful women; that had never bothered him before. This was different.
He hated the idea of anyone witnessing his time with Cara, if that was what had happened, even though only a suggestive outside shot of her alone had been published.
“Actually, it’s a link. On a different site. From the time stamp and various comments made, it’s been online for hours. Click on it and you go somewhere else that might surprise you. Maybe not. After all, you were there. You and Cara.”
Something in the meaningful lift of her eyebrow got him up and in front of his computer again. He pulled up the website and clicked on the link. What he saw surprised and angered him, but when he navigated the additional links and investigated even more, he was livid.
A muffled ringing made Cara frown. It was just past eight o’clock and the sun had long set. She was home for once, knitting to reduce stress, rather than slaving away at the office, generating even more stress. But where was her phone? Her armchair liked an occasional smartphone snack. She slid her hand between the upholstered back and the seat cushion. The trick was to extract it before it stopped ringing. She answered with a distracted hello, not looking at the number.
“Yo. It’s me.”
“Hello, Iris.”
“Whatcha doing?”
“Contemplating my uncertain future.”
“That calls for a stiff drink. I assume someone at work saw that photo.”
“Not that I know of. No one stopped by my office.” She left out the conversation with Branden for now, not up for Iris’s analysis of how weird that had been. “No one called to chat.”
“Keep your head down.”
“I’m trying to.”
“So I guess you don’t want to go out.”
“No thanks. I’d rather knit.” Cara lifted a tangled pile of yarn from her lap and made clicking noises with the needles.
“Nice sound effect,” Iris said. “Are you working on that scarf you started a year ago?”
“Yeah, I just wish it looked more like a scarf and less like a dish scrubber.”
“Take a hint from the universe. Use it to scrub dishes,” Iris suggested.
“Won’t work. It’s four feet long. Besides, it’s really soft.”
“I know someone you could donate it to.”
“No one would want this, Iris.”
“The laundry room cat doesn’t like the sock box anymore.”
Cara, who dropped off all her clothes at the dry cleaner’s, had spent many peaceful afternoons with Iris in her Brooklyn building’s laundry room, watching the suds slosh and the dryers spin while they talked and plugged coins into the machines. Each lone sock was deposited in a cardboard box in the hopes of being reunited with its mate, which never seemed to happen. The calico cat, a stray, had wandered into the building since Cara had last been there and found kitty heaven on earth in the warm, windowless room below street level and the overflowing box.
“Why not?”
“She seems to be pregnant. I think she’s looking for a new nest.”
“Sure, Socks can have this creation. I’m glad to have a reason to finish this thing.”
There was a pause. “When you do, could you make another one?” Iris asked.
“Why? Oh. You’re going to take a kitten.”
“Two, actually, so they can keep each other company.”
For a moment, Cara imagined having a cat waiting for her when she came home. It would be nice to cuddle with something warm-blooded for a change, but her building didn’t allow pets. “I wish I could take one,” she said.
“Yeah. We figure there will be