by Ava McKnight
I kissed his chest. He kissed the top of my head. I’m not sure either one of us got a full night’s sleep, given the words that still lingering in the air.
* * * * *
I woke the next morning to the sound of my shower running. Mike had left me and that both perplexed and concerned me.
As I sat up and pushed the covers off me, he came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips.
“Hey,” I said, “you broke your promise to me.”
He drew up short, shooting me a confused look.
“You said the next time you used my shower, I’d be in it with you,” I reminded him.
He grunted. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Where’s the fire?” I asked as I consulted the clock. It was only five a.m.
Coming farther into the room, he grabbed his iPhone from the nightstand and handed it over. I stared blankly at the incoming email address, not even bothering to read the message.
“What’s up?” I asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, he said, “I have to fly to Dallas. The FBI is reopening the Portman case based on my findings. The insurance investigator I’m working with is meeting me at JFK this morning.”
I mulled this over instead of instantly reacting to it. Mike clearly knew the direction in which my thoughts ran.
He said, “Chris emailed me after we’d gone to bed, but I didn’t check my phone until this morning. It’s bad timing, Lace, I know. But I assure you, this has nothing to do with last night.”
“Yeah, sure. Because usually in situations like this, it’s the person who didn’t say ‘I love you’ who wants distance.”
I swung my legs over the opposite side of the bed and stood. As I marched toward the bathroom, he said, “Come on, Lace. Don’t just walk away.”
Whirling around, I said, “Go to Dallas. Whatever.”
Irrational of me, yes. But he wasn’t exactly being sane either.
Unfortunately, as I reached for the knob to turn the shower on, the supermodel’s teary-eyed face from Saturday night at Velage—as she’d agonized over Piper leaving her—flashed in my mind. I pulled my hand back and returned to the bedroom, where Mike still sat on the side of my bed.
Squaring my shoulders, I restated my previous comment in a calmer, less bitchy tone. “Go to Dallas. It’s fine. You get to work with the FBI on a cold case. That’s very cool. Everything will be fine between us.”
He got to his feet and crossed to where I stood. Gripping my shoulders, he said, “I don’t want to leave you like this. I’m sorry.”
Forcing a smile, I said, “I have work to do too. What’s happening between us can’t consume our lives. We still need our paychecks.”
His head dipped and he kissed me. “We’ll talk when I get back.”
Those were not words I wanted to hear. They were too vague and too foreboding, scaring me into thinking he regretted his admissions and needed to retract them. Or put space between them. Between us.
But I wasn’t inclined to push the envelope with him this morning.
Unfortunately, I could easily drown in fears of him meeting someone in Dallas or falling off the wagon because things hadn’t gone smoothly for us late last night or early this morning.
I didn’t want to be that person. I wanted to be the one who trusted him, as I’d said I did.
“Let me know when you’re coming back,” I told him, trying to keep my tone light.
He said, “I’ll call you from the airport and give you my flight information.”
“Great.” When he didn’t move, I insisted, “Go. Do your job. Rub elbows with the FBI. You know you’re dying to, and I don’t blame you. I’d even ask to tag along for the experience, if I didn’t have my own case to solve.”
His grin was a tight one. “I’ll be in touch.”
He headed toward the doorway, since his clothes were still in the foyer. I waited for him to turn back to me and tell me he loved me.
He didn’t.
* * * * *
I tried not to dwell on that latter fact as I prepared to make an appearance at Elan—and tell Mav what I’d discovered.
I called his executive assistant on the way to the office.
“Mr. Linnear’s office, how may I help you?” she asked in her delicate voice.
“Hi, Christine. This is Lacey Mansfield calling.”
“Oh hi, Lacey,” she said. “You’re looking for Mav?”
I had the transcripts in my laptop bag and was anxious to show them to him. Though I didn’t relish the potential repercussions for Anne Dunley. I didn’t know the woman, but she could be a very lovely person. Someone who’d gotten caught up in a scandal for the money or the attention. I’d seen both.
To Christine, I asked, “Is it possible to get on Mav’s calendar this morning? It’s urgent.”
“He instructed me to always make time for you, so yes. When will you be in?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“I’ll alert him,” she told me. “See you soon.”
I disconnected the call and contemplated how I was going to tactfully probe Mav about Olivia, especially after letting him know of my suspicion there were two saboteurs—and one was likely interested in public disgrace for personal reasons.
There were still plenty of media outlets hanging around the front of the building, though security did a fine job keeping them out of the lobby. Until another corporate scandal broke, they’d beat this one to a bloody pulp. I skirted the crowd and flashed my badge to gain access. Then I went straight to Mav’s office.
“He’s expecting you,” Christine said as she opened his door for me. She was an attractive woman, around forty-five or six, who always looked polished and professional. I liked her immensely.
“Thanks, Christine. I don’t know how long we’ll be.”
“I’ll push back his meetings if necessary.”
She left us alone and I entered the spacious office, decorated in an elegant and sophisticated fashion. Mav wore a complex expression, a cross between anticipation and dread. His shoulders bunched in his well-tailored designer suit, this one in charcoal gray with a crisp white shirt and silk tie in silver.
“How’s the company faring?” I asked as he stood to greet me with a handshake.
“Some surprises,” he told me as we both sat. “Stock is up and initial sales reports this morning indicate buyers are snatching up our products like crazy, which means distribution will be on the rise this week.”
“That’s wonderful news.” So Biel had been right. The media frenzy drove sales. Such a clever girl.
But Mav wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies this morning. “With the exception of our new line. No one’s touching it.”
“Oh.” My heart sank. I felt bad for him—and I feared this might be a career hiccup for Biel.
“Anyway,” Mav continued, “I’ve decided to re-launch the line. Obviously, we need to prove it’s the absolute best waterproof makeup on the market or no one will stock it on their shelves and they’ll dump it from their catalogs. Because it’s a very high-end line, I need Barneys, Harrods, Neiman Marcus, Bergdorf-Goodman, Bloomingdale’s and the like on board. We’ll be taking a huge hit if we can’t generate sales.”
“Wow, a re-launch.” I didn’t know what else to say. I wasn’t a corporate bigwig, so I had no idea if his approach was a sound one or if he was just bailing water in a sinking ship. I hoped for the former, of course.
“As it turns out,” he told me, “Biel’s birthday is tomorrow. I have my marketing and PR team recreating the launch at the Montlimiere, only this time, the guest list will be pared down and specific to our goals. Less star-power and more industry professionals. Department store buyers, fashion magazine editors, product reviewers, et cetera.”
And the supermodel. He was giving her a second chance, which made him aces in my book.
“I’m sure it’ll all go off without a hitch this time.” Espec
ially if I was right about Olivia. Which brought me to the reason for my visit. “I think I’ve solved our mystery.”
He perked up. “I was hoping that was why you wanted to see me.”
“The problem is,” I told him as I opened my laptop case and extracted the stack of transcripts, “I believe we’re looking at two separate incidents with more than one culprit.”
His dark brown eyes narrowed on me. “What did you find out?”
“First,” I said, handing over the documents, “your leak is in the marketing department.” Which would send that particular VP into another tizzy. “Her name is Anne Dunley. Luckily, she’s out of the office the rest of the week, so she won’t divulge anymore trade secrets if you still have some under your hat.”
He took the papers and skimmed them. I’d made notes in the margins as I’d deciphered the riddles.
Continuing, I told him, “Anne is the assistant in the department. She’s been out of the office for a week and won’t return for another one. I’ve sent an email to the person she was corresponding with, since it didn’t match the blogger’s email addy. Though my guess is they’re one in the same. Of course, I haven’t heard anything back. I doubt I need to. I’m sure with this incriminating evidence in hand, Anne will have no choice but to come clean.”
He set the transcripts on the desk and reached for the phone. “Christine, I want Thomas Baker and Marcy Kemper in my office immediately.”
The VPs of marketing and Human Resources, respectively.
Mav turned his attention to me. “You don’t think Anne Dunley is behind the launch debacle?”
“No. There’s nothing in her email transcripts that would indicate she was involved with the replacement of the cosmetics, or gave information on how it could be pulled off.” I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable with this portion of our discussion.
Mav noticed. “You think you know who swapped the products?”
I stood and paced. Then I came to a halt behind the chair I’d previously occupied, and said, “This is rather personal. The whole thing. The launch sabotage and the questions I have to ask you.”
He sat back in his big, black leather chair, resting his elbows on the arms as he tented his fingers. “I hired you to do a job, Lacey. I’m not going to hinder your efforts. My grandfather built this company and I’m honored to run it today. Whatever your queries, I’m willing to answer them to the best of my ability.”
“I respect that. And you.” Gripping the back of the chair, I said, “I think what happened at the Montlimiere was meant to make Elan—or you—look bad. What Anne did was likely a survival tactic. Chances are, a competitor found someone to strike a deal with—best bet, they found someone in financial dire straits who agreed to trade proprietary information for cash. But what happened at the launch was engineered by a different means, and likely entity, and I feel very strongly the intent was to undermine the entire campaign, thereby leaving you in a serious lurch. And with a healthy dose of public humiliation.”
“That’s how it felt to me as well.” His handsome face tensed. “But how did it happen? How did someone pull that off when we had as airtight a security plan as we possibly could have?”
“Well, that’s the tricky part, isn’t it?”
“Lacey, my security team members are pros at this sort of thing. They’ve all been with me for a very long time and we’ve pulled off numerous product launches and top-secret campaigns before.”
“Cal Stoddard assured me of that and I was very impressed with the extremes he went to. He told me the makeup was in Biel’s possession the entire time. She never let go of that bag.”
His brow furrowed. He dropped his hands and leaned forward. “You’re not suggesting—”
“No, no,” I was quick to say. “It wasn’t Biel. I’m sure of it. The switch happened before she arrived at the hotel is my guess. I think it happened here. I believe that, all along, she was carrying the sealed bag that contained the non-waterproof makeup.”
He got to his feet. The tension radiating from him made me almost want to take a step back. But I stayed put, straightening my spine and squaring my shoulders.
“You obviously have a theory.”
“I do. I’m sorry for the way this is going to sound, but I know about you and Olivia Benedict.”
“Olivia!” he roared.
I gripped the chair more firmly, to keep from distancing myself by moving to the other side of the room.
“Hear me out,” I said in a soft, placating voice. “Biel swears she kept the makeup bag—which Olivia gave her—with her the entire time, and then gave it directly to Piper when they were ready for the application. She watched Piper break the security tape seal.”
“You’re telling me Olivia put the wrong makeup in the bag she handed to Biel? On purpose?”
His temper simmered now. I had to tread lightly to keep from flaring it again. Though I wondered if he was angry I was insinuating his fling had something to do with this, or if he was mad Olivia might have done such a thing.
Not knowing where his fury stemmed from or to which of us it was directed, I kept my tone even and steady as I said, “She’s the only one with ample resources and the ability to go undetected. She had the makeup, the plastic bags and the security tape in her lab. She was the one who handled the product before it was given to Biel. She was the only one to handle the product before it was given to Biel.”
“I can’t even fathom this, Lacey,” he said between clenched teeth.
“You hurt her,” I reminded him. “Not intentionally, from what I hear. But still… She thought you two were in a relationship. It’s possible she felt used when you so easily walked away.”
“It wasn’t easy,” he told me, his anger coming down a few notches. “I truly cared for Olivia. I still do. The timing was just…wrong. I never should have started anything with her so soon after my wife left me, but we were always running into each other in the parking garage, because we’d either come in early or had stayed late. We struck up a few conversations and I found her terribly fascinating. And attractive.”
“I’m sure the feeling was mutual from the onset.”
Letting out a heavy breath, he returned to his chair. “I know I hurt her. Badly. But I can’t imagine she’d go to such measures…”
“Your wife didn’t exactly play fair, did she?”
I hated to twist the knife. It was a cruel thing to do. Yet I needed him to see past the forest and focus on the tree.
He looked stricken and I moved around his large desk to place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be insensitive. The fact is, I really do respect you, Mav. I’m sure you tried to make the split with Olivia as amiable as possible. But sometimes, the scorned lover doesn’t see it that way.”
I found myself tucking that sentiment away, because I didn’t have time to consider how it might apply to my situation with Mike—and the fact I hadn’t told him I loved him when he’d put himself out on a limb yet one more time.
Mav was about to speak, but a knock on the door clearly changed his train of thought. “That will be Thomas and Marcy.”
A moment later, Christine escorted both VPs into the office.
I said, “I’ll let you handle this in private. I’m going to speak with Olivia.”
He tensed again, but then said in a quiet voice, “I hope like hell you’re wrong, Lacey.”
Difficult for him to admit, I was sure, because he needed me to resolve this predicament as much as I wanted to provide the solution for him. But I knew where he was coming from. I wanted to tell him I hoped I was wrong too, yet if that turned out to be the case, I’d be left empty-handed, with no more suspects.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I told him. I collected my things and headed out, not at all wanting to be a fly on the wall when Mav went off about Anne Dunley.
Chapter Twelve
If It Looks Like a Duck and It Quacks Like a Duck…
I’ll be Calling It a Day and S
erving the Bubbly.
I checked my iPhone as I waited for the elevator and found that Mike had tried to contact me twice. Then he’d texted me, sending me his flight information, as promised. Unfortunately, he was now currently on his way to Dallas, so I couldn’t reach him.
With a heavy sigh, I dropped the phone in my bag and took the elevator to the floor dedicated to Olivia’s main laboratory and office, since her staff apparently occupied several floors.
I swiped my badge over the electronic reader and stepped inside the mammoth facility, which had an open floor plan with a few areas sectioned off by glass walls. Several people wearing white lab coats and security badges milled about or poured over their respective projects at pristine workstations. Olivia was coming out of her office at the moment I popped in and her head snapped up from a file she was reading.
“I’m sorry, you’re not supposed to be in here,” she told me. “Authorized personnel only.”
“I’m Lacey Mansfield,” I said as I strode toward her and held my hand out. “Mav Linnear hired me to investigate the leak and the issue with the product launch.”
“Of course,” she said, her tone softening. “He mentioned last week you’d likely want to speak with me.”
“You’ve been hard to get a hold of.”
“I’ve been caught up in research and development for a new product. Revolutionary skin care,” she told me. “Isn’t it interesting how every ‘new and cutting-edge’ wrinkle cream is called revolutionary? You’d think the marketing guys could come up with a new word.”
I laughed. “You have a point. The same applies to weight-loss and body-sculpting clinics. Their latest techniques are always revolutionary. But they still promote the old techniques—wouldn’t they be obsolete? Who wants archaic liposuction?”
“Precisely.” She gave me a winning smile that made my gut clench. Another woman I was going to like, I suspected, and yet one I’d have to pull the rug out from underneath.
Sometimes, this job wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
“I will have to say, though,” she continued, “we most definitely are on to something revolutionary.”