One Night With My Billionaire Master (7 page)

I lay on the seat. The vehicle is immaculately clean, smells and looks new, not a single crease marring the leather cushions. The ride is quiet and smooth, almost luxurious, unlike that of any taxi I’ve ever been in.

I wiggle on the leather, touched by Logan’s thoughtfulness, amazed by his planning. Passersby can’t see me. I’m hidden. They’ll believe the backseat unoccupied, that the driver dropped someone off at his house, that no one left his estate this morning.

This taxi gives me even more physical proof that Logan cares for me. No one goes to these lengths for a fast fuck.

If he puts this level of planning into all of our encounters, we might remain undetected. A wild, reckless hope flutters to life inside me. I might be able to have it all—my billionaire, my father’s acceptance, and the job I enjoy.

The driver’s partition slides open. “It’s all clear, miss,” the scarred man relays. “Here is your passcard.” He passes the piece of plastic to me.

A horrible photo of me is plastered across the surface. “How did you get it?” I straighten, clipping the passcard to my suit jacket.

“It’s a copy, miss,” he replies, as though this explains everything.

It doesn’t, but I accept his vague comment because I don’t truly want to know the specifics. I like having the illusion of safety. I like believing not everyone can walk into one of my father’s secured office buildings.

“Have you worked for Mr. Ross long?” I ask, wanting to know about Logan’s man.

“Nine years full-time. Two years part-time before that.”

“He trusts you.”

“He wouldn’t allow me near you if he didn’t trust me, miss.” The man meets my gaze through the rearview mirror. “He knows I’d protect you with my life.”

My eyes widen. “I’m a stranger.”

“You’re Mr. Ross’s girl.” He turns the taxi into a side street. “You’ve earned his loyalty, which means you have mine too. He doesn’t give his trust to just anyone.”

“I’m not just anyone,” I muse, staring out the window at the tall glass-and-steel buildings, the tiny slivers of green lawns, the people window-shopping and walking their tiny dogs. “And I’m no longer alone.”

I’m protected, safe, loved.

Shit. Loved. I love my billionaire. I suspect I’ve loved him for days, months, perhaps since the first moment I saw him.

My fingers splay over my suit jacket, the suit jacket Logan gave me. No one can know about this gift, about last night, about how I feel. This has to be my secret.

* * *

I’m dropped off outside St. James Communications’ main doors. It would be strange for a taxi driver to accompany me into the building, I suppose. And Logan must need his man for other tasks.

I won’t be alone. A couple of cars are parked in the company lot. There’s always someone in the building, even on a Saturday. Media never sleeps.

Tonight, I won’t sleep either. A wild, crazy joy zings through me. I’ll spend the night in Logan’s arms.

I wave my passcard over the security box. The light turns green. I step through the doors and someone hisses at me. Even this can’t penetrate my bliss. I’m high on good loving, ready to take on the world, to tackle the zillions of decisions waiting for me.

The hissing grows louder. I look around the white marble lobby, searching for the source of the noise. Benoit, my friend and co-worker, beckons from a dimly-lit hallway.

Why is he lurking there? I hurry toward him. That’s the hallway to the accounting department. They don’t normally work on the weekends.

“Walk with me.” Benoit pivots with a flounce and strides along the narrow space. “Speak softly and, for God’s sake, wipe that I-just-got-fucked-silly smile off your face.”

My face heats. Is it that obvious? “I received a big donation this morning.”

“Everyone has seen the video.” Benoit rolls his eyes. “We know how big Ross’s
donation
is.”

“What are you talking about?” I skid to a stop, my heels squeaking on the floor. “What video? What does everyone know?”

Nothing, they know nothing
. I wrangle my panic under control. Logan was thorough and careful, thinking of every possible detail. He gave me his vow and I trust him. I love him. No one is aware of where or how I spent last night.

“Everyone knows you banged Ross.” Benoit destroys my newly-restored calm with five simple words. “If you wanted to keep it a secret, you shouldn’t have made a sex tape, and you certainly shouldn’t have posted it on the internet, emailing it to half the world.”

“What?” I whisper.

“I’ve been sent the link at least fifteen times,” my friend grumbles. “Because that’s what I want to see—my boss and best friend bent over, naked, being fucked from behind by a billionaire.”

Bent over. Oh, God. I sway. Someone filmed us in the gardens.
They know.
Everyone has seen me naked, my ass in the air, diamond nipple clamps attached to my bare breasts. They have proof that I’m a slut like my mom and I had sex with my father’s enemy, that I betrayed him.

But how could anyone film us? It was dark. We would have noticed lights. Logan’s men were guarding the grounds. The cameras couldn’t have captured much. “Show me the video.”

“
Mais oui
, let’s watch your sex tape together.” Sarcasm smears Benoit’s words. “Because this situation isn’t awkward enough.”

“Benoit.” I hold out my hand.

He taps the screen a couple of times and places his phone in my palm. “Do you want to be alone?”

“Ha.” I glance down on the small display and I cringe. The video is labeled ‘Billionaire Logan Ross fucks Arianna St. James, daughter of St. James Communications’ founder.’ Someone wanted everyone to know damn sure who the participants were.

My fingers tremble as I press play. As I suspected, the video is grainy, fading in and out of focus. A couple of seconds pass before I comprehend what I’m seeing.

A blonde woman with big breasts and blue eyes is sprawled naked on a wooden desk. We look similar. If a viewer didn’t watch closely, didn’t know me well, he might mistake her for me.

The woman’s voice is close also, only an octave off, a difference that could be explained by passion, and the dialogue is damning, Ross’s name peppered between the moans. But the visuals should be enough to prove my innocence.

I exhale, lightheaded with relief. “This isn’t me, Benoit.”

I turn my attention to the man pounding his cock into the woman’s ass. He has Logan’s coloring, his pointed chin and broad shoulders, but that’s it. He’s paler, leaner, less of a man, not worthy of breathing the same air as my billionaire. “And this isn’t Ross.”

Benoit looks at the screen, looks at my face, and then looks back at the screen. “That’s your desk.”

I study the images. Son of a bitch. He’s right. Those are my business books in the background, my vintage penholder on the corner of the desk, my department’s photo hanging on the wall.

“This was filmed in my office.” I pace, clutching his phone with both of my hands, tempted to throw it, to smash the device against the wall. “Someone filmed a sex scene in my office.”

“Yes, yes, how unfortunate.” Benoit smiles.

I stop and stare at him. “What are you smiling about? Everyone thinks Ross and I had sex in my office.” My face burns with embarrassment.

“
Exactement
.” Benoit waves his hands in the air. “They believe you and
Ross
had sex. There’s no need to worry. Your super-protective billionaire will fix this.”

Shit. He
will
try to fix this and that’s not possible, not for me. I’m the St. James slut. Everyone in the Toronto business community will believe that’s my body sprawled naked over my desk. Nothing I could do or say will change that.

But I could convince them the man isn’t Logan.

“I’m using your phone,” I inform Benoit, inputting my billionaire’s number into the device. It rings once.

“Logan Ross.” His voice is curt.

“It’s me,” I whisper, walking away from my nosy friend.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, pet,” Logan murmurs, his tone softening. “I was heading to my office and turned around as soon as I heard.”

“No, don’t turn around.” I walk faster. “Don’t come here. Don’t call. Don’t text. Disassociate yourself from me. I’ll tell everyone it wasn’t you.” They’ll believe I fucked another man. This thought makes me ill, but I’ll do this to protect him. “There’s no hope for me, but you can escape this humiliating situation.”

“Arianna,” he growls, my dominant man unhappy with my suggestion.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Logan, to always have people talk about you, questioning your ethics, your morals, why you were awarded a special honor from a Hong Kong delegate, or snagged an A on a tough economics assignment, or were given an extra half-hour of tennis instruction.”

“I don’t care what people say about me.”

“Well,
I
care.” I press my lips together. Being associated with a sex tape will cost my proud man his respect, friends, business contacts, money. “I love you, and I won’t drag you down with me.”

“You love me?”

Oh, fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. “Concentrate on the situation. There must be something we could do--”

I stop abruptly. Benoit bumps into my back, unrepentant about listening to my private conversation.

“The dragon tattoo on your chest,” I blurt into the phone. “The man in the video didn’t have one. Go jogging along a main street and don’t wear your shirt,” I advise my billionaire. “They’ll know it wasn’t you.”

“I’m not going jogging.” My billionaire dismisses my plan. “And you’re not dealing with this alone.”

“But--”

“No buts,” Logan barks and my spine straightens, my body reacting to my master’s tone. “I’ll be there in thirteen minutes, pet.” He amends his earlier arrival time. “Wait for me. We’ll fix this together.” There’s a click followed by silence.

“Ross has a dragon tattoo?” Benoit smirks.

“You didn’t hear that.” I hand my friend his phone. “I have to talk to my father before he sees the video.”

“He’s seen the video, Ari.” Benoit avoids my gaze. “Everyone has seen the video. It’s been forwarded to the entire office twice.”

My half-siblings would have ensured that happened. My lips twist. “He’ll realize it isn’t me.” I have zero doubt about this.

“I thought it was you,” my friend confesses.

My doubt increases to ten percent. “You’re not my father.” I pat his arm. “Manage things here. I’ll go to the house and--”

“He’s not at his house,” Benoit interrupts. “He’s holding court with your half-siblings in the boardroom. That’s why we’re hiding here.”

I stare at him. “All of them are in the boardroom? On a Saturday?” He nods. “That’s not good.” I worry my bottom lip with my teeth. “I have to--”

My friend steps in front of me. “You have to stay here. You’ll wait for Ross to arrive and confront them together.” He frowns at me. “He’ll shelter you from your half-siblings’ nasty comments.”

“I’m not weak. I don’t need to be sheltered from anything,” I lie, wanting exactly that. Someone deliberately targeted me, filming a sex tape in my office, setting it up so it looked like I was involved. I’ll be assigned some of the blame for this fiasco.

“This isn’t about weakness,” Benoit explains in the same voice he uses with dogs and small children. “It’s about strategy. Your father is more likely to believe your claim with Ross backing you up.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Ross’s presence will make the situation worse.” My father hates him. “And this isn’t a claim. It’s the truth. My father will believe me. He knows what his own daughter looks like.”

“Ari.” My friend continues to worry about me.

“It’ll be okay, Benoit.” I summon a smile. “My father loves me.”

“Your half-siblings don’t.” He steps aside. “If you need me, shout.”

“I will.” Knowing my curious friend, I won’t have to shout loudly. He’ll be standing outside the boardroom. “There’s a check in here for the charity.” I give him my new purse. “Deposit it with the rest.”

I stride toward the boardroom, my shoulders straight and my head held high. This isn’t the first time I’ve been accused of acting like my mom. I can face my father, my half-siblings alone, and later, if Logan does arrive, I’ll ask my billionaire’s help uncovering the person responsible for the sex tape.

The boardroom doors are closed. I take a deep breath, count to five, exhale and swing both of the doors open, making a grand entrance.

My half-siblings turn their heads, the three of them aligned on the far side of the table. Kayla avoids my gaze. Frederick glowers at me with self-righteous condemnation. Cindra smirks, her blue eyes as hard as glass.

My father, seated at the head of the table, ignores me. He frowns down at his phone, lines etched between his gray eyebrows. My proud strong parent appears heartbreakingly tired and defeated.

I did this to him. My heart twists.

“The woman in the video wasn’t me.” I stand on the threshold, not bothering to close the door. There’s no point. Everyone will hear about this confrontation by Monday. “And the man wasn’t Ross.” I pause. “But then, you all realize that.”

“Don’t bother lying to us, Arianna,” Frederick answers for our father. “We know it’s you. We watched the video.”

“Everyone has seen it.” Cindra’s voice oozes with malicious glee.

“Multiple times.” Kayla, always the good little follower, joins in.

I stride to the table. “I don’t expect the others to recognize me, they see what they want to see, but you’re my father.” I focus on the only person in the room I care about. “You know that’s not me in the video.”

My father raises his head and meets my gaze. I reel back, the accusations in his eyes hitting me like a sucker punch to my stomach.

“You don’t know it isn’t me.” I gasp. “You think that complete stranger is your daughter, your own flesh and blood.” How is that possible? I teeter on my heels, not having accounted for this possibility. “How closely did you watch the video?”

“I saw all I needed to see in the first thirty seconds.” My father’s face reddens. “You were naked, having sex with the man hellbent on taking over my company, acting like that slut you have for a mother, betraying me, betraying all of us.”