Man Candy Page 17

  Lainey looks at me sideways as though she doesn’t believe me. Or maybe that’s just my guilty conscience.

  “Where’s Nick?”

  Nice to see you, too. “Back at the condo. He was exhausted, poor thing. Up all night working.”

  Lainey brightens. “Has he found the files yet?”

  “He’s still looking.”

  She pouts. “I need the CandyShack recipes so I can compare them to my own.”

  “Right. Also, proof that they stole your recipes.” My skepticism must have shown, because her eyes narrow. “Do you think I’m making that up?”

  “No,” I lie. “Of course not. Just . . . you need proof, right?”

  “Right. Because if you don’t find it, I’ll be ruined. And years and years of hard work will be for nothing.”

  It’s the same story I’ve heard before, but this time, I’m not moved. “But you only started the company a couple of years ago, right?”

  “Yes, but I’ve been dreaming about it my whole life.” Lainey clasps a hand to her heart. “It’s my family recipes, you see. My grandmother would make them in her kitchen, and my mom taught me to do the same, too. It’s my heritage. My legacy.”

  Maybe my doubt shows, because she quickly changes tactics. “And as a woman . . . well, you know what it’s like, trying to prove yourself in a man’s world,” she coos, like we’re sisters-in-arms. “It’s not just about me, this is about a male-driven company stealing a woman’s ideas and passing them off as its own! We’ve put up with it for too long, not getting the recognition we deserve, don’t you think?”

  She looks so passionate, I half expect her to pull out a campaign sticker and a matching hashtag.

  “Sure,” I agree vaguely. “Totally.”

  The girl finishes with my box and rings up my bill. It’s way more than what I would have expected to spend, but it’s chocolate, so I’m not too heartbroken.

  I am a little surprised that Lainey doesn’t intervene when I hand over my credit card. Not that I don’t want to pay, but if someone was saving my business, I’d be generous enough to comp them a box of chocolates.

  Though I guess she does need to make a living. And I haven’t saved her business yet.

  I thank the clerk and take the bag from her, turning back toward Lainey. “So, I guess Nick will be in touch,” I say. “Nice to see you again.”

  “You too! Remember, babe, we can’t let the bastards win.”

  Right.

  With that, I leave the store. I get into Nick’s car and am about to drive away, back to the condo. But before I do, I open the box of chocolates. I survey them and decide on a salted caramel truffle. I had one (okay, three) of CandyShack’s version yesterday, so I feel I can make a good comparison.

  I sniff it. It smells good but not quite the rich, mouth-watering aroma that I’m used to from CandyShack’s. But CandyShack’s are wrapped; maybe there’s something about building anticipation by unwrapping a chocolate.

  I take a bite.

  No comparison.

  Because this truffle is awful.

  It’s waxy and bland and the filling is too sweet, the salt not playing off the flavor well. It coats my tongue as it melts but not in richness, more like a film. There’s even a hint of a metallic aftertaste.

  I put the other half of the truffle back in the box and pick up another. This one is a strawberry crème. I take a bite (a small one because, frankly, I’m scared) and it’s better, but not great. It reminds me of those cheap boxes of assorteds that my grandmother buys at the dollar store and puts out at Christmas.

  What the fuck? Where are the chocolates that Lainey brought over to Nick’s? Why aren’t those in her shop, flying off the shelves?

  And more importantly, why on earth would CandyShack want to steal her recipes?

  It doesn’t make sense. But as I sit in the car, thinking about Lainey and how she’s been acting, my spidey sense is going crazy.

  None of this adds up. From her theft story, to the way she’s so eager to get a look at CandyShack’s recipes . . .

  What if we’re on the wrong side here?

  What if she’s setting us up to steal CandyShack’s top-secret info—and Nick is playing right into her hands?

  23

  Nick

  I hate losing. It’s why I make it a priority never to do it. No case too big, no detail too small. But this one?

  I’m really stumped.

  I spend the weekend doing a forensic review of all my casefiles, looking for something—anything—I’ve missed. But by Monday, I’m still coming up empty. I’ve checked every digital inch of Benji’s system, and all I’ve found is his taste for erotic gay manga, but that’s no crime.

  Come on, Cameron, I berate myself. My hands are twined in my hair, poised to pull it out. Maybe even literally.

  What the fuck?

  In all my years doing this kind of work—both for the family firm and my own—I’ve never had so much trouble figuring out a case. What’s different this time?

  The answer is simple: Alice.

  She’s all I want to think about. And definitely all I want to be doing. It’s like a drug, the way I feel about her, and every time she waltzes off to CandyShack to work, I’m left craving another hit of her all over again.

  It’s wild, and exhilarating, and . . .

  Sweet.

  It’s not a word I ever use to describe my affairs, but there’s something about Alice that just feels right. Comfortable. Easy.

  Like coming home.

  I know she’s breaking the Agency rules by getting involved with me, and we haven’t talked about what happens after the case, but I know for sure I want to keep seeing her. Because I haven’t felt this way about anyone in . . .

  Well, ever.

  And I’m pretty sure she feels the same.

  But before we can figure out the future, there’s the pesky present to solve. I’ve been over the case notes a million times. But The intercom buzzes, interrupting my thoughts. The doorman. “Ms. Worthington is here to see you, Mr. Cameron.”

  “Send her up,” I sigh. I have nothing to tell Lainey, except that every day that goes by with no progress, she’s one day closer to her business going down the drain. She has a right to check in, but I wish she didn’t. Or, that I had something to show her.

  I go greet Lainey as she steps off the elevator. She’s dressed in a white summer dress with a demure neckline, her hair falling loose around her face. “Nick,” she says, looking stressed. “Thank God you’re here.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She looks around. “Where’s Alice?”

  “Working at CandyShack.”

  “What has she learned? Are we any closer?” Lainey asks, her eyes wide and expectant.

  “Unfortunately, we haven’t found anything. Yet.”

  “What?” she exclaims, then seems to catch herself. “I don’t understand,” she adds in a small voice. “You have access to everything. You promised you’d take care of this for me.”

  Guilt twists. “Lainey, I’ve been looking nonstop. I swear, the proof isn’t in their system.”

  She shakes her head. “They must have deleted any evidence. They were too good about covering their tracks.”

  “It’s possible,” I agree slowly. “But even my tech expert couldn’t find anything. No financials, either. And Alice is on the inside and hasn’t been able to find anything.”

  “Alice!” Lainey almost hisses the word. “I still don’t know why you had to bring her into this.”

  I sigh. “I told you I needed a cover for the gala and other social events. Anyway, she’s been helping.”

  “I know . . .” she says slowly. “I just worry that she’s distracting you somehow. Clouding your judgment. You seem . . . different.”

  “That’s because we’re not in college anymore,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  But Lainey moves closer and places a hand on my arm. “How well do you know her, Nick? Her background. Where she
comes from.”

  “Why would you ask?” I frown.

  She flutters her eyelashes at me. “I just worry you’re too trusting. How do you know she’s not double-crossing us?”

  I laugh. “Right. Alice came all the way here so she could infiltrate CandyShack, just to screw you over.”

  But Lainey isn’t laughing. “Think about it. She could have come clean to them, cut a deal to only feed you fake info.”

  “I’m telling you it’s implausible. Not that I need to explain my business practices, but I did do a full background check on her.”

  “Then how do you explain how quickly she got the job with them?” Lainey presses. “Think about it. She comes here and magically gets a job that she starts on the spot. She gets access to the files and suddenly all evidence about them stealing my formulas is magically gone. She’s no magician. She’s been using you.”

  “That’s not how it works,” I correct her gently. “Alice just planted the Trojan. I’ve been the one with full access, until—”

  I stop.

  “What?”

  “Until they upgraded all their security today,” I say slowly.

  “See! She tipped them off!” Lainey exclaims.

  “No, she hasn’t,” I say firmly. “I know her, and she’s not like that.”

  “Or maybe your feelings for her are getting in the way.” Lainey looks sorrowful. “Did she tell you she was sniffing around my store this weekend?”

  News to me.

  “She doesn’t need to explain every second of her time,” I say. I hate that I sound defensive. But I hate even more that I’ve just been blindsided. Why wouldn’t Alice tell me that?

  “No, I guess she doesn’t,” Lainey says. “But what else is she hiding? Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think, Nick.”

  I swallow. What Lainey’s claiming is ridiculous, but I have to admit, she’s made some good points. Like how conveniently Alice has dogged me every step of this investigation—showing up where she shouldn’t be, insisting on coming along for the ride.

  I took it as enthusiasm, but what if it’s been something else all along? Sure, these candy shenanigans seem absurd, but there are millions of dollars on the line.

  Would Alice turn down a deal if CandyShack approached her and made it worth her while? She’s been saying they’re innocent for a while now, but is that just to throw me off the scent?

  I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m having these doubts. This case has me all over the place—and Alice does, too.

  “So what are you going to do next?” Lainey asks, fixing her big blue eyes on me. “I’m counting on you.”

  I wince. This is the conversation I hate having with clients. “Maybe we need to talk about winding this down,” I start, but Lainey’s eyes fill with tears.

  “You’re giving up on me?”

  “No,” I reassure her, uncomfortable with the waterworks. “But I don’t feel right billing you to keep going when it doesn’t look like we’re going to find anything.”

  Lainey bites her lip. “But we have to stop them. If we can’t prove the theft, then maybe there’s a different way?”

  “Like what?” I frown.

  “Well . . . if you could get access to the facility where they make the bars, we could tweak the production.” Lainey bats her eyelashes at me. “Maybe tinker with a couple of bars. Add some rat poop or something. Nothing dangerous,” she adds quickly. “Just enough to cause a recall. The bad publicity would sink them for sure!”

  I recoil. “Sabotage? You’re crazy!”

  “Maybe not rat poop,” Lainey agrees. “But something. I mean, these people stole my life’s work. Do you even care if they get away with it?”

  Her lip starts to tremble. Her eyes fill with tears.

  “Of course I care,” I say, weary. “But I’m not going to resort to corporate sabotage. We’ll think of something.”

  “I knew I could trust you.” Lainey throws her arms around my neck and presses herself against me. “You were always too good to me. How did I ever let you get away?”

  She runs a hand down my arm. I awkwardly duck out of her embrace. “I should get back to work.”

  “Just be careful about Alice,” Lainey adds. “Because she’s playing you. She wants something from you, I guarantee it.”

  “So do you, Lainey,” I remind her.

  She smiles at me. “That’s true. But I’m being honest about it.” She leans forward and pats my cheek with her palm. “And I’m not fucking you to get it.”

  I try not to let Lainey’s comments get to me, but I spend the rest of the afternoon going over everything Alice has said or done.

  Sure, it’s implausible that she’s a double agent. I know her, and she’s not like that.

  But still . . . I’ve been trained my whole life to expect the worst from people. Working as a P.I., you can’t help it. That happily married mom of three? She’s meeting her co-worker at a motel for hot sex every Tuesday while the kid’s in ballet class. That devoted husband? He’s banging his personal trainer, and stashing money in a secret account to screw wifey in the divorce.

  I see how easily people lie—even the ones you’d least expect.

  Nobody is what they seem. Not even the people you really care about.

  And I do—care about Alice. So now I’m stuck wondering if that’s been clouding my judgment, and I’m missing some kind of double-cross right beneath my nose.

  The elevator doors open with a ding, announcing Alice’s arrival.

  One look at her face tells me it’s been a bad day for her, too. Part of me wants to comfort her, pour her a drink, and settle with her on the couch. But a bigger part of me needs to get answers.

  “Hey,” she says with a sigh, as she drops her purse onto the counter and her butt onto the stool. “God, I thought I’d never get out of there. I half expected security guards to follow me out and tackle me to the ground outside.”

  “But they didn’t,” I say slowly. “Nobody said a word to you.”

  “Nope. Just like you promised.” She gives me a faint smile. “Still, this is all going to be over soon, right? I mean, we haven’t found any evidence, and now we’ve lost the network access, too. I don’t see much more we could do.”

  Me either. It couldn’t be more obvious if CandyShack had played it that way.

  “There are other things we can try,” I say, gauging her reaction. I suddenly feel like I’m talking to a suspect, not my partner. “Plenty of options. The investigation isn’t over yet.”

  “Why not?” Alice looks impatient.

  “Because our client still wants us to keep going.”

  Her expression changes. “Right. Lainey.”

  She uses the same tone that Lainey did when she was talking about Alice. “She’s trying to protect her business,” I point out, still watching her expression for a clue about . . . something.

  “So she says.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “ I’m just saying . . . something feels off about her story.” Alice looks conflicted. “I don’t think she’s telling us everything.”

  “You have something in common, then.” The edge in my voice shows.

  Her eyes snap up. “What are you talking about?”

  “Apparently, you took a field trip to her store. Were you planning on mentioning that?”

  “Maybe.” Alice folds her arms. “I didn’t realize I needed permission. Have you been?”

  “To the store? No.” I frown.

  “Something’s not right,” she insists. “It’s this hole in the wall, badly run, no decent treats at all. And her candy doesn’t even taste good!”

  “I thought it was fine.” I don’t know where she’s going with this, but it’s a classic evasion tactic: throw suspicion on someone else to hide your own secrets. Next thing, she’ll be telling me that Lainey is the one who can’t be trusted.

  Sure enough, Alice sighs. “How much did you check her out before agreeing to take the case? I’
m just not sure she can be trusted.”

  My heart sinks. Right on cue.

  “Isn’t that ironic,” I reply tightly. “She said the same about you.”

  “What?” Alice laughs. “Why would she say that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, because she thinks you’re working for CandyShack.”

  “Uh, yes.” Alice holds up her security badge with a smile. “That’s not news.”

  “No,” I correct her. “Not just on their payroll. She thinks you’re working for them. Against us.”

  Alice’s mouth drops open. “That’s ridiculous! Where would she come up with that idea?”

  I give her a long, even stare. “You tell me.”

  Silence.

  I watch it sink in. When I confront suspects like this, one of two things happen: the innocent people are confused and anxious, because it never occurred to them someone might think they’re doing anything wrong.

  And the guilty people? They get angry and defensive, right off the bat.

  Alice puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “You told her she’s being crazy, right?” Her voice rises.

  Fuck.

  She’s blinking at me behind her glasses. She’s furious. Which makes two of us.

  “You’re accusing me of double agenting you?” she asks. “Betraying you. Screwing up the case. After everything that’s happened between us?!”

  “How do I know seduction wasn’t part of it?” I retort, feeling like a fucking fool. I don’t even know what’s happening anymore, I just know that I let my guard down with her. Fell for her. Even though I shouldn’t have. She’s had all my instincts scrambled from the start, overloaded with pure lust, and although I don’t want to believe the worst about her, I’d have to be dumb not to even ask these questions.

  Right?

  “I can’t believe you’re suggesting I would do that.” Alice’s jaw clenches. “Sleep with you, for . . . what? To throw you off the scent?!”

  I can’t believe it either, but what am I supposed to think? I’m an investigator. I’m supposed to follow the evidence and put the clues together, no matter what they reveal.

  “You’ve proven yourself to be a fine actress,” I point out. “And every time I’ve gone looking for the truth, you’ve been right there, distracting me. You showed up when I was casing Janssen’s place, remember? How do I know you didn’t tag along just to steer me away from the evidence? Or at the retreat, getting me away from the team-building exercises . . . making sure I was otherwise occupied with you all night. You even got the job at CandyShack straight off the bat, before I could cultivate an informant there or get someone else on the inside like I wanted.”