UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT Chapter 19

I knew she’d probably heard about me and Chloe, but I didn’t have the guts to explain.

That night at Chloe’s apartment, I’d already crossed the line.

During a break on set, Susan sat in a corner, rubbing her temples, looking like she could collapse at any moment.

I walked over, handed her a bottle of water, and murmured, “Susan, you okay?”

She took it, shot me a look, and said coolly, “Liam, don’t worry about me. Just keep yourself in line.”

Her distance cut like a knife, sharp right through my chest.

I wanted to tell her I was digging for leverage on Mr. Doyle, but the words died in my throat. I was afraid that if she knew, it would only put her in more danger.

At ten that night, I headed to Nightfall Lounge.

It was more low-key than Cloud Nine, but the decadence ran deeper.

Under dim lights, bodies pressed together on the dance floor. Alcohol and perfume mingled in the air, cloying enough to make my head swim.

I wore a black shirt to look a little more grown-up and took a spot at the bar, my heart thundering.

Ten minutes later, a woman walked toward me. My breath hitched.

She was in her mid-thirties, poured into a tight black dress that traced every curve. The plunging V at her chest was daring, and the slit rode high on her thigh—each step flashing smooth skin like she’d stepped out of an erotic film.

Her red lips parted, lacquered in a bold shade; her eyes were pure invitation, like they could read my soul. Soft waves of hair brushed her shoulders, swaying as she moved, radiating a dangerous kind of allure.

“Liam?”

The voice matched the one I’d heard the night before—sultry enough to dry out my throat.

I nodded, tried to play it cool. “And you are…?”

She smiled and offered her hand, nails painted a deep wine red. Her fingertip grazed the back of my hand, a warm, electric spark. “Call me Lisa. Mr. Doyle’s assistant. But I’m not here to talk business tonight.”

She leaned in closer, her perfume—jasmine laced with musk—sweet enough to dizzy me. Her chest almost brushed my arm, the softness making my pulse stumble.

I swallowed and tried to focus. “Lisa, I want dirt on Doyle. Can you help me?”

She chuckled, picked up a cocktail, and pressed those red lips to the rim, taking an unhurried sip. The curve of her throat was lethal. “Easy, handsome. What’s the rush? Things like this take time. Come on—have a drink with me.”

She passed me a glass, eyes teasing, testing my limits.

Our fingers touched again, heat sparking up my arm.

I tossed it back, alcohol blazing a path down my chest.

Lisa leaned in, her body sliding against mine, her curves pinning my arm as she whispered, “I know plenty about Mr. Doyle. But you’ve got to make me feel it’s worth my while.”

Her hand drifted onto my thigh, tracing lightly, her nail skimming the denim, stoking the blood in my veins.

I held my breath, my mind full of her red mouth and that plunging neckline.

“What do you want in return?”

My voice came out rough, desire and reason tearing at each other inside me.

She pressed her lips near my ear, breath hot against my skin, voice like poison and honey at once. “Tonight, make sure I have a good time. Make me happy, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

Her lips brushed my ear, the damp heat almost undoing me. I clenched my jaw and forced the urge down.

“Fine. I’m with you. But you keep your word about Doyle.”

She laughed, a silvery, wicked sound. “I never break my word. Now, how about a dance?”

Backstage Leverage