Allison Janda - Marian Moyer 01 - Sex, Murder & Killer Cupcakes Page 6

  With my bank account once again dropping below the level of comfort following my massive purchase, and no paid work from the police department in sight, I found myself home alone with a microwave lunch meal that Friday. I was due to the warehouse later that afternoon for our much belated but highly anticipated Yummy Tummy photo shoot. The fact that it would be with our gorgeous new model, Mika, nearly had me in conniption fits. I’d run through my outfit for the 100th time that morning, resisting the urge to spend my last dollars on an outrageous new dress and celebratory lunch to cheers our amazing find.

  Still cloaked in my robe and slippers from the morning, I was leaning against the kitchen counter, slurping up a spaghetti noodle when there was a loud knock on my door. Setting the black tray down, I cinched my robe, fluffed my bed head and walked slowly over to the peephole just in time to witness another sharp rapping from the other side. “Marian!” Addison shouted from the other side. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

  I swung it wide open. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I should ask you the same question,” she replied. “Rory said you haven’t been to the office at all since Tuesday.”

  I shrugged. “Oh just, super busy.” She lifted an eyebrow and scanned over my attire. I clutched the front of my robe as my cheeks began to pink in embarrassment. “Well I have been. Busy. Not really today so much but this week. But this afternoon, I’m going in for the Yummy Tummy photo shoot. With Mika. And-”

  “I know what’s going on, Marian,” she told me, holding up a hand to cut me off.

  I felt my eyes widen. “Know- know what?” I asked, clearing my throat and trying to act nonchalant.

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. The last time your texts were punctuated was 2004.” Rats, she had me there. “You’re really terrible at pretending everything is okay,” she continued. “Even Rory knew something was up. Smiley faces in your texts to him? Are you 14?”

  “Look, I’m not allowed to say-”

  “It’s poison,” she said, cutting me off.

  I was stunned into silence. Blinking in rapid confusion for a few moments, I processed her words. “Alec?” I asked. “How did you-?”

  “I could really tell that something was off when you didn’t want to get Mexican food on Wednesday night. You never turn down Pedro’s.” I shrugged. She had me there. “I asked Rory to call and let me know if you weren’t in by noon yesterday. You’re never not in the office, you know? I’m not stupid. When he let me know you’d been a no-show since he walked you to your car, he confessed that you’d been pretty upset at that time.”

  “I was not upset,” I told her, crossing my arms.

  “Rory and I compared notes yesterday over lunch.” She went on, ignoring me. “The overly optimistic texts. The fact that you wouldn’t call either of us back. You were obviously hiding something.” A pause as she eyed me with a look that said you should know better by now. “Then Rory mentioned that Barry had been really cagey on the phone. That maybe Barry just wasn’t telling Rory what he’d originally called to tell you.”

  I was staring hard at my slippers, willing my face to stop burning. The last thing I wanted was for Barry to get fired due to the fact that I was terrible at keeping my emotions in check.

  “Barry won’t get fired,” she assured me, reading my mind. “I’m keeping it quiet until I have all of my facts straight.”

  “You probably know more than me at this point,” I said.

  “We’ll see,” she answered. From there, she told me that she’d called in a long overdue favor with an old friend who was now a major player for the Chicago PD. Through him, she’d managed to gather parts and pieces that Barry apparently wasn’t privy to just yet. As it turned out, our dear friend Alec had made himself useful by sampling some of the delectable treats from Yummy Tummy, the bakery that had provided cupcakes for our exclusive spread. Unfortunately for him, the cupcakes had been poisoned.

  “I didn’t even know the models ate,” I said in disbelief.

  “Marian, focus,” Addison said, snapping her fingers. “The bottom line is that our office is suspect.”

  I shook my head. “We shouldn’t be!”

  “I know!” she said, taking hold of my shoulders. “The question is, how do we prove anything different? Obviously, we’re a tight knit group. They won’t trust us individually and they won’t trust us as a unit. If they’re set on us, they could just build a case around it. We’d be finished.”

  This potential nightmare sank into both of us slowly and we just stared at each other until one of us was able to speak.

  “They’re looking at the wrong people!” I cried, frantic. “I know we didn’t do this! Why haven’t they looked into the bakery? Everything could have transpired there. If all the cupcakes were poisoned, maybe we were all supposed to die!”

  “I’d thought of that,” she said, looking out of my living room window. “That’s why I made sure that getting word on any other potential leads was part of the favor.”

  I could tell that she had more but wasn’t sure why she wouldn’t spill the beans. It wasn’t like Addison to make me pry for secrets, she usually spilled them out, excited that she knew things as a reporter that I didn’t, even being so close to some individuals on the police force. “Well?” I asked her, crossing my arms. “Please, tell me that they are looking into other people.”

  She turned her eyes back to mine. “They’re looking into other people,” she responded slowly.

  I felt the breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding release. “Anyone we know?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she answered, in a way that suggested I would shortly wish I’d never asked. “James Holden, owner of Yummy Tummy Bakery.”

  Silence swept the room. Suddenly, blood was pounding in my ears. I felt myself swaying ever so slightly before I reached out to grab the countertop with both hands. Leaning forward, I closed my eyes and tried to picture happy things. But picturing a beautiful hammock on a deserted Caribbean island was no match for the ugly words that had just flipped everything on its head. Something dawned on me and I jerked towards Addison. “Oh, my God!” I shouted at her, covering my mouth with my hand. “We have a date tonight. I’m going on a date with a murderer!”

  “That’s not entirely true,” she assured me.

  “Who else could it be?” I almost burst into tears. I normally prided myself on being calm and collected but this was all getting to be too much.

  She seemed to consider my question for a moment before saying, “I suppose our options aren’t looking very good at the moment.”

  “Oh my God,” I said again. “I have to cancel. I have to cancel my date right now!”

  “Are you nuts?” she asked, squeezing my arm, staring at me aghast.

  “Are YOU nuts?” I spat back, practically shoving away the contact. “I’m not going on a date with the guy who is trying to off us! He’ll probably poison my sushi.”

  “Marian, you have to go,” she told me, with complete sincerity. “We can’t miss this opportunity.”

  “Opportunity?” I cried. “What are you talking about, opportunity? The only opportunity will be his opportunity to kill me!”

  “You’ll die knowing that Rory and I are safe,” she responded. When I glowered back she threw her hands up in the air. “Oh for goodness sakes, I was kidding!” I perked up. “You’ll be wired, we’ll keep you safe.” And just like that, I deflated again. “I’m going to have to call in another favor,” she said, thinking out loud.

  “I hate to think of how you earn these favors,” I muttered, radiating hatred for the whole plan with every inch of my being.

  She tossed her hair and unbuttoned the top button of her already burgeoning pink silky blouse. “However I need to,” she told me breathlessly, blinking prettily.

  Scowling, I once again clutched my robe. “I hate you.” With that, I stalked off down the hall, towards the bathroom.

  “I’ll call you with details.” She paused. �
��Be sure to pick up your phone!”

  “I’m in a shoot starting in an hour,” I huffed over my shoulder. “You’ll have to leave a message.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s right,” she cooed. “I darn near forgot about that. In fact, I seem to recall asking Betsy to plan it that way so that I could partake in the viewing party.”

  Even though she couldn’t see me from inside the bathroom where I was currently stripping down, I shook my head. “No way,” I called, tossing my pajama top into the hallway. “You have phone calls to make. A plan to put together. My life to save. And you only have-” I checked the clock on the bathroom wall, “about five hours to do it. All of it.”

  When I was met with silence, I triumphantly poked my head around the corner of the door and grinned. “I’m risking my life tonight,” I told her, “the least you could do is make sure you’re not distracted while putting that plan together.”

  Her face told me that she’d much rather be distracted but, instead of commenting, she nodded and let herself out of the front door, locking me in when she went.

  Satisfied, I reached around the shower curtain and adjusted the water faucets. Closing the bathroom door, I allowed the room to become completely enveloped in steam — mirrors and all — before I stepped into the warm, soothing water, trying to let all of my insecurities about the rest of the day wash down the drain.

  I’d stayed in the shower a little longer than I should have and, as a result; I was running late to the photo shoot. Not at all the impression I wanted to make on our gorgeous new model. Cursing as my car got stuck behind yet another vehicle driving disturbingly under the speed limit, I checked the dashboard clock, which still hadn’t started running backwards. That was unfortunate. Craning my neck, I tried to catch a glimpse over the top of the car in front of me. Then, checking both mirrors, I dodged quickly into the right lane and sped around my incredibly slow adversary, resisting the urge to glare at said person menacingly. We Midwesterners can be quite passive aggressive.

  Crawling through a red light on my right hand turn, I zipped the last few blocks to the studio and squealed into the lot, gravel crunching loudly beneath my tires. Leaping from the car, I flew around to the back, pulled out three different camera bags, slammed the trunk and raced inside, my damp hair flapping wildly behind me.

  Inside, the lights were on. I took a moment to compose myself behind the black curtain that still blocked the entrance from our call earlier that week. Taking a deep breath, I reached up to pinch my cheeks, hitched up the cameras and walked into the studio, my head high. The place was empty. Disappointed, I put down my gear and began to shed my coat, knitted cap and gloves. “This guy better not stand us up, too,” I muttered as I made my way to the coat rack, combing fingers through my hat hair. Curiously, there was a man’s light brown leather jacket already neatly dressing a hanger.

  A noise from behind startled me and I dropped the hanger I’d been holding, before whipping around to face the stairs. “Apologies,” Mika called, descending them in one of our signature royal purple Food Porn robes. “I was a little early but Rory was kind enough to let me into the dressing room for hair and makeup. Betsy helped.” He smiled, making me slack jawed and weak in the knees. “I think I’m ready to go, if you are?”

  He was even more gorgeous than I remembered. Blinking rapidly, I realized that my jaw was still slightly open, drool pooling in my mouth. Clamping it shut, I bent to pick up the hanger I dropped, strung up my coat and turned back to face him, a bright smile now lighting up my face. “Absolutely,” I responded. “Do you know the background behind this shoot?” He shook his head no, so I went on to explain. “This is a client that paid to have an exclusive feature. In other words, their pastries are the only ones that will be appearing in our publication for next month. They tacked on a little extra for our very best model.” I held up one of the cameras I’d pulled from a bag. “That little extra bought me a brand new Canon.”

  “I’m your very best model?” Mika asked, now standing only a few inches away.

  Swallowing, I smiled and replied as calmly as possible, “I guess we’ll find out.” Ha! I wasn’t going to be baited.

  Rory walked in just then. “Need help getting set up?” he called, hands in his pockets as he casually strolled towards us.

  “That would be awesome!” I told him. “Help me get a few backgrounds in order, will you?”

  Together, we flipped through our collection and, selecting several, we pushed and pulled them into order so that they could be easily flipped through. Next, I went over and pulled out several small mats and rugs, which I dropped with a loud grunt near my camera bags. Choosing a soft gray square of carpet, I unrolled it on the floor where Mika would stand in front of our first screen, a soft lavender with wisps of gray. Satisfied, I flipped off the overhead lights and turned on my large flash heads, which were softened at the moment by an opaque umbrella. “Perfect,” I said quietly to myself as I surveyed our work.

  “All done here?” Rory asked, brushing his hands against his jeans. I nodded. “Let me know before you walk out,” he said, turning to walk back to his cubicle. “I’ll take you to your car.”

  “Ready to go?” Mika asked from behind me. Still lost in the space I was creating, I simply nodded my head. A few seconds later, he shyly shuffled past me and stood on the carpet square, still swathed in his purple robe, which played beautifully off of his skin tone. Catching myself staring at the small V that revealed just a touch of skin on his upper chest, I averted my eyes to the card table, discreetly set up in a back corner of the room. It was dressed in beautiful pastries — cupcakes, petit fours, fruit tarts, chocolate cakes.

  My stomach made a low gurgling noise. “Later,” I promised it quietly. Then, picking up a delicate tart dressed in berries and a sparkling glaze, I made my way over to Mika. “Robe,” I told him pointedly, staring him dead in the eye. His smile was unassuming and yet, I still found myself nearly fainting. I maintained eye contact while he stripped down to his boxers and tossed his robe off to the side of the studio. I could feel the heat radiating off of his body, his eyes studying me curiously as we both debated our next move.

  Reaching out, I handed him the tart, lowered my gaze to the floor and stepped out of the light. This was ridiculous. I was a professional. I’d worked with hundreds of models over the years — some were even famous in addition to sexy. Surely I could handle just another sexy, shirtless man gallivanting around my studio in nothing but his boxer briefs. “Focus,” I muttered under my breath. Slowly picking up my new camera, I made sure it was ready before I flipped the lens towards my subject. “Show me what you’ve got, Mister,” I challenged.

  Within seconds, I had at least 20 amazing shots. For as timid as he seemed during our past interactions, Mika was pure electricity behind a camera. By that I mean, is it hot in here or is that just my model?

  The afternoon flew by. Setting the final pastry back on the table, Mika reached for his bathrobe as I flipped through my most recent shots on the camera display. Okay, as I pretended to flip through the most recent shots on my display. It was a shame he cinched the robe so tightly — I could have done with one last view of his chest before he went upstairs to get dressed. This shoot had been the closest I’d come to getting laid in…in…um. Horrified, I tried to think of the last time I’d had sex. Was it three years? I shuddered at the thought.

  Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t even noticed that Mika had picked up a cupcake nearly drowning in its frosting and was walking towards me. “Do you think we can eat these?” he asked with an apprehensive grin, the magnetism he’d hosted behind the lens replaced with boy-next-door charm.

  I blinked. Surely I had misheard. He couldn’t possibly be the type to eat processed sugar. I let my eyes slide from his jaw line to the svelte muscular physique that rippled beneath his robe, to his taunt, dark legs.

  “I have a weakness for sweets,” he continued, shrugging, snapping me back to the present. A curl fell softly again
st his forehead, which he gently blew back into place before breaking into a huge grin that nearly caused me to drop the camera. I could only nod my approval. The only ones that ever ate from the displays were Rory, Addison and myself. Okay, mainly me. I distractedly set a hand on my growling stomach, which protruded slightly from the confines of my trendy slacks, and looked forlornly at the elegant treats, then back to Mika as I briefly wondered how often he worked out to keep that body and still indulge in his weakness. I worked out purely for the benefit of being able to eat what I wanted, not to be toned.

  Not even bothering to remove the wrapper, Mika raised the cupcake to his lips and went to lick at the frosting. I watched him, mesmerized by the complete and utter sensual ridiculousness of the entire situation. He caught me staring before I had the chance to look away and paused, his mouth poised to take a bite. Lowering the cupcake slowly from his lips, his eyes flashed with something that felt wild and sensual. “Would you like some?” he asked me. Without waiting for an answer, he dipped his finger into the creamy chocolate frosting and held his finger out to me.

  Feeling very awkward and oddly aroused, I placed my camera on the display table and reached out to scrape his offering onto my own finger but he pulled away, shaking his head, just as I reached for his hand.

  “Open your mouth,” he whispered.

  Was he serious? This was quite possibly every romance novel I’d ever read (okay, I don’t read the whole book, just certain chapters, but this was how they all started, right?) come to life. It couldn’t be real. Ouch! I thought, pinching my nails deep into my upper arm. It was slightly flabby. I really didn’t need the added calories. Then again, what was a little lick? Five sit-ups? Six? Darting a furtive glance towards the upper office as well as the entrance to cube land, I swallowed and turned back to Mika. Surely I’d be breaking company policy if I licked frosting from the finger of a professional model. Then again, if such rules existed, I probably invented them back when Addison was being loved often and I was spending Fridays with a pint of mint chocolate chip watching You’ve Got Mail for the umpteenth time whilst crying to a very bored Fred. Ah, hell. I only live once. And apparently I hadn’t lived at all in the last three years.