Bride by Chocolate (Death by Chocolate)

by Alexis Lusonne Montgomery

  Well, to hell with that. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he’d have a king-size bed in here before the day was over—sheets and all—to establish his intent. Stake his claim. Mark his territory… Just don’t piss on anything.

  “It won’t be a long meeting,” he said. “I’ll be back in time for dinner. In fact, I can bring it from the deli. I’ll call you later, and you can let me know what you and Gracie would like.”

  Bebe raised her head from his chest where she lay snuggled against him. She had a narrow-eyed look as though searching his face for some hidden agenda.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You really think something else, or someone else, is behind this whole plot, don’t you? You don’t think Freddy is doing this on his own? That’s why you’re hovering. You don’t think Gracie and I are safe here alone. Really?”

  “What I think is, it’s better to be cautious. Really.”

  “I know you think Freddy isn’t very bright, but he isn’t as stupid as he looks, either. He could have thought this up. He can be very sneaky, and he’s been a liar his whole life. When we were little—I think I was five—he put his bag of marbles in the chocolate vat and said I did it.” She had a smug little smile on her face when she told him, “I always beat him at marbles and jacks. He had fat fingers.”

  Sam couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter. She was so damn precious. How in the hell had he gotten so lucky? He was going to double Mrs. T.’s yearly bonus and buy her all the lace in Belgium for this miracle named Bebe.

  “Did your parents believe him?” he asked.

  “Of course not. He lied, but he didn’t do that very well, either.”

  “So why do you think he could carry this scheme off without help?”

  “I don’t, and he didn’t. You caught him. He always gets caught.”

  “I see your point. But I’m still not buying it. There’s more to this.”

  “Sam…”

  “I’m just going to follow the money. I think the worst is over, and Waterston’s is out of danger, but there are some loose ends that need tidying. The cleaning service will be done today and the factory ready for inspection tomorrow.” He couldn’t resist kissing her frown away. “Felix has secured your computer system against anyone hacking into it again. Alarms will go off if anyone even attempts it, and Angie has all the data on that. If I find anything else, I’ll keep you informed. Okay?” He ran his hand along her bare arm, and the feel of her soft silken skin made it hard to draw a deep breath. God, he couldn’t get enough of her. When he was in his dotage, he’d still feel the same.

  “Uh, okay,” Bebe muttered between butterfly kisses along his jawline. “Be sure to do that. We’re partners now. No more secrets.”

  “Absolutely. Partners. Now, about the bed,” he said, enjoying the weight of her draped across his chest, “it will be delivered this afternoon. Will you be here?”

  “Yes. Gracie’s therapist is making his first visit and I need to referee.”

  “Good plan.”

  And it would give him time to implement his own plan. Mrs. Trumble would do her magic so he could sleep like a civilized man tonight—without his feet hanging off the end of the goddamned bed. Who knew they made miniature beds?

  Glancing at the bedside clock, Sam reluctantly disentangled himself, sat up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  Back to the office.

  The feel of Bebe’s arms sliding over his shoulders to rub her hands on his chest while the rest of her knelt behind him and pressed naked warm flesh against his back definitely had him rethinking his schedule.

  “How important is this meeting?” she whispered in his ear.

  He closed his eyes to better concentrate on the sensation of her breasts pressed to his shoulders and her pelvis rotating against his back. Her soft curls brushed his skin with each movement. The feel of her soft lips sucking gently on his earlobe had him hard and hot.

  “What meeting?” he growled, turning to push her back into the bedding and cover her with his body.

  The sparkle of laughter in her eyes let him know she’d read him, and she was giving him exactly what he needed.

  He needed her to need him.

  …

  Nothing like making love in the afternoon to skew the rest of the day.

  “What’s the Cheshire cat look about, son?” his father asked. “Are we going to make a lot more on this deal than we’d originally figured?”

  “Nope. It’s going to broker out exactly as calculated. No surprises, with any luck.”

  Walking into the oak-paneled conference room set between his office and his father’s to find a dozen people looking up expectantly made Sam attempt a serious business attitude, but it wasn’t easy with the scent of Bebe still teasing his senses and the feel of her imprinted on his whole body.

  “Sam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You ready?”

  “Never more so.” Sam didn’t bother suppressing the grin this time.

  …

  At two o’clock that afternoon the door chime announced someone waiting, and caller ID on the ringing phone told Bebe Gracie needed her.

  She grabbed the portable phone and went to the door to check the peephole.

  “There’s a delivery truck out front with Sugarman stenciled on the side.”

  “There’s a delivery man at the door. I’ll call you back.”

  “Check his ID first. Is he big? Dark hair?”

  “No. Short. Bald.”

  “Okay. Not the man in the cards.”

  “Call me back in a few minutes,” she said, and laid the portable phone down on the entry table near the door.

  Bebe cracked open the door with the chain latch secured.

  “Miss Waterston?”

  “Yes.”

  The man thrust a clipboard through the narrow space.

  “Sign here. We have a delivery for you.”

  “Who sent it, Danny?” she asked, checking his name badge. “And what is it?” she asked, scanning the manifest slip.

  “Sam. I mean Mr. Sugarman. Well, actually, Mrs. Trumble sent us. We have stuff and a bed. We’re supposed to set it up. That okay?”

  “Now? Today?” Sam was serious about the bed business.

  “Yes, miss.”

  Sam must really hate sleeping in her too-short bed.

  “Fine,” she said, unlatching the door. “But we’ll have to get the one that’s there now up to the attic.”

  “No problem. We’d be glad to do that for you.”

  He turned and called down the stairwell. “Hey, Buddy, start bringin’ those packages on up here.”

  Two hours later Bebe was in possession of a California king with all the trimmings: memory foam pad, pristine white Egyptian cotton sheets with a six hundred thread count—was that even possible?—a comforter set that matched her bedroom decor and six new king-size pillows.

  Amazingly, the bed looked perfect. Not overwhelming, but definitely spacious. It looked like it would fit Sam. Did it mean he intended to stay—his way of putting down roots?

  A girl could hope.

  …

  Sam’s phone vibrated in his breast pocket, and he noticed the silent alarm light on the landline phone, which sat at his space at the conference table. Mrs. T. and Felix at the same moment? What were the odds? Considering the possibilities, he looked over at his father, caught his eye, and nodded to his phone. Then quietly got up and left the room. His father didn’t miss a beat taking over the meeting.

  Going through his office and into Mrs. Trumble’s domain, he searched his text messages. Both Felix and Mrs. Trumble had left “urgent” as their note.

  “Oh, there you are,” Mrs. T. exclaimed, looking up from her computer. “Felix is in quite a state, but I told him we shouldn’t interrupt the board meeting. He says it’s critical—but now you can decide for yourself. Let me get him over here.” She punched in the intercom extension. “Come now. Sam’s here. He’ll be in his office.” />
  “What’s this about?”

  “Felix didn’t explain—just that it had something to do with Bebe and the money trail you were looking for—”

  Felix came rushing into Mrs. Trumble’s office with a sheaf of printouts in one hand and an iPad in the other. A headset covered one ear and the other sported an earbud. Slim, lean-muscled, and of mixed racial heritage, he looked the antithesis of the computer geek he was, which was unfortunate for the women employees he ignored. Nobody could compete with his computers—at least no one Felix had met yet. Sam knew the feeling—he’d been like that about Sugarman Financial. Until Bebe.

  He regarded Felix and shrugged. Poor bastard wouldn’t know what hit him. If he got lucky.

  “I’ve got the connection,” Felix said, following him back into his office. Mrs. Trumble trailed after them.

  “Have a seat. Mrs. T., you too.” He walked behind his desk and sat down. Felix extended the documents.

  “It’s a paper trail between Finnerman and Jean-Paul Huegenot.”

  Sam flipped through the pages. “Give me the short version.”

  “Two years ago Finnerman began paying Huegenot large sums. Public relations endorsements were listed for cause. We were trying to evaluate Finnerman’s money layout—checking his books to see where he could make cutbacks and trim his spending.”

  Felix handed Sam another set of documents.

  “When he joined up with Huegenot, he took out the first loan, then a second, third, and a fourth—all from different banks. He didn’t have the cash flow to cover the payouts to Huegenot, so the loans covered the expense.”

  “How did he manage to secure four loans on one candy business?” Sam asked, browsing the financial statements.

  “Family connections. No one even questioned it, since he had Finnerman’s for collateral. There are several bankers who count you as their new BFF for taking Freddy off their books.”

  “What has Huegenot done in the way of endorsements?”

  “That’s the really weird part. Not a damn thing we could find. No articles, no ad layouts in any of the specialty magazines, nada. We found no online connection, either. It’s as though they’ve never met. Huegenot has high praise for Waterston Chocolatiers. He’s mentioned them in several articles. But not one word about Finnerman’s.”

  “That’s understandable if you’re discussing the best in that particular market, but what was Finnerman paying for if not endorsements? What were they actually up to?”

  “It’s not clear, and Freddy won’t cop to anything other than endorsements that Huegenot is contracted to do in the future. We accessed Huegenot’s accounts through the data Freddy had on file. His trips to Europe have increased over the last two years, but not a lot. His trips to the Northeast have gone from none to twice a month. We’re tracing those trips and possible connections. There are several major food conglomerates that operate in that area.”

  “Find out who he’s been talking to. We need to know what he’s selling and who’s buying,” Sam said, continuing to scan the printouts Felix had given him.

  “Who’s buying what?” Sam’s father asked, coming through the conference room door into Sam’s office.

  “We’re trying to find the people Bebe’s adopted uncle is dealing with on his trips back east. He’s been connected to Finnerman and now to several food conglomerates centered in that area. We need to know why.”

  “Any of those outfits specialize in chocolate?” The senior Sugarman looked around the room, one eyebrow raised.

  Sam raised a corresponding eyebrow and looked back at Felix.

  “Chocolatty Puff Cereal, Chocolatty Patty Candies and Chocolatty Mole Sauce come to mind,” Mrs. Trumble volunteered. “Would you like a location and information on the company?”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. T.,” Sam’s father replied. “The man who owns Chocolatty is an old fraternity buddy. I’ll call him and see if he knows this character. If Huegenot’s hinky, I don’t want him sniffing around my daughter. And if he’s responsible for this mess at Waterston, he needs to be stopped.” He turned and headed toward his own office. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out anything.”

  Sam turned back to Felix and Mrs. Trumble.

  “Keep tracking Huegenot’s movements,” he said. “Especially connections related to the use of chocolate or candy manufacturing. Somebody’s got to think there’s a lot of money to be made. I want to know who and how.”

  “Yes, sir.” Felix rose and went out the same way he’d come in—at the speed of sound.

  “That boy needs to slow down,” Mrs. Trumble tut-tutted. “He’ll give himself apoplexy before he’s thirty if he doesn’t,” she said, shaking her head and looking back at Sam. “I’ll check with your father to see if he needs help finding that college friend. And, Sam, the situation with the bed has been handled.”

  Of course it has.

  “Meantime, would you like lunch sent up?”

  “Turkey and swiss on rye?”

  “Potato salad and iced tea?”

  “Sounds good. Make it two and I’ll get my dad back in here.”

  “Consider it done.” She rose in a pink powder haze that he had associated with her all his life. She was a treasure none of them ever wanted to do without.

  “Thanks, Mrs. T.,” he said.

  “Not a bother, dear,” came the reply as the door closed.

  …

  Bebe reclined in the lap of luxury, propped on the pillows with their velvet-and-satin shams from the new comforter and bedding set.

  “Mrs. Trumble, you are amazing,” she said, settling into the middle of the king-size bed, admiring the perfect blend of the new with the things she already owned. Now all she needed was Sam. In this bed. Permanently.

  The phone ringing and the downstairs doorbell to her apartment sounded the alarm. Bebe scrambled for the phone on the bedside table.

  “Hi, Gracie. Who is it?”

  “A really tall, stunningly gorgeous blonde and Jean-Paul. Who’s the blonde? She’s not after Sam, is she?”

  “No. That must be Glenna. Sam’s sister.”

  “Damn good thing. We’d have to do something about her—”

  “Gracie—”

  “Honey, you clean up real good, but that kind of competition nobody should have to deal with. Call me when they leave.”

  Bebe hung up and headed for the front door to buzz Glenna and Jean-Paul into the downstairs foyer.

  She opened the apartment door to watch them come up the stairs. Bebe thought it would take a long time before she could look down the stairwell and not see the image of the black-clad burglar lunging over her and Gracie hunkered on the steps. Even knowing Freddy probably didn’t intend to hurt them didn’t lessen the shudder that went down her spine.

  “This is adorable, Bebe,” Glenna exclaimed. “However did you find an apartment in a Painted Lady in this area? Don’t you have to kill someone to get into one of these?”

  Glenna strode across the foyer’s Persian carpet runner and up the stairs, Jean-Paul following. “These are like chicken’s teeth—people really would kill—oh my God, sorry, forget I brought that up. How are you? Getting back to normal?”

  At that point Glenna had reached the landing and engulfed Bebe in a hug with real cheek kisses.

  “Mon Dieu, Glenna, you are smothering her,” Jean-Paul huffed, reaching the top step. “Bebe, comment ça va?”

  “Ça va bien, Jean-Paul. Entrez-vous, s’il vous plait,” she said, pushing the apartment door wide. “Glenna, Sam said you were planning a trip?” She ushered them into the apartment.

  “Just a weekend in Paris. Very romantic, n’est-ce pas?” she said, laughing.

  “Tweety is a Big Bird. Tweety is a Big Bird.”

  The bright yellow budgie fluffed his feathers and bobbed his head in greeting through the thin bars of the ornate oversize Victorian-era birdcage.

  “Ah, so this is the fabulous Tweety,” Glenna said. She reached the standing cage an
d bent eye level with the little bird, who sidled toward the end of his perch, as close to the bars as possible.

  “Tweety is a good boy.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Glenna agreed. “And handsome. Definitely handsome.” She laughed. “He’s amazing, Bebe.”

  “I think so. And so does he.”

  “Well, I think Sam is his biggest fan. A guard budgie. That’s priceless.”

  “Please, have a seat, Glenna. Jean-Paul? Would either of you like something to drink? I’ll make coffee. Or tea?”

  Jean-Paul sank onto the sofa and a world-wise smile graced his heavy jowled features. “Whatever mademoiselle desires, c’est bonne,” he replied, gazing at Glenna. “Que désires-tu, ma petite?”

  “Don’t you just love the accent, Bebe? Puts me right over the edge.”

  “He’s almost my uncle. Not the same effect.”

  “Of course—but you have to admit it’s damn sexy.” She walked to where Jean-Paul sat and leaned down to give him a light kiss on the mouth. “Shall we have tea then?”

  “Of course, tu amie.”

  “And while we’re waiting for the water to boil,” Glenna turned to her with a Cheshire grin and winked, “Bebe can show me her new bed with all the trimmings.”

  The heat climbed the back of Bebe’s neck until her cheeks burned. In for a penny…in for a pound.

  “Just let me put the kettle on…”

  …

  “This is lovely,” Glenna said, circling the room. “When Mrs. T. showed me the virtuals from Nottinghams I knew it would fit.”

  “What do you mean? Virtuals?”

  “It’s when you take a picture of a room and then you can redecorate without having to change anything—so you can be sure before you go to all the trouble. Sam sent her an email of this room so the additions would blend.”

  “So why is Sam’s place terminally gray? Why didn’t Mrs. Trumble virtual Sam?”

  “Ha. We did. Those red pillows were a major concession. He told Mother he would get his own decorator, and in the meantime we were to keep hands off. So, shades of gray…we’re counting on you to rescue him from monotone hell.”