by Lila Monroe
“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 the 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 happened 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.
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, mouthwatering 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.
