Champagne Cravings (5 page)

“Your people watched the suite while you were gone?”

“Every second.”

“Wow, you really are thorough.”

His chest puffed out a bit, though I was clearly trying his
patience. “This wasn’t our first product launch, Miss Mansfield. And this is a
cutthroat business—lots of competition and opportunities for corporate
espionage. We don’t take any chances around here.”

Yet someone had been able to switch Biel’s makeup.

I was smart enough not to point that out to Cal. I wouldn’t
win any popularity points that way.

Instead, I said, “Please, call me Lacey.” I stood and added,
“I’ve taken up quite a lot of your time this morning. May I stop back by this
afternoon, if I have more questions?”

“Sure.” He got to his feet as well, towering over me by a
good six or seven inches. He was formidable, no doubt, but I appreciated his
dedication. Not to mention how seriously he took this unfortunate situation.
Handing over a business card, he said, “My extension is on here. Just give me a
ring and I’ll make time for you.”

“Thank you. You’ve been a tremendous help.” I smiled, then
turned to go. I’d jotted down a number of notes and knew I’d find gaping holes
once I started speaking with the others. I’d need Cal to fill in more gaps as
my investigation progressed.

My next order of business was to settle into the temporary
office I’d been assigned. Then I met with a still-fuming Mav and reviewed his
press statement, which was vague enough to not give away anything about the
ensuing investigation, but stern enough to convey the message Elan intended to
get to the bottom of the sabotage. His PR people had drafted a crisis
management plan they’d already begun to implement. I met with the VP and he was
about as tight-lipped as an un-steamed clam. The VP of marketing didn’t have
much to say either, though both men assured me in their haughty tones no one in
their departments would betray the company or leak its secrets.

I had to take it all with a grain of salt and weather the
natural animosity that came my way. Part and parcel of the job, and I was
thick-skinned enough not to be rattled by executives on the defensive.

Needless to say, the majority of my meetings flew by with
everyone closed-mouthed and I was ready to meet with Biel way ahead of
schedule. It was a little past one, just after lunch, so I headed down to the
main studio Cal had told me was reserved for the campaign. I stepped out of the
elevator and encountered another security desk. Not only did I have to flash my
badge, the guard had to look me up in the computer system to ensure I was
cleared to be in the area. Once I’d passed muster, he led me to a set of double
glass doors and swiped his own badge in order to unlock them.

I entered a small lobby and introduced myself to the
receptionist, then told her, “I have a three o’clock meeting with Miss
McKinley, but thought I’d check to see if she could spare a few minutes now.”

I wondered how she was faring. Wondered if she’d even come
into the studio today. If so, I suspected she’d still been escorted through the
delivery entrance to avoid the media frenzy I’d had to wade through just to get
into the building.

The woman behind the reception desk couldn’t have been more
than twenty-two or three and had short, spiky blond hair tipped with purple.
Though she wore a business suit, it was a funky, trendy style I’d never seen
before. I spared a glance at my traditional red suit and black heels. Despite
having on Donna Karan, I felt ridiculously outdated and glaringly un-hip.

The receptionist closed her fashion magazine and looked up
at me. “I think everyone’s gone for lunch. They usually get back around two.
But you can check the studio, if you’d like.”

Her nonchalance perplexed me. “Do a lot of people come and
go down here?”

She shrugged. “Depends on what’s happening with the
campaign. It got pretty crazy late this morning, which is why I’m not sure
who’s still around.”

I’d have to get a list from Cal of all the people who’d had
access to the area before the product launch. And, of course, it’d be a good
idea to meet with the head of the lab where Biel’s cosmetics had been packaged.

Wandering through the plush studio, I came across a few
large rooms with high-tech equipment set up as though ready for a photo
session. Mav had said there was more to the campaign than the product launch,
including print and TV ads, all starring Biel. If he didn’t fire her. The jury
was still out on that—he hadn’t mentioned cutting her from the campaign; nor
had he worn a warm and fuzzy expression when her name had come up earlier.

The corridors in the studio were lined with framed pictures
of the famous models who’d pimped the Elan brand. Biel’s was absent, though I
surmised that was because Mav had wanted to limit the number of people in the
know after he’d signed her. The entire area was quiet and my footsteps were
absorbed by the thick carpet. All the dressing room doors were closed, save for
one that was cracked open near the end of the hall.

I headed toward it, only to pull up short when I heard a
sharp moan, followed by a very demanding, “Don’t stop. Oh God, don’t stop!”

The woman’s lusty voice echoed in the quiet hallway.

She let out another moan, then said, “That’s it. Right
there. Oh yes. Oh God, yes. Fuck my pussy.”

I made an abrupt turn and started to walk away, but pulled
up short when another female voice came from the dressing room.

“You like that, don’t you, Biel? Beg me to make you come,
baby,” she said. “Do it.”

“Please, Piper. Please make me come.”

Piper.
As in Piper Levine, makeup artist to the
stars?

I did another one-eighty and crept toward the partially
opened doors. They were accordion types made of slated wood that looked like
white, floor-to-ceiling plantation shutters. I wasn’t one to intrude on
another’s romantic interlude, unless it bore relevance to something I was
working on. The investigative reporter in me needed to confirm who was doing
Biel.

Peering through a slat, I discovered Biel perched on the
edge of a sturdy-looking coffee table, her robe wide open to reveal every inch
of her supermodel perfection. She had beautifully sculpted breasts tipped with
small, tight nipples that made me wonder if they’d been surgically enhanced to
look so alluring. Her flat stomach gave way to a bare mound. Her hands were
planted behind her to keep her steady and her long legs were spread wide.
Between them, Piper Levine knelt on one knee as she pumped a large crystal
dildo in and out of Biel’s pussy.

My mouth gaped. First of all, who would have thought a
gorgeous model who could have just about any man on the planet would be a
lesbian? Second…
whoa
. Biel McKinley was a lesbian. And so was her makeup
artist, Piper Levine.

So that’s how the generation after mine rolled. They were
all too hip with their trendy suits, spiky hair and girl-on-girl action. I
suddenly felt boring and over the hill at thirty.

I let out a long-suffering sigh, unable to catch myself.
Biel’s head snapped up from where she’d been watching Piper fuck her with the
sex toy. Piper took no notice of me and continued to go at Biel. But the
supermodel smiled as I stood between the gap in the doors.

“Oh God, that’s totally hot,” she said, her emerald eyes on
me.

I willed myself to retreat as the heat crept up my cheeks.
But I couldn’t get my feet to move from where they’d taken root. My nipples
tightened behind my bra and my pulse accelerated at the erotic vision before
me.

Biel’s teeth clamped down on her bottom lip. A heartbeat
later, her head fell back, her long dark-auburn hair spilling over her
shoulders and down her back, which arched and thrust her breasts toward the
ceiling. Her hips lifted off the table as Piper pushed deep, pulled out and
pushed again, faster and harder each time. Biel kept her eyes open and stared at
my reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the far wall. “Yes,” she
whispered. “Right there. That feels so good.
Oh!
”

She came with a visible shudder, her hypnotic gaze locked
with mine.

My heart seemed to beat in my throat. I couldn’t swallow it down
or dislodge it. Biel’s vibrant eyes stayed connected with mine as her body
trembled from her orgasm. I wanted to walk away, but didn’t. I opened my mouth
to say Lord only knew what, then promptly closed it when I realized there was
nothing I
could
say that would be professional and couth.

Piper withdrew the dildo from Biel and crossed to the double
vanity to wash it off. As she dried her hands, she glanced up and caught my
reflection in the mirror. Her head whipped around and I tried to say something
again, but nothing appropriate came to mind.

Biel finally stretched and then stood. Wrapping her
floral-print robe around her and pulling the sash tight at her waist, she said,
“Come in, Lacey.”

Miraculously, I found my voice. “I’m sorry to intrude. I was
ahead of schedule and thought I’d see if you were available.” Of course, that
neither explained nor excused my voyeurism.

Biel waved a manicured hand in the air. “No intrusion. We
should be more discreet. But everyone was gone for lunch, so…” She shrugged and
then turned to Piper. “You didn’t meet Lacey Mansfield last night. You’d
already left for your other gig.” Glancing back at me, she said, “This is Piper
Levine. My makeup artist.”

“I know,” I managed to choke out.

“Nice to meet you.” Piper was not as blasé about my
witnessing their sexual encounter as Biel. She collected all of her belongings,
including the sex toy, and slung the strap of her Louis Vuitton tote over one
shoulder, looking tense because I’d stumbled upon their secret affair. To Biel,
she said, “Meg called earlier. She and Lanie want us to meet them at ten
tomorrow night. For once, let’s try not to be late, hmm?”

Biel smirked. “It’s not like I do it on purpose, you know.”

Piper gave her a kiss on the cheek and stalked out of the
room, breezing right past me and leaving a chill in the air.

Unfortunately for me, I was still so shell-shocked I forget
to tell Piper I needed to meet with her as well.

Biel drew my attention. “Want champagne? We just opened some
Cristal.”

“Thanks, no.” It was only one o’clock, after all.

Biel refreshed her drink, then strolled over to the vanity
and popped open a bottle of prescription meds. She tossed back two pills and
washed them down with a sip of her bubbly. Curiosity over what she took nearly
killed me.

I asked, “Do you have a few minutes to answer some
questions?”

“Sure,” she said in her soft, singsong voice. “But just a
few. I’ve got to get across town to meet with my agent. Big doings this
afternoon.”

She reached for her iPhone, scrolled through calls or emails
or texts and then plopped down on a pristine, armless white sofa. Patting the
cushion next to her, she said, “Have a seat.”

I elected to sit across from her on a matching sofa, the
coffee table between us. That didn’t work for me, though. I couldn’t get the
image of Biel perched on the edge of it as Piper fucked her from my mind. I
moved to a chair.

Biel smiled again. “I’ve made you horribly uncomfortable.”

“Not at all,” I lied. “Um, can you give me a rundown of
events from the time you arrived here yesterday until the unveiling of the
makeup on the rooftop at the Montlimiere?”

She nodded. “Of course. But there’s a lot to tell and I’m
running behind. A terrible habit, if you didn’t notice from Piper’s snarky
comment.” She stood and went over to the closet to pull out a suit. Holding a
color-blocked one with a tiered hem in front of her, she asked, “What do you
think? Conservative enough for a business meeting with my agent?”

Another trendy ensemble that blew my mind, and one much too
cutting edge to ever be considered conservative. Regardless, I said, “It’s
great.”

“Phew. I’m so not into professional attire.” Her emerald
gaze slid over me. “But you’re clearly a business fashionista. I love your
suit. Donna Karan, right? My mom’s a huge fan.”

“Thanks. Uh, Biel,” I ventured, ignoring her last comment. I
already felt way too fucking old to be in her presence. “Aren’t you concerned
about the fallout of the botched product launch?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” she said as she untied the sash at her
waist and dropped trou right there in front of me. The woman didn’t have an
uninhibited bone in her body. I found myself jealous of her. Not so much that
she was drop-dead gorgeous—perfection personified, to be exact—but because she
was so confident about, and comfortable with, her body. With herself in
general.

As she rummaged around in a waist-high drawer for a thong, I
presumed, she continued. “I was totally beside myself last night. I mean, what
a fucking nightmare, right? And I was like, so unprofessional. I shrieked in
front of hundreds of people at the party and, inevitably, millions of viewers
on TV and the Internet. Seriously, how bad is that?”

She spared a quick glance over her shoulder, then returned
her attention to the lingerie chest and dug around a bit more until she found
what she was looking for. Black satin strings that I, in my now over-the-hill
mindset, couldn’t figure out how they constituted underwear.

I didn’t get a chance to respond to her question. She
quickly added, “So I bawled all night long as if I was a two year old, then
woke up this morning and thought, ‘You know, you just have to be honest about
your reaction and hope the world forgives you.’ I tweeted about the whole
thing, apologized, said I was embarrassed by my reaction, but that I was also
upset because of the way the whole incident hurt Elan. I posted the message to
my wall too, and everyone on Facebook was so supportive.”

She slipped into the strappy G-string and turned back to me.
I kept my eyes glued to her face, not the bare breasts that would make most
Playboy
centerfolds want to slit their wrists. “I’m totally blown away by how wonderful
everyone has been—and I picked up even more followers on Twitter than Charlie
Sheen did when he started up his account after being fired from
Two and a
Half Men
!”