Man Candy Page 16

  “No,” I say quickly. “I guess I find it hard to take a compliment. I am not the most secure person. Maybe that’s why I’ve been stuck as the girl Friday forever.”

  “So, maybe it’s time to go after what you want.” Nick smiles at me, his eyes crinkling, and I feel a pang.

  What I want is sitting right in front of me, not just for the night, or the assignment, but for real. But he’s as far out of reach as my P.I. pipe dream, so I settle for the consolation prize—

  And reach for another hunk of bread.

  21

  Alice

  After our day of playing hooky, I try to pull away from Nick a little. Not because I’m not crazy about him, but because a part of me feels vulnerable now. Exposed. It’s not just about sex anymore—I’m falling for this guy, and I have no idea if he feels the same. I can’t resist him, and we still fall into bed together at the end of every day (and the shower, and the kitchen floor . . .), but I try my best to keep my heart protected and not stay up at night, stroking his hair and watching him sleep.

  I can’t say it’s working, but I do my best. And focusing on the case helps, too. Now that the execs have returned from the retreat, it’s back to normal at the office, so come Friday morning, I’m up bright and early and ready for work.

  I’m just sipping coffee in the kitchen when Nick walks in, looking impossibly hot in a pair of sweatpants slung low over his hips. No shirt. Hair rumpled. Looking so sexy, I can barely handle it.

  I mean, I can handle it, but . . .

  No, Alice. Focus.

  “Ready for work?” he asks.

  “Once I get this caffeine in me.”

  “Do me a favor, take this with you today,” he says, holding up a thumb drive.

  “What am I downloading?” I ask as I take the drive and put it in my purse.

  He shakes his head. “It’s not for downloading. It’s got a surveillance Trojan on it. All you have to do is plug it into Benji’s computer. Give it a minute or two in there and the program will take care of the rest. It’ll give us access to all his files remotely.”

  I pause. Asking questions and snooping in some files is one thing, but this feels . . . I don’t know, like we’re crossing a line. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask.

  Nick looks confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know.” I pause again. “That’s really . . . invasive. He seems like a decent guy.”

  Nick’s eyebrows go up. “A guy that probably stole Lainey’s formulas and is on the cusp of putting her out of business.”

  “You’re right, but . . . and I realize I don’t really know the guy, but I don’t get that vibe off him.”

  “Alice.” Nick frowns at me and I know he’s thinking I’m being naïve. I probably am. “If this is our guy, then he’s covered his tracks. We need to work every angle to get to the truth.”

  “No, I guess so, but—”

  “No one is what they seem, Alice,” he says. “Number one rule of investigation.”

  I take a breath and look at him. I can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about himself, too.

  He dips his head to kiss me. “Don’t worry, I’ve used the program before. It doesn’t leave a trace.”

  My guilt grows. I knew this was on the menu when I took the job—what did I think going undercover meant?—but it feels different. Still, I don’t want to let Nick down, so I give him a nod.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  When I get to the office and boot up my computer, I’m relieved to see an email from Tiffany telling me she’ll be in late. I’m feeling so jumpy, I don’t want to have to make small talk—not with the drive burning a hole in my pocket.

  After anxiously watching the clock all morning, it’s finally go time. I lock the screen on my computer and head to the lunch room just in time for Benji’s break.

  He’s nothing if not consistent. I find him at his regular table, sitting in his regular chair. I turn toward the coffee maker to fill my cup, faking something to do.

  “Mind if I sit?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  I sit down. “Did you have a good time at the retreat?” I ask casually.

  His eyes light up. “Yes. The presentation went well. Everyone is excited for the new product.”

  “Right.” I fake sigh. “The new product that everyone but me has tried.”

  Benji adjusts his glasses. “Oh, well, not everyone. It’s been very hush hush. We’ll have a companywide launch next week.”

  “But all the execs got to try it.” I try a little pout. “I mean, I thought one of the perks of working here would be getting to try new things before anyone else. And to find out how they’re made, of course. I know there’s a lot of science in it. I took a bit of chemistry in college, so I find that part really fascinating. The company is so lucky to have you. You’re obviously very talented.”

  OK, maybe I’m laying it on a little thick, but part of me is hoping that Benji will spill the beans about the new bar—and reveal that it’s nothing like Lainey’s milk-filled concoction.

  “Maybe . . . perhaps after-hours I could show you around the lab?” he offers, looking eager. “I mean, if you’re into the science side of things.”

  BINGO.

  “That would be great!” I exclaim.

  “I’ll see you down at R&D later. Say, 5:30?” he suggests. “It’s a secure lab, so I’ll have to let you in.”

  “Perfect. See you then!”

  He heads back to work, and I relax, the first part of my mission complete. I can’t shake the feeling that Benji isn’t part of the plot. Something about him is tweaking my good-guy meter.

  But I remind myself Nick would know—he’s been at this thing a lot longer than I have.

  Although he did say I have good instincts.

  He also said no one is what they seem.

  This is all getting so complicated. I don’t know what to think anymore. But when Benji meets me after work for my guided tour, I’m determined to keep an open mind. And an eagle eye out for any shenanigans. But as Benji shows me around the culinary lab and starts to relax, one thing becomes perfectly clear.

  This guy couldn’t pull off a double-cross recipe heist if his life depended on it. He has absolutely no poker face—and a lifelong passion for chocolate.

  “Here’s the truffle station,” he says eagerly. “I spent a whole year working on the formulation. You see, you want the chocolate on the outside to be solid and melt slower than the truffle on the inside. But not so slow that the inside is liquid before you even put it in your mouth.”

  He launches into a description of boiling points and density as I look around. It’s like a space lab down here, with high-tech machines, test tubes, and petri dishes.

  “I had no idea it all took so much testing,” I say.

  “Oh yes.” Benji nods. “We’ve been in development on Project Wonka for, what, five years now?”

  “Five years?” I echo, doing some quick math. Lainey only started her company two years ago, so how could it be possible for CandyShack to have stolen her genius, brand-new idea?

  “A lot goes into a new product,” Benji says. “There’s research, testing, focus groups. And we have to apply for patents and trademarks, and get the whole shebang approved by the FDA. Plus, I’m kind of a perfectionist,” he adds with a grin.

  “That’s not a bad thing, if these truffles are anything to go by,” I say, taking another bite.

  Benji’s phone buzzes. “You mind if I take this?”

  “Go ahead!” I smile. I watch him move a short distance away and feel a huge weight lift from my conscience. Benji is totally innocent, and it’s looking like CandyShack is, too. Whatever Lainey thinks they’ve stolen, they might not even have in production at all! Maybe this was all crossed wires, but either way, I’m glad it turns out these nice people aren’t nefarious villains, after all.

  But still, I know Nick will want proof, so I sidle over to Benji’s computer, and quickly insert th
e thumb drive. Once he’s taken a look at all the R&D files, he’ll agree that they’re in the clear.

  And then, I guess, the case will be over.

  My good mood bursts. But there’s no time to dwell on that now. I wait for the file to upload, then slip the drive back in my pocket, in plenty of time before Benji returns. “Sorry, that was my boyfriend,” he says. “He got us surprise reservations. Do you mind if we wrap this up?”

  “Of course not. Thanks for the tour,” I smile. “And the truffles.”

  “Anytime.”

  22

  Alice

  When I get back to the penthouse, I find Lainey at the table with Nick. “Oh, hey!” I say, working to keep my smile in place.

  “How did it go with Benji?” Nick asks.

  “Really well,” I say. “I managed to get the thing on his computer.”

  “That’s great news!” Lainey exclaims. “We’ll have access to all his files!”

  “Yes, but I’m positive you won’t find anything.” I recap the tour. “He says they’ve been in development on Project Wonka for five years.”

  “He would say that.” Lainey purses her lips. “It’s all cover, to hide the truth.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  Nick’s phone buzzes. “It’s Jackson, I should get this,” he says before he exits down the hall.

  “What’s the matter?” Lainey asks once he’s gone.

  “I just have a weird feeling . . .” I say carefully. “I don’t think CandyShack is doing anything wrong.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Of course they are. How else would they have my recipes?”

  “Are you sure the bar they’re launching is exactly the same?” I ask. “What if it’s just similar and it’s simply a coincidence? Great minds think alike . . .”

  She glares. “It’s not a coincidence. Someone stole the recipes and sold them to CandyShack.”

  “How do you know, though?”

  She falters for a second. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, how do you know that your old chemist stole your recipes?” I ask.

  Now that I’ve seen up close how these companies work, I wonder how she could even tell at all. I mean, if somebody copied classified info, they wouldn’t leave a trace, would they? And just like nobody at CandyShack is waltzing around boasting about ripping off a competitor, I can’t imagine any of her ex-employees would tell her something like that.

  And, now that I’m thinking about it, how does she know Project Wonka is a rip-off of her bar? They literally have the pre-production samples under lock and key down in the secure lab. Benji wouldn’t let me try one despite all my fluttering lashes and heavy hints.

  Although, his taste in men might have something to do with that.

  Lainey stares at me, her gaze suddenly steely and cold. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “No,” I reply slowly. I don’t know why I didn’t ask all these things before, but now that I’m feeling more confident about asking questions and digging deeper, I’m realizing how little I actually know about Lainey. I just took Nick’s word for it that her story checked out.

  Back at the Agency, we made sure to verify every claim our clients made before we even took them on. Did he do the same due diligence here?

  “When did you start developing the bar?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.

  But instead of answering, Lainey bursts into tears. Big, fat drops rolling down her face. “I . . . my whole business . . . just to have it stolen from me . . . !” She dissolves into sobs as she drops onto the kitchen stool.

  This is, of course, when Nick returns to the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, looking from the weeping Lainey to me. Like I made her cry.

  “Oh, Nick,” she says, sliding back off the stool to throw herself into his arms. “You have to figure this out. You just have to. I’m depending on you.”

  “We will, Lainey,” he reassures her.

  “I’m sure it’s in Benji’s files,” she says, wiping at her eyes with an elegant finger. “He must have all my recipes in there. I bet that if I took a look, I’d find the proof in a flash.”

  “Let me figure it out.” He soothes her. “Don’t you worry about it.”

  Nick looks determined. I am too. Except, I’m determined to figure out what’s really going on.

  Because I’m starting to think Lainey’s not as innocent as she wants us to believe.

  The next morning is Saturday, which normally means a day off, but when I get up and trundle into the kitchen to get some coffee, Nick is already sitting at the island, going through files on his laptop. Or should I say, still at the island. He looks like he hasn’t moved all night.

  “See?” I say, biting back an “I told you so.” “You can’t find anything because there’s nothing to find. Benji’s not the thief.”

  If the thief even exists at all.

  Nick sighs and looks over at me. There are bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his sexy stubble is moving into scruff territory. I feel a pang of pity. He’s trying to do his job here, even when we’re coming up blank.

  “You need to get some sleep.”

  He shoves his hand through his messy hair. “You’re right. Shower first, though.”

  As I think of him sleeping the day away, I suddenly have an idea. “Hey, mind if I use a car to take Gemma on a day trip?”

  He grabs a set of keys out of the bowl on the island and slides them toward me. “Sure. Take the Tesla.”

  “Oh,” I joke. “Is the Bentley in the shop?”

  He smirks at me. “I can rent you a piece of shit minivan, if you’d prefer.”

  This is what you get when you’re working with a wealthy man who likes nice cars. And is a smart ass. I grab the keys. “The Tesla will be just fine.”

  I mean, it drives like any other car, right?

  “Just make sure you get some sleep,” I say unnecessarily as his head begins to droop. In fact, I’m starting to think he’s going to pass out right where he sits.

  “Will do, boss.” He yawns as he slides off the stool. His arms come around me and he leans in for a lazy kiss. “Will you be home for dinner?” he asks.

  It’s an innocent question but one that feels very . . . domestic. “Not sure,” I say vaguely.

  “I’ll order something in later. Have fun,” he says with a tired smile before he shuffles away down the hall.

  I head downstairs and find the spotless car parked in his spot in the garage. It takes a few minutes—and some embarrassing false starts—but soon I’m heading out on my own secret mission.

  The website for Lainey’s Chocorella company lists an address in Berkeley, and thanks to the built-in navigation, I make my way across the Bay with minimal mishaps. I get halfway there when I think that maybe I should have called Gemma to join me. It would be nice to have company, but then I’d have to answer too many questions about the trip. And I’m still not ready to fill her in about the real truth with Nick. I should tell her. Especially when she was all for he and I hooking up, but I sort of want to see how this plays out first.

  Stupid, I know. Since there’s really no mystery of how it’s going to play out. The headline will be: Candy Case Solved, Alice Returns to New York Alone. Self-medicates with a suitcase full of free CandyShack chocolate. Gains a million pounds, found dead, surrounded by a hundred cats, some eating her face. Sad.

  Ugh. At least chocolate is involved.

  As I pull up to Lainey’s store, I’m a little underwhelmed and a whole lot surprised. For a woman so well put together, I expected a store that would reflect that.

  Instead, while the store is in a chic neighborhood with lots of foot traffic and boutiques, the signage for Chocorella is faded and very tired-looking. The windows are grimy. Even the sidewalk out front is littered with garbage.

  I double-check. Yep, I’m in the right place. I park the car and get out.

  As I walk toward the shop, I try to come up with a cover story. I just happe
ned to be in the neighborhood? As I open the door, I’m relieved to see Lainey isn’t behind the counter. Instead, it’s a distracted teenager, eyes glued to her phone.

  Seriously, she doesn’t even look up when the little bell on the door jingles, signaling a customer.

  I make a mental note to let Lainey know her staff could use some work on their customer service skills. But maybe this girl’s just the weekend help. Or is filling in last minute. I give her the benefit of the doubt as I survey the glass cases filled with an array of treats, my mouth watering.

  Finally, the girl looks up. “Can I help you?”

  I think of the new truffles Lainey had brought over. They’d been so good they were almost worth the humiliation I suffered over the name. “Do you have any petites morts?” I ask, hoping the teenager doesn’t know the real meaning of the phrase. Though my blush might just give it away.

  If she does, she doesn’t let on as she bends down and surveys the cases. “I don’t think so.”

  Boo. I guess Lainey hasn’t put them in her stock yet. “What’s your favorite?” I ask with a smile.

  The girl shrugs. “The salted caramels are okay. Some people like the cherry things.”

  Not exactly a ringing endorsement. “Okay. Can you put together an assorted box for me?” I look up at the pricing board behind the counter. The prices here are higher than CandyShack, which is surprising. I mean, CandyShack is known as an artisanal brand and is priced accordingly. Though their cost seems in line for what you get, which is amazing candy. But I guess Lainey’s treats are individually hand-made.

  As the girl assembles my box, the bell on the door jingles again. I turn to see Lainey breezing in with a designer handbag slung over her arm.

  Crapsticks.

  She stops dead and frowns. “What are you doing here?”

  No “Hello, how are you?”

  “Hi Lainey!” I say brightly. “I couldn’t resist grabbing some chocolates. You’ve made a new addict,” I add, laughing.