Carrie Alexander - Taste Me

“Not you. I meant the article. Is he serious about the article?”

“He’d better be.” Nikki cocked a leg and crossed her arms. Her boot tapped the marble floor. “I’ll shave his eyebrows while he’s sleeping if he’s setting me up.”

Mia wasn’t reassured. “Setting you up? Is that something he does frequently?”

“Not really, but he doesn’t take me very seriously.”

Mia thought of the women who reportedly dropped in and out of his love life like ducks at a shooting gallery. “What does he take seriously?”

Nikki picked a shred of gold leaf off her lip. “Lots of stuff,” she admitted. “If you want to know the truth, he’s kind of a bore, working all the time and giving orders. He thinks he’s the boss of me, but he’s not.” She reconsidered. “Except I guess he would be if I get on to the Hard Candy staff.”

“Then you’re not already?” Definitely a setup, Mia decided as she peeled off another sheet of leafing, carefully laid it on the last bit of ungilded arch and pounced the brush to fill the crevices of the carving. She just couldn’t figure out what game Julian was up to.

Nikki’s voice rose to the twenty-four-foot domed ceiling. “I might as well confess. This is my first story.”

Mia peered through the scaffolding. “We all have to start somewhere.”

“Yes, but now that I’ve met you…” Nikki grew silent as she looked around the ballroom. Even littered with painting tarps, ladders and assorted supplies, it was an amazing room. Tall dove-gray walls were adorned with gilded French-style molding. The stone floor was flecked in gray, black and pink. Sconces and elaborate wall candelabra dripped crystals that matched the immense chandelier, presently shrouded in a protective linen covering.

“What’s the problem?” Mia prodded.

“I’m confused. I thought you were involved in fashion, somehow. Julian tried to steer me toward working for a Silk fashion mag…” Nikki shook her head, gesturing at the room. “But you’re a—a—”

“Decorative painter. I do a little of everything—trompe l’oeil, gilding, faux effects, murals.”

“That’s great, but I can’t imagine what kind of a fashion layout he’s thinking of.” Nikki looked up at Mia, her eyes growing wide. One side of her mouth lifted. “Or maybe I can imagine. That dog.”

“Really.” Mia set aside her brush and the packet of leafing and started to climb down. “You mentioned Hard Candy, so I thought you knew about me.”

Nikki stepped away from the rattling scaffolding. “Julian didn’t say much at all. He might even have been secretive, now that I think about it.”

Mia swung her body down the last few rungs and dropped to the floor. “Why is that?” she asked.

At the same moment Nikki said, “What does Hard Candy have to do with decorative painting?” She frowned. “Or fashion.”

Mia studied Julian’s sister, who was six or seven inches taller and at least fifteen pounds lighter than herself, reed thin in the way of young girls and anorexic ballerinas. She liked Nikki anyway. The girl had marched in here for an interview despite her lack of experience. There was moxie in those willowy genes. Maybe resilience.

“There’s been a mix-up of some sort,” Mia said, taking a flier that she could trust Nikki not to run back to her brother and tell all. “We need to share our information.”

Nikki nodded. “And get the better of Julian.”

“Is he putting one over on me?”

“One of us. Maybe.”

“Then let’s put our minds together. You start.”

“I think…” Nikki looked Mia up and down, taking in the corkscrew curls and splattered canvas apron. “Even though you’re not his usual, and he was playing it ultracool with me, he fancies you.”

The odd stirring in the pit of her stomach disturbed Mia. Arousal she could identify and take care of. This was more than arousal. “Oh,” she said, scoffing at her own reaction, “fancy is way too polite a word for what he feels for me.”

“Yes.” Nikki laughed. “He wants to frank you.”

“Frank me?”

“That’s what my girlfriends call it when we’re being silly. You know, serve you the foot-long, the pork sausage, the—”

“I get it.” Foot-long? If the rumors about Julian Silk’s equipment and prowess were true…

Mia corralled her thoughts before they made her dizzy. As attractive and exciting as Julian was, she didn’t need the distraction right now. And she really didn’t need to be another of his throwaway “dates.”

But he could be hers. Fun all the way around.

Mia blinked. Forget about playtime. Consider your career. “So you think he sent you here to gather information on me for his own use, not an article?”

“That’s possible,” Nikki said. “And it wouldn’t be the first do-nothing task he’s set for me—all with good intentions, according to him. When I interned at the family company one summer, Julian actually assigned another intern to shadow me and keep me out of trouble.” The girl smirked. “Didn’t work, of course.”

“I’ll bet.” Mia almost pitied Julian the responsibility of looking after Nikki. Not that he deserved any lenience, since it appeared he gave as good as he got.

“I suppose you’re right—he’s playing us both.” She flapped gold flecks off her apron. “Damn. My career could have used the boost of publicity.”

Nikki swung from side to side as she gestured at the glorious ballroom. To have such a space in Manhattan was the epitome of luxury. “You seem to be doing fine without the publicity.”

“Ah, but that’s where my explanation comes in.” Mia lifted the apron off and laid it over a rung of the scaffolding. “I’m not only a decorative painter, though that’s been my bread and butter. My true calling is body painting.”

“Body painting?” Nikki’s penciled brows made twin Arcs de Triomphe. “Is that a career?”

“Not for many. But I’m getting there. I’ve painted for parties, for galleries, and the past year I’ve gotten several advertising jobs that have drawn attention in the media and in the trade.”

“Like what? Oh, wait a mo.” Nikki dug through a denim shoulder pack until she withdrew a micro-recorder. She fiddled around, rewinding the tape and testing one-two-three before she was satisfied. She held it out and clicked a button. “What advertising work have you done?”

Mia opened her mouth, but Nikki made a quick dive at the recorder. “I’m talking to Mia Kerrigan, body painter.” She held it out again. “Go.”

“There were a few small print ads, but my most well-known work so far was for the Living Color cosmetics campaign.”

“I know that one!” Nikki squealed. “Finally my clandestine subscription to Elle pays off. You’re talking about the ads where the models were painted in makeup colors…?”

“Yes, to reflect the product names. For the River of Color line, I painted several models like a rushing river and we photographed them lying head to toe among rocks and rushes.”

“The peach!” Nikki spoke into the recorder. “Tell about the peach.”

Mia grinned. “The peach caused a minor sensation. That was for their Peachy Keen blush and lipstick. A few magazines banned the ads and the company was delighted. The brouhaha over censorship gained them tons of free publicity.”

“All because the peach was really an ass, right?”

“Well, yes.” She’d painted Angelika’s derriere so skillfully it had looked absolutely authentic when photographed close up with extraneous body parts cropped out. The resulting ad had been beautiful and luscious, but fairly unremarkable. The kicker had been when the reader turned the page to a similar photo of Angelika’s outthrust bottom with a male model poised to take a bite, one hand squeezing the sensuous curves of the “peach.”