by Ava McKnight
“Why haven’t you two gone public?”
Biel needed another gulp of gin to fortify herself. Then she looked me straight in the eye and said, “I know there aren’t any legal ramifications anymore, but Piper and I first got together when I was sixteen. She was twenty. Whether my parents would have wigged over that and charges could have been pressed, I don’t really know. I’m not sure how statutory rape works with lesbians. But we didn’t want anyone to know so Piper wouldn’t get into trouble and I wouldn’t lose her. That’s just the way it’s always been between us. An old habit I can’t break.”
“Do you think if people knew now, the pressure or backlash or whatever would be too great to keep you together?”
She lifted her hands in the air in an erratic fashion. “I can’t predict what will tear us apart these days. I seriously don’t know anymore. She loves me, I don’t doubt that for a second. Frankly, I think it scares the hell out of her, so she breaks up with me in order to retain some sort of control over the situation.”
Tears pooled in Biel’s emerald eyes and they tugged on my heartstrings.
“I can relate to how she feels,” I told her. But that didn’t make it right—for Piper or myself—did it?
I thought of Mike and how he’d admitted to not having slept with a woman for months. I hadn’t really allowed myself to see that because I’d come to the conclusion that he’d always be with a woman, one right after the other. Yet perhaps because I had such strong feelings for him, which I’d successfully buried until recently, I hadn’t permitted myself to acknowledge that he’d been spending more time at my apartment lately than out on the town or at his own place.
He’d been comfortable using my shower when his was out of commission because my pad was his home away from home. And the honest-to-God truth was…that made me happy.
In addition, falling asleep with him in my bed last night had been equally delightful, though I’d been slightly relieved he hadn’t been there in the morning, since I’d needed time to process our evening together.
But what Biel said about Piper trying to stay in control of the romance because Piper’s feelings scared her was most definitely something I’d have to ponder—as it applied to my situation—when I returned to my apartment.
In the meantime, I said to Biel, “You are clearly fearless. Not everyone is. So Piper worries her mega-star girlfriend is going to get it on with everyone who catches her eye. That’s not a surprise.”
“Or an unrealistic assumption.” She placed her hand on my thigh, just below the hem of my short skirt, and said, “I did sleep with someone else. And I am attracted to you. So, she’s right.”
Whoa. I needed some gin myself after that revelation. As I drained my first glass and reached for the second one, Biel confessed all.
“I’ve always been faithful to her when we’re together. But the truth is, the third time Piper left me, just a few months ago, I was furious. I couldn’t understand why she kept doing this to me—to us. Up until that point, I’d never cheated on her, I’d never even really given another woman a second glance. I’ve loved Piper since I was sixteen, for Christ’s sake.”
Biel’s warm hand remained on my black stocking-clad leg as she spoke, her touch delicate, yet seemingly purposeful.
“The thing is,” she said as she gazed at me, “I reached that point during the third breakup where I was like, ‘Why would I let someone do this to me?’ I don’t have that insecurity that tells me I need to be with someone or I’m not worth anything. I honestly love her and she lets stupid little things spin her up. So…I got fed up. And I thought that maybe it was time I see who else was out there.”
“And?” I asked, wanting to move her hand from my leg because the touch was much too intimate for someone with my issues. But I didn’t want to offend her. Especially not during her tell-all, when very deep and tormented emotions filled her eyes.
“Well, I said to hell with it and I had sex with someone else. We were broken up, after all. She’d moved out of the apartment and had gone back to Hollywood. I was free to sleep with whoever I wanted.”
“Clearly, that didn’t work out for you. The two of you got back together.”
Swiping at a tear running down her cheek, she said, “I picked a man.”
That was a newsflash.
She pulled herself together and said, “He was very handsome and having some emotional devastation of his own and that seemed to spur us on, I guess. But it was only that once and when Piper came back to me a few weeks later, I was so grateful.”
“Does she know you slept with someone else?”
Biel shook her head sharply. “No, no. I’ve never said anything about my affair. Yes, I was free to be with someone else, but it would crush her and I’d never tell her just to get even with her for hurting me. Plus, the whole guy-experiment was to see if I’d been with Piper so long, I just assumed I was a lesbian.”
She muttered this in a low voice, barely audible over the loud music. No one could hear us in our secluded corner, I was sure.
“And you are?” I asked.
She shrugged noncommittally. “I can’t say one hundred percent. I love Piper, but I enjoyed being with a man.”
“Hmm.” I suspected she’d felt the same thing I had last night—that a vibrator is no substitute for the real thing. But her passion was commanded by Piper, so that likely fulfilled her.
Ah, this was all very enlightening. I was left to believe that Biel had not sabotaged her own career and Piper lived in fear of losing the woman she loved. An all-too understandable concern, if you asked me.
But being in the thick of Biel and Piper’s relationship wasn’t my ultimate goal.
“Hey,” I said, changing the subject and getting down to brass tacks. “Do you have any idea who might want to jack the Elan program? Either by leaking details of the ad campaign or switching your makeup?”
Biel gave this some thought, but came up empty-handed as she shook her head. “The people I’ve worked with there are fantastic. I love the setup and everyone is so onboard with everything we do. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt sales or damage any reputations.”
“What about the VPs of marketing and PR?” Because I hadn’t forgotten about them.
“I don’t spend much time with the executives. They work with the photographer on artistic direction and I do what he tells me to in front of the camera.”
She paused a moment as she pondered something. I sipped my drink while waiting patiently.
Finally, she said, “There is one thing. I really hate to say it, because it’s none of my business and Mav has been so good to me. But maybe it’s something to consider—I really do want to this ordeal to work out for him.”
“Yes?” I asked, curiosity clawing at me.
“Well, it’s just that…he had an office fling.”
“Mav’s not married,” I said, “so that’s not really scandalous.”
“No, I’m not saying it is. Though it is kind of tragic. See, his wife left him last year. He wanted kids and she didn’t, so eventually, when the business skyrocketed, she divorced him, taking half his money, their apartment in Tribeca and a villa in Florence.”
“Geez, that does suck.”
“Yeah. So, anyway, he hooked up with someone at work, who was also single. But it didn’t work out because Mav was still pining for his ex. You pick up a lot of gossip in the studio.”
My eyes narrowed on her. “Who’d he hook up with?”
“That’s the tricky part.” She appeared reluctant to say the name, but once she did, I understood why. “Olivia Benedict.”
“Whoa.” I sat back in my seat and tried to process that bombshell.
“Olivia runs the lab at Elan,” Biel told me, though I already knew that. “She’s very kind and, from what I’ve heard, she’s crazy about Mav. But it didn’t work out between them.”
“She’s the one who tested and packaged your makeup, right?”
Biel nodded, again seeming
hesitant to do so, because it created huge implications for Olivia.
She said, “Please don’t take what I’m saying as gospel. I really like Olivia. I’m only telling you what I’ve heard, so it’s second hand. And she really is a sweet woman. I can’t imagine she’d have anything to do with what happened at the Montlimiere.”
“You’d be surprised what people will do for revenge, Biel.”
“From what I hear, Mav was very good to her. He just wasn’t in the position to turn what they had into a relationship. He wasn’t ready to go to the next level.”
“That can be painful.” As if either one of us needed that reminder. Moving along I said, “So, the makeup was with you the entire time, according to Cal Stoddard, head of security.”
“Yes, it was,” she said emphatically. “I swear, I never put that bag down. And when we were ready, I handed it directly to Piper and watched her break the seal. My eyes were on that makeup from start to finish, Lacey.”
“Huh.” I was at a loss.
She took a drink, then startled me with an exuberant “Oh wonderful!” as she gripped my leg a little tighter. “There are my friends, Meg and Lanie.”
She waved them over, two highly stylish women dressed in black with skyscraper heels. They joined us in the corner and Maxine appeared at my elbow.
“Champagne?” she asked.
Biel handed her glass over to her friends for a sample and said, “It’s a Gibson. Lacey turned me on to it.”
They sipped and nodded in approval and Biel ordered another round.
Her hand had moved from my thigh and she gestured toward me as she made the introductions. “Lacey Mansfield, meet Meg Kaplan and Lanie Duvall, both are up-and-coming designers. Lacey is a…um… What exactly are you, Lacey?”
I laughed at her perplexed expression. “Corporate fraud and abuse investigator. I look into things like computer equipment requisitioned, then sold on the street. Dummy financial accounts set up to funnel money to an embezzler. Product launches gone awry…that sort of thing.”
“So do you know who’d do such a terrible thing to Biel?” Lanie asked.
“Not yet. I suspect the attack wasn’t on Biel herself, but meant to discredit Elan and the new makeup line.”
“No wonder Piper went back to California today,” Meg said. “She must feel so awful about the entire mess. And terrified she’s going to lose her other clients.”
While my initial instinct was to stand up for Biel and say her partner should be with her during this sordid situation, I’d be back to walking the fine line of hypocrisy. When they’d shut me down at the TV studio, I’d wanted out. I hadn’t been strong enough to push my story through other avenues or channels, too fearful of repercussions and public humiliation. In fact, I’d done as Piper had—moved to the opposite side of the country.
Conversely, that demoralizing experience had helped me grow a backbone. I’d been determined, when I’d moved to New York, to not let anyone walk all over my convictions. That made me successful in fraud and abuse. I was still struggling with my personal convictions, though, and I had a feeling Biel did too when it came to Piper. The bottom line, however, was that despite her one indiscretion, Biel stuck with the relationship. She was the one who was still there, waiting for Piper to come around.
Thus, I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “The true victim here is Biel. She’s the one who constantly picks up the shattered pieces and puts them back together. Not Piper.”
Maybe it was the gin talking. Maybe it was my need to cleanse my own soul and accept the fact I was Piper in my situation with Mike, when I wanted to be Biel, in order to give us equal ground on which to stand. He was one persistent sucker and he deserved as much effort from me as he expended.
I suddenly wanted to call him, but I wasn’t completely sure of what to say and I didn’t want to mess it up and spew nonsense in my slightly intoxicated state.
Biel positively beamed as she sat a little straighter and squared her shoulders. “Thank you, Lacey.”
“She’s right,” Lanie admitted.
Meg nodded.
Then Biel said, “Let’s go dance.”
The three women scooted out of the booth and, as Biel passed my end of the sofa, she grabbed my hand and tugged on it.
“Upstairs,” she said. “VIP salon.”
How could I pass that up? I scurried to join them, but said, “What about the bar tab?”
“They’ll roll it over,” she said with a smile. “They have my credit card on file.”
We wound our way through the dimly lit club to the back hallway, where a black velvet rope was whisked away as soon as the bouncer saw Biel coming. We swept right past the sectioned-off area and through a door that opened to a stairwell. Loud, energetic music met our ears before we even reached the second floor. Flashing lights and dancing bodies filled the large room. I instantly recognized a handful of celebrities and tried to keep from gawking at them.
Biel spun around to face me, reaching for the top button on my suit jacket. She flipped the disk through the hole with deft fingers.
“Love the suit,” she shouted over the noise, “but you’re way overdressed for this kind of party.”
Luckily, I wore a structured white top with thin straps underneath the jacket. The substantial boning helped to cinch my sides and plump up my breasts.
“Much better,” Biel said as she took my small clutch from me and dropped it, along with my jacket, on a sofa Meg and Lanie had already claimed for us. “Now we dance!”
“Just so you know,” I said as I leaned in close so she could hear me. “I’m totally straight.”
Her pearly whites glowed under the black light that flickered above us. “I can tell. No worries. I’m still praying Piper will come home soon.”
Poor girl. Though she held her head high and I admired that about her.
“What’s his name?” she asked as we started to move to the music.
“Mike Lucas. He’s sworn he’ll give up his womanizing ways to be with me. He’s a super-hunk of epic proportions.”
She laughed. “I have no doubt.”
We abandoned the conversation and danced the night away.
Chapter Seven
Lust—3 Points. Love—TBD.
Three Gibsons, five or six glasses of champagne and many, many hours later, Biel’s limo pulled along the curb outside my building. The doorman helped me as I all but spilled from the car, ridiculously giddy with my new friends.
“See you soon, Lacey!” Meg called out before they were whisked away.
“Good evening, John,” I said to the doorman as he assisted me into the lobby.
Chuckling, he informed me, “It’s almost five a.m., Miss Mansfield.”
“Oh right.” I’d partied all night long with a supermodel and her hip, designer friends. Decidedly not uncool.
Quite pleased with myself, I let John get the elevator for me and press the button for my floor once I’d stepped inside.
“You’ll be okay getting to your apartment?” he asked.
“Still standing,” I said, though my words slurred ever so slightly. “And it’s Lacey, remember?” I’d only told him a hundred times.
With a polite smile, he said, “Good day, then, Miss Mansfield.”
He was a stickler for formality. I simply couldn’t sway him.
As the doors slid shut, I leaned against the wall for support, not necessarily because of the alcohol. Though my head buzzed from the booze, my legs were tired from so much dancing. My high school prom hadn’t been that insane.
When I reached my own door, I fished through my tiny bag for the keys. My jacket slipped from my fingers and I bent down to pick it up, only to have my knees buckle. I fell to the floor, laughing hysterically at my drunken stupor and muscle fatigue. The contents of my purse sprawled beside me and I slowly scooped up the lipstick, credit card, ID and cell phone, stuffing them back into the handbag while still giggling like a schoolgirl.
The commotion in
the hallway drew Mike’s attention. He stuck his head outside his door and let out a low chuckle at my likely disheveled appearance and inability to stand on my own two feet.
“Didn’t break anything, did you?” he asked as he strode over to me and knelt beside me.
I alternately rotated my ankles and wrists, then said, “Nothing damaged but my model citizenship and quiet-neighbor image.”
“You’re pissed,” he said with a heartier laugh.
“Yes, yes I am.” I smiled up at him, thinking he was even sexier with his hair mussed from sleep. He wore a pair of Levi’s only. Nothing more. “You were in your kitchen when you heard me fall over, weren’t you?”
“I think the entire floor heard you fall over. Come on,” he said as he slipped off my heels and helped me to my feet. He collected my clutch and jacket, as well as my keys, and guided me past my door to his. “Coffee or bed?”
“Can I decide when we get inside?” I was a bit distracted by his gorgeous body.
“Whatever you want.”
“Were you about to shower?” I asked as he closed the door behind us.
“After I finished my glass of milk.”
I giggled again. “Strong bones and muscles.” I couldn’t resist splaying a hand over his rigid abdomen. “You should be in the ‘Got Milk?’ ads. Sales would go through the roof.” My hand skimmed over his warm skin, up to his hard chest. I sighed dreamily. “You really are a super-hunk.”
“Exactly how drunk are you?” he asked as he stared curiously at me.
“Your cocktail selection was a huge hit. I think I single-handedly brought back the Gibson. Then I danced all night long with Biel and her friends in Velage’s VIP salon. How hip am I now?”
He grinned at me, making my stomach flip. “You’re smokin’ hot, is what you are,” he said as he took in my miniskirt and tight top. I probably had ‘80s rocker hair going at this point. He lifted a few unruly strands and held them to his nose. “And smoky smelling.”
