Man Candy Page 19

  “An old girlfriend,” Jackson corrects me. “But like you said, that was years ago. She could be anyone now. Why the fuck wouldn’t you check her out to make sure she’s not playing you?”

  I think back to Lainey’s first call, and when I went to meet her. She’d been so grateful, and so panicked, and yes, maybe I wanted to show off to her and prove I really was the best.

  “Let me guess.” Jackson smirks and tosses a peanut in his mouth. “She batted her eyelashes and called you her hero, and you caved like a cheap take-out menu.”

  Fucking hell.

  Jackson hoots. “For someone so smart, you sure can be a fucking idiot sometimes.”

  “Tell me about it,” I sigh.

  I guess I’ve got some overdue background checks to do.

  By the time I wake up the next morning with a killer hangover, I already have a text from Jackson. You can say one thing about the guy, he doesn’t just mercilessly tease; he gets some useful info, too. As I pour my first coffee down my throat, I open it up. He doesn’t give any specific information, but does suggest I check out a hedge fund managed by a Sebastian DiCarlo.

  Sebastian. Isn’t that the name of Lainey’s new boyfriend? A sour rock forms in my stomach.

  Have I made a huge mistake?

  I hurry to leave the condo and drive myself to Berkeley. Now, more than ever, I need to get to the bottom of this. The truth. I—and Alice—deserve that much.

  I pull up across the street from Chocorella and put the car into park. I’ve never been to Lainey’s store, but as I look at it, I’m regretting that I didn’t scope it out before I agreed to help her. Or at the very least, that Alice didn’t bring me with her, so I could see it for myself.

  Because this store is not of the caliber of a bright and colorful CandyShack shop. It’s dark and dingy with zero curb appeal. And that’s just from the outside. I’m actually scared to see the inside.

  Now I understand why Alice’s impression of Lainey’s business was less than favorable. I’m just about to get out of my car to scope it out when Lainey emerges from the shop. She’s smiling and wearing big sunglasses, a chic business suit, and matching tall shoes completing her model businesswoman look. She’s well put together and looks like she could be on the cover of Forbes, but despite how classically attractive she is, I can’t help but compare her to Alice.

  And find her lacking.

  You’re not here to rate her, I tell myself.

  Before I can get out of the car, a black convertible Ferrari pulls up to the curb in front of Chocorella. Lainey gets in and leans over, giving the driver a kiss hello. His arm comes around her, pulling her close, and she gives him a hello-let’s-make-babies kiss. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to extrapolate this must be Sebastian.

  Or is it? I’m starting to question everything about Lainey—the way I should have when she first called me.

  I grab my phone and take a picture of the license plate, and then another of the couple who is—seriously—still kissing.

  Finally, they part. He puts the car in gear and peels away.

  I pull away from the curb and follow them, keeping a safe distance away. Despite that pesky guilt and gnawing discomfort, at least I’m doing something. This whole case has been one frustration after another; that I’m on a hot lead is at least a relief.

  I follow them to a boutique hotel back in San Francisco down by the wharf. I wonder why they would be going to a hotel. Is he married? Is her place getting fumigated? Could be anything, I guess.

  I park the car around the corner and casually follow them into the hotel lobby while staying hidden. But, surprisingly, they don’t go to the check-in desk, they turn left toward the meeting rooms.

  It’s a wide hallway with nowhere to hide, so I can’t follow right away without risking them turning and seeing me (and me without a disguise—so much for being prepared for anything). I look around the lobby.

  Jackpot: there’s a monitor hanging from the ceiling with all the meeting room assignments. Oh, look at that: Chocorella/DiCarlo Investors’ Group are holding a meeting in the Waldorf room.

  I pull out my phone and start digging. It doesn’t take me long to find that Lainey just got a very big injection of cash from DiCarlo Investors’ Group, which means her little store isn’t hers anymore. She’s a managing partner, but with almost no equity.

  Just something she forgot to tell me during her sob story. So much for family legacies and her grandmother’s secret recipes.

  I call Jackson and fill him in. “Any ties to CandyShack?” I ask.

  He sighs. “Not that I can find.”

  “Keep looki— Shit!” I duck behind a potted plant as I see Tiffany, Janssen’s assistant and Alice’s former direct supervisor, waltzing into the hotel.

  “What?” Jackson asks.

  “I think I just found our link. Gotta go, I’ll keep you posted.”

  Sure enough, while I hide behind the plant, Tiffany walks past me and down the hall. Right toward the Waldorf room.

  I spend the rest of the morning in the men’s room. I wish I could say it’s the first time I’ve worked in the john, but the life of a P.I. means nowhere is off limits in the scope of an investigation.

  Finally, almost two hours after I stationed myself in the bathroom, DiCarlo and another man in a gray suit come in. I’m in a stall, positioned so that I can see through the gap between the wall and the door. The men approach the urinals, their backs to me. I hit record on my phone.

  “Looks like it’s all falling into place,” gray suit says.

  “Finally,” DiCarlo responds. “About fucking time Lainey got the ball rolling to neutralize CandyShack.”

  My ears perk up at that.

  “What took so long?”

  DiCarlo sighs. “She had to change tacks. She had some P.I. snooping in their files to get access to their recipes. But he balked at shutting them down. Apparently, he has a conscience.”

  “Lainey hired a boy scout?” gray suit laughs.

  “I guess so. But that didn’t work out, so we brought Janssen’s mistress in—she’s happy to take the payday and run. A couple of outbreaks of E. coli, and nobody will touch CandyShack again.”

  “So, when’s it all going down?” the other guy asks.

  “Their new launch ships next week. Once it tanks and the company loses most of its value, we can move in and snap it up for pennies on the dollar. The lawyers are ready with the paperwork, we just need to pull the trigger.”

  I listen, agape. Lainey isn’t after CandyShack because they stole her recipes. She’s trying to steal theirs and facilitate a hostile takeover of the company! Plus she tried to get me to be her patsy in all this.

  And it almost worked. If Alice hadn’t been there, the voice of caution, who knows how far I would have blundered along in Lainey’s twisted web of lies?

  Which means I was wrong about both of them. All the way wrong.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Fuuuuck.

  I wait for the guys to leave and then upload the recording to my secure cloud. I’m not sure what I want to do first: blow Lainey’s whole scheme to my buddy at the financial crimes unit, or go grovel my apologies to Alice.

  Hell, I can multitask.

  I head out, making straight for the exit, when I see Lainey in the hall. She notices me quickly. Does a double take. Pastes a smile on her face as she comes over to me.

  “Nick?” she says, shooting an anxious look over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, you know,” I say casually, smiling. “Just busting your ass.”

  Her face falls for half a second, but then her smile returns as she smacks my shoulder playfully. “You’re funny.”

  “You know what’s really funny, Lainey?” I ask, but don’t wait for a response. “How you played me for a fool. And how you nearly got away with it. If it hadn’t been for Alice.”

  I get the satisfaction of her smile disappearing, for good this time, as she looks around the hotel lobby.
“Where is she?”

  “Not here,” I say. “But I am. And I’m not going to be your patsy anymore.”

  She folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I snort. “Well, you’ll be explaining yourself to the feds soon enough. Just tell me one thing. Why me? There’s a hundred P.I.’s in this city who would have done your dirty work. I thought we were friends. I was trying to help you out!”

  “Exactly.” Lainey’s smile turns scornful. “You always did think you were the hero, like you’re so much better than everyone. Newsflash, Nicky. I don’t need saving.”

  “Tell that to the judge.”

  She smirks. “What are you going to do, turn me in? For what? You’re the one who went snooping around Janssen, breaking who knows how many laws? And what about your little girlfriend?”

  “What about her?” I tense.

  “Why, her fingerprints are all over the place.” Lainey looks triumphant. “She got that job at CandyShack, uploaded trojan software, snooped through company files . . . Really, it’s only your word that you were ever working for me.”

  I scowl. “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Oh, I am.” Lainey smirks. “You know, I was worried you’d see through me, you never did trust anyone. But it turns out, that was my saving grace. You were so convinced that everyone’s corrupt, you didn’t even believe Alice, even though you’re in love with her. Well, if you care about her at all, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Because I promise you, if you go to the cops, Alice will be the first one going down”

  She gives me a smug smile and turns on her heel, walking away.

  I stumble out of the hotel, my mind racing. Fuck this shit, there’s no way I’m letting her get away with it. An anonymous call to Janssen should tip him to the sabotage-takeover plan, but as for Lainey and her crew . . .

  I need a way to make them hurt. Make them pay. Make them wish they’d never been born.

  I pull out my phone. “Jackson?” I say when he answers. “What’s the name of your buddy down at the IRS?”

  “Why?”

  “I think someone’s due for an audit.”

  Instead of heading back to the condo, I wander toward Fisherman’s Wharf. I could use a walk in the sea air to process everything that’s gone down. And more importantly, what happens next.

  I don’t even realize what’s pulling me here until I find myself in front of Musée Mécanique. The sounds pour out through the open door: laughter and piped music.

  I go inside and wander around, remembering our day together playing hooky. I can see her smile like she’s standing right here next to me. I can’t recall feeling so comfortable and at ease with a woman, able to open up and reveal my true self.

  I get to the Kiss-O-Meter and can’t help but smile. She’d used the machine as an excuse to kiss me. Not that I minded.

  I dig a penny out of my pocket and put it in, wrapping my hand around the metal handle. I watch the lights go up and down. “Now that she’s not here, I bet I get Hot Stuff,” I mutter.

  A moment later the light lands.

  “Clammy?!”

  Maybe it is me after all. I laugh. But it’s bittersweet, because I know Alice would get a kick out of it. But she’s not here. She’s thousands of miles away in New York.

  It’s not just distance that separates us: she hates me. Rightfully so. Because I fucked up. Badly.

  Now that I can look back on our time together, without the haze of Lainey’s smoke screen of lies, I can see what everyone else seemed to figure out before I did:

  I’ve fallen in love with her.

  But what can I say? I accused her of betraying me, of double-crossing, of sleeping with me just to throw me off the scent.

  Hell, I’d never want to see me again.

  I get out my phone and start a text to her. Erase it. Start again.

  Sigh.

  Put my phone away.

  I’ve never been a coward, and I tell myself I’m not being one now. She’s better off without me. Lord knows, I’m not the relationship kind. I’m stubborn, and way too used to getting my own way. And as Lainey so helpfully pointed out, it’s hard for me to see the best in people.

  To trust them, and believe they’ll be honest with me.

  But I owe Alice an apology. Would sending her a message make it worse? It’s probably not possible for her to hate me more. But I don’t want to stir it all up again for her. I fucked her over with my mistrust and accusations.

  And now it’s too late.

  26

  Alice

  “Miss me?” I say to the lions guarding the door of the Agency brownstone as I open up. It feels like both yesterday and forever, but it’s actually only been a couple of weeks since I was here, spilling my guts (and tears) to Olivia. But so much has changed since then.

  I stop and look up to the second floor. Instead of entering the code, I press the call button.

  “Good morning!” says a chipper woman through the intercom. “How can I help you?”

  “Alice Jones here to see Olivia.”

  “Of course, come on up. You know the way, right?” she says with a laugh.

  I smile, already liking this woman. I come into the foyer. There’s a beautiful fresh flower arrangement on the table. Not one brown or fallen leaf.

  It’s bittersweet, but I’m happy Olivia has found someone capable to replace me.

  Not that I’m leaving her completely.

  “Alice! It’s so good to see you!” Olivia exclaims. She’s standing at the top of the stairs waiting for me. When I get there, I’m pulled into a hug. She pulls back and holds me at arm’s length. Her eyes are glossy with emotion. “But before I get weird, come meet Fiona.”

  I stick my hand toward the new girl across the desk. She looks smart and capable, with blonde hair pulled back into a braid, and a friendly expression on her face. “Good to meet you,” I say as we shake.

  She beams. “Likewise.” Then she looks down at my shoes and sighs in pleasure. “And here I thought I have big shoes to fill. But no. I have gorgeous shoes to fill.”

  And now I like her even more.

  Olivia guides me into her office. “Fiona? Can you grab us a couple of cappuccinos?”

  Fiona smiles. “Absolutely.”

  Okay, so that feels weird. I’ve always been the one to fetch the drinks. But yeah, so much has changed.

  Thor comes strutting into the office and notices me, letting out a soulful “Rowr!” before jumping into my lap and covering me in his orange hair. Not that I mind.

  “Aw, someone missed you,” Olivia says. She goes on to tell me about her trip, showing me pictures of her and Ryan in Italy. Riding bikes through the countryside, drinking wine, eating, kissing. Eating. More kissing.

  “It looks like the best holiday.”

  “It was,” Olivia sighs. “But onto you. I know I said it on the phone, but I am so proud of you, Alice. And I want you to know there are no hard feelings over you leaving me. Especially since you helped me sort through all the resumes that brought me Fiona.”

  I nod. “Well, I do know what it takes to do the job. She’ll do great.”

  Olivia smiles. “I think so, too.”

  “And thank you for vouching for me so I could qualify for my P.I. license.”

  She waves me off. “You more than fulfil the requirements. You were doing investigations for me since you started here.”

  Well, technically. But at a desk . . .

  “And,” she says with a smile, “a little bird told me you aced the exam.”

  “You’re looking at a licensed private investigator,” I say proudly. After I did some soul-searching, I realized that the dream I shared with Nick could actually become a reality. My own little firm, running research and investigations—not just screening billionaires for the Agency, but real cases, too. I’ve just set up, but I’m excited about all the possibilities.

  I pull my new notebook from my attaché and open it to a fresh page
. Which happens to be the first one in the book. I write down the date. “So, down to business. Should we go over all your potential new clients?”

  “Yes.” Olivia grins, opening the thick file folder on her desk. “May as well hit the ground running, huh?”

  I still my pen and look up at her, almost overcome with gratitude. “Thank you for giving me this work, Olivia. For everything, actually,” I say. Because without the payment for the contract with Nick, an unexpected, yet very generous bonus, and this research contract that will be ongoing, I’d be working out of a coffee shop somewhere, hustling desperately for clients.

  Instead, Olivia has promised to refer me to all her fancy, rich friends, and I already have some initial consultations set up for next week.

  “Are you kidding?” she laughs. “This isn’t pity work! You’re the best, and this way, Fiona can focus on running the office. Everyone wins.”

  After reviewing her potential new clients and schedule, I head back to my new office, a tiny place in the East Village, tucked between a few of my favorite vintage clothing shops. It’s sparsely furnished, but what I do have makes for a pretty good start: a laptop, desk, and my name on a plate outside the door.

  Alice Jones Investigations.

  I sit down in my creaky but comfortable chair and do a little spin. I’m still aching for Nick, but moving on with my life has been the best distraction. Between finding clients, running research, and setting up the office, I almost haven’t had time to think about him.

  Almost.

  Because late at night, when I’m lying in bed alone, there’s only one place my thoughts go. Back to him.

  Laughing over the arcade games. Teasing me in the bar. Moving inside me, making my whole world turn over. And holding me tightly in his arms, all night long.

  I swallow back a pang, open my attaché and start pulling out files and my laptop. Time to get to work. But I’m just digging into a new client—a messy divorce—when my cellphone buzzes.

  “Hey, Gemma!” I answer as I pick it up.

  “How’s my favorite Bond girl?” my sister asks.