Read Online One Night With My Billionaire Master by Cynthia Sax - Free Book Online

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