Man Candy Page 10

  “Mmmhmmm,” Suzie hums in appreciation. “That is one sexy barfly.”

  I am about to agree when I realize that’s no stalker. Or barfly. That’s Nick!

  After last night, the sunglasses make sense. But why he’s here doesn’t.

  “Excuse me,” I say, pushing back from the table. As I walk away from the women I hear the whispers. Well, everyone except Tiffany is whispering. She announces loudly that this hot piece of man flesh is my fiancé.

  I slide onto the stool next to his. “We have to stop meeting in bars like this,” I say.

  He smiles, but I can tell, even with the sunglasses on, that he’s not really feeling it.

  I gently pull the glasses from his face, revealing his stunning blue eyes. As a fiancée, it’s my right to touch his face. Especially when I know all those women are watching.

  Who knew you were such an exhibitionist, Alice?

  “How are you doing?” he asks as I place the glasses down on the bar.

  I look at him sideways. “Are you checking up on me?”

  “No,” he says. And then his shoulders slump a little. “Okay, yeah. Don’t be mad. It’s not that I don’t trust you. I’m . . .”

  My eyebrows go up as I wait.

  He grins at me awkwardly. “I’m bored. And you looked nice when you left this morning and I felt a bit weird about last night still. I wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

  I wonder if this means he remembers what happened—actually, what didn’t happen—in his bed.

  Like she hears my thoughts, Tiffany wolf-whistles loudly behind us.

  “So, she’s fun,” Nick says, looking over my shoulder.

  “She’s harmless,” I say.

  His eyes return to me. “So, how’s it going?”

  “Actually,” I say. “I was just chatting with the assistant to the head of research and development. They’re working on a new product . . .”

  He cocks his head. “You don’t say?”

  I nod.

  “Any word on Janssen?”

  “I haven’t seen him today. I actually thought he’d be out with you since you’re besties now.”

  Nick shakes his head—then winces. “He blew me off. I wonder what that’s about.”

  “I have access to his calendar,” I remember. “I can check when I get back to the office. Tiffany said she expects him at two.”

  “Good. See if you can do some covert snooping around—there must be a paper trail. Check his desk for business accounts, or expenses. Any paperwork that seems off-books. He won’t have paid personally for the intel,” Nick adds, “but they won’t want to make it obvious on the CandyShack books, either.”

  I nod. “I’ll take pictures if I see anything.”

  He glances behind me. “You should get back.”

  “Is my food here?” I brighten, and start to head back, but he catches my arm, stopping me.

  “I think you’ve forgotten something.” Nick touches my bottom lip with one finger. “Doesn’t your fiancé get a kiss goodbye?”

  Oh God. Be cool, Alice.

  Yeah, good luck with that.

  “Ha ha,” I say, every inch of skin over my entire body flushing. Hotly. “Of course. Right. Silly me.”

  I step toward him and am thankful my back is to the women at the table. Because I feel nowhere near cool. Physically or figuratively.

  But Nick is. His gaze drifts down to my mouth, making his eyes heavy-lidded and oh, so sexy.

  I feel the women behind me collectively sigh, like they’re watching the hottest romance movie unfolding in front of them.

  Nick’s warm palm glides around my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He pulls me close as his other hand slides under my sweater to anchor at the small of my back, right on my skin. My superheated skin.

  “Nick?” I whisper.

  “Mmmhmm,” he hums against my lips. His eyes close and mine follow as the music, the voices, the catcalls, all fade into the background.

  He draws my lip between his teeth and my knees nearly give out. Is it possible to have an orgasm while fully clothed, standing up in a bar? I feel like I’m about to find out. But then, with one final sweep of his tongue over my lower lip, the kiss is over.

  My eyes open. Nick is grinning at me. “See you at home, cara.”

  He grabs his sunglasses. Then he lazily glances over at the table of surely swooning ladies and salutes them before he turns and leaves.

  Back at the office, I look into Mr. Janssen’s schedule, but see nothing of note other than a very busy social calendar: charity events, dinner parties, gallery shows. But that doesn’t explain why he would cancel with Nick. I can’t imagine why anyone would blow that man off . . .

  Ahem. Scratch that.

  I sure wish the A/C in this office was working better.

  “How’s that report coming?” Tiffany asks, materializing next to my desk.

  “Just about done.”

  Tiffany’s eyebrows go up in shock. Did she think I wouldn’t do it? Was it some sort of test? Does she suspect my real reasons for being here?

  “I’m surprised Mr. Janssen isn’t here. Doesn’t he come in every day?” I ask casually.

  “Normally, yeah. Though lately, he seems to be enjoying spending time with your fiancé, which I totally get it.” She fans herself.

  I do not blame her one bit.

  Focus, Alice.

  “He wasn’t with him this morning, though,” I say.

  “No, he forgot he had a very important appointment,” she says and then screws up her face and adds, more quietly, “Actually, I messed up and had double-booked him.”

  Very important appointment? Like, having to do with trade secrets? “Oh? Sounds interesting.”

  “Not exactly.” Tiffany looks around and then leans toward me. “He was getting his back waxed.”

  I blink.

  “I know, right?” She laughs, likely at the horrified look on my face. “But I’ve told him I won’t touch him unless he gets rid of the fur regularly.”

  She shivers and makes a grossed-out face.

  Wait. What?

  And here I thought I was horrified just about the waxing.

  “Anyway,” she says. “He’ll be here soon, so . . .” She waves her hand at my computer before she disappears down the hallway.

  “Well that was way too much information,” I say to my screen.

  Tiffany is having some kind of secret affair with Bert Janssen?

  Oh boy.

  But as I hear Tiffany talking loudly to someone down the hall, I realize this is my chance. I duck into Mr. Janssen’s office and scope out the room. Like the office at his home, it’s all masculine hunter green, big bookcases, and a massive desk covered in stacks of paper and random folders. There is a computer, but it’s not on. Not a big deal, since I have access to all his digital files—ones I’m going to have a look at later.

  I don’t even know what I’m looking for, so I use my phone to take a bunch of pictures, hoping something’s useful. I’m tempted to start looking inside the folders, but don’t want to disturb anything.

  Wait. There’s a red folder underneath a pile of plain manila ones. That has to mean something. I use my nail (no fingerprints!) to slide the others over. The printed tab on the red folder says, Project Wonka – classified launch plans. That has to be chocolate-related, right?

  I’m about to open it to take a few snaps when I hear footsteps. And they’re getting closer.

  Crapsticks!

  I look around the desk and actually consider diving under it, but that only works in the movies. There’s no way in hell I’d be able to pull that off.

  Two seconds later, Mr. Janssen appears in the doorway.

  “Oh, hello.”

  I straighten the folders and smile at him, hopefully not like a crazy person. “Oh! Hi, Mr. Janssen! I was just straightening up for you.”

  “Alice, right?”

  “Yes! Nick’s fiancée. I hear you’ve been kicking his butt on the co
urse.”

  He grins. “I think he’s letting me win, to be honest. Not that I don’t appreciate it. Although that seventeenth hole yesterday got a little hairy.”

  I nearly swallow my tongue at the mention of hairy. I keep focused on arranging the files.

  “You don’t need to do that,” he says. “Oh, there. That’s the one I came for.” He reaches for the red folder. As I watch, wishing I’d had two more minutes to investigate, he slides the folder into his briefcase. He gives me a smile. “Welcome to the team.”

  “Can I get you anything? Make some copies?” Like of the contents of that red folder.

  “No, thank you. I’m heading home now, so don’t worry about working late. Have a great night.”

  And then he leaves—with our biggest clue so far locked tightly in that briefcase of his.

  13

  Alice

  Tonight is girls’ night at Gemma’s, and even though I’m a little brain dead from the long day I’ve had, I remember to swing by the free candy room on my way out the door and load up on plenty of movie snacks. Part of me just wants to fall into bed, but I’m excited to meet the friends I’ve been hearing so much about—as long as I’m not the awkward “older sister” fourth wheel.

  It’s also a good excuse to avoid Nick at the condo. And boy, do I need one.

  Because: that kiss at lunch.

  And the touching and nuzzling last night.

  I need to stay professional. But damn, he’s chipping away at my resistance, and actual physical distance might be the only thing that will keep me from jumping his bones.

  I arrive from work to an empty condo. Thank God. I take off the “engagement ring” and stuff it into a drawer, because I am not explaining that to my sister. After a quick change into yoga pants and a comfy tank, I take an Uber over to Gemma’s.

  Out with friends tonight, I text Nick on the way.

  I won’t wait up, he returns.

  A joke. I guess. I hate that I can’t tell context from a typed message. Or maybe what I really hate is my growing lust for this man.

  As the car pulls up to Gemma’s building, I finally feel myself relax. Girls’ night in. Carbs, sugar, movies, and friends is exactly what the doctor ordered. I gather my giant bag of goodies and tip the driver some jellybeans, then haul myself up two flights of stairs. Gemma lives in a brick building in an area that she optimistically calls “up and coming,” but it doesn’t look too bad to me. When I get up to her floor, I can already hear the music and voices, and when I find the door unlocked, I poke my head in.

  “Hello?”

  “There she is!” Gemma exclaims. She’s standing in the tiny galley kitchen with her big blender and the fixings for margaritas lined up in front of her. I set the bag of candy on the counter, and she comes around to give me a big hug. As though it’s been months since I’ve seen her and not just days.

  “What did you bring?” she asks as she looks over my shoulder into the bag. “CandyShack! You must have spent a zillion dollars! Look at all this stuff!”

  She grabs a lollipop, yanks off the wrapper, and shoves it into her mouth. “Mawgawita?” she says around her full mouth.

  “Yes, please!” I exclaim, then turn to greet the woman on the other side of the kitchen who’s mixing a giant bowl of batter. “Hi, I’m Alice.”

  “Zoey,” she beams, pushing back a lock of dark hair. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt reading The Future is Female. I like her already. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

  “You too,” I laugh. “These will be the pancakes Gemma promised on your behalf, I presume?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not pancakes. Crêpes. I swear your sister says shit like that just to get a rise out of me.”

  “That’s her favorite sport.” I grin, but I’m now even more eager for the food. Zoey is a trained chef who Gemma told me left a very successful restaurant career to open up her own food truck, serving brunch foods all day long. The place has a cult-like following on social media now, and I can’t wait to taste the goods for myself.

  Suddenly, I hear a yapping noise, and two pudgy little pug puppies come racing into the kitchen. Another woman arrives right behind the dogs, this one slim and willowy, with dark blonde hair in a braid, wearing a cute sundress with . . . “Are those tiny sea monsters?” I ask, squinting.

  She grins. “Yes! You must be Alice. I’m Eve.”

  Eve gives me a friendly hug before she scoops up the wiggling little pudgeballs, one in each hand. “I feel like we already know you—so great to meet you in person.”

  “I hope my sister only tells you good things about me,” I say.

  Gemma sticks out her tongue, “You wish!”

  Before I even realize what I’m doing, I reach towards the puppies. “Can I . . .”

  “Yes! This is Tink.” Eve puts the pup wearing a pink collar into my hands. “And this little fellow,” she says as she starts giving kisses to the guy in the purple collar, “is Petey. Aren’t you? Shmushy Petey-puppy face!”

  I laugh and snuggle Tink because: puppies! Girls’ night just got even more therapeutic. “They’re adorable. Are they yours?”

  She shakes her head. “No, unfortunately. I’m just taking care of them while the owners are on a wine tour. Not that I mind one bit. I might have to keep this guy. Right, Petey?”

  Petey snorts in response, making us all laugh.

  “Didn’t I tell you Eve’s dog-walker-slash-sitter to the stars?” Gemma says, holding the lollipop out of her mouth as she talks. “Her clients are so exclusive, she’s had to sign NDAs on celebrity dogs. I’m not even kidding.”

  I look at Eve because my sister has to be exaggerating, but she’s nodding. “So if you ask what Petey eats for breakfast, I can’t even tell you.”

  “Whoa,” I say. “That’s crazy. Is it anyone famous?”

  “Most of them are tech gazillionaires,” she says. “But once, one of the dogs peed on Justin Timberlake in the park.”

  I laugh. “Glamorous!”

  “So what brings you to town?” Zoey looks up from her food prep. “Gem says you’re here for work?”

  I nod, thankful for the puppy to focus on so I don’t have to look anyone in the eye when I lie. “Yeah. One of my firm’s clients is getting audited so needs to prep. There’s so much paperwork and spreadsheets that they asked me to come along to help out.”

  “Who’s the client?” Gemma asks. It’s a reasonable question and she probably doesn’t even care that much. I take a moment, distracting myself with rubbing Tink’s belly to organize my thoughts. I was about to say CandyShack to keep it simple. But that doesn’t seem smart. I don’t want there to be any way to trace me back to the company. Also, I feel I need to tell her at least something about Nick—what if she sees us around town together?

  “So, here’s a funny story,” I say, taking a breath. “Remember in New York, that guy at the bar?”

  Gemma blinks at me. “What guy?”

  “The one with the briefcase? That went to the Bond movies?” I try to sound casual.

  She points her lollipop at me. “Oh! Mad Men?”

  I nod. “That’s the one.”

  Gemma whistles. “That guy was fucking hot.” She looks at her friends. “Dark hair, broad shoulders, square jaw, so bangable.”

  I roll my eyes at her. Even though she’s so, so right. “Anyway, coincidence—he turned out to be the client. He was in town to meet with my firm.”

  “Seriously. So . . .” she adds, mischievous. “Are you banging him?”

  “NO!” I yelp, startling Tink.

  “Shh!” Eve urges. “Those puppies aren’t fully housetrained yet.”

  “Whoops,” I say, snuggling the puppy into my chest, thankful I didn’t cause an accident. “Anyway, no. I’m not sleeping with him. He’s a client. I can’t. Even if I wanted to.”

  Which I really, really do.

  Gemma frowns. “But you’re not the accountant. You’re just an assistant.”

  I give her a loo
k. “Just an assistant?”

  “You know what I mean,” she says, waving me off. “But there isn’t really a conflict of interest. You’re not on his payroll, right? I mean, holy shit, how are you ever supposed to meet people?”

  “Perfect Match?” Zoey offers.

  “Been there, failed that,” I say, thinking of Don in insurance. “My last experience was . . . let’s just say, less than awesome.” Unless you count how Nick saved me.

  “Dating apps suck,” Eve laments. “But what else are we supposed to do? Go to Whole Foods and wait for Mr. Perfect to come in and squeeze the avocado next to you?”

  “Or the laundromat,” Zoey says. “Because who doesn’t want to see a guy’s worn out tightie-whities on the first date?”

  “Ugh,” Gemma says, screwing up her face. “I wouldn’t date a guy who doesn’t have his own washer and dryer. That’s where the bar is, ladies.”

  I laugh.

  “How are we doing on dinner-slash-brunch?” Gemma turns to Zoey. “I’m ready to faint in a pathetic hungry mess on the floor.”

  “Drama queen,” Zoey grins, with the familiar affection of a true friend. “Crepes are up in ten.”

  “Perfect. Margaritas are a go. Evie, you want to get the movie cued up?”

  “Done.”

  “What are we watching?” I ask, reaching for a candy bar to tide me over. The smell of those crepes is making my mouth water.

  “Notting Hill,” Gemma beams. “Because who doesn’t love a hot dude in a bookstore.”

  “Exactly no-one,” I agree, laughing.

  “Except whenever I go, it’s always some dude with a ponytail who wants to invite me to his fantasy writing workshop.” Gemma sighs. “C’est la vie. Hugh never lets us down.”

  One movie, three margaritas, and four—OK, six—delicious crepes later, and I’m well and truly wiped. I stifle a yawn as I put the last glass into the drainer.

  “You don’t have to wash dishes.” Gemma walks in behind me.

  I turn off the faucet. “Funny how you wait until I’m finished to say that.”

  She grins. “Whoops.”

  I wipe my hands on her dish towel. “But with that, I’m leaving. I’m zonked.”