UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT Chapter 3

The next morning I was up at dawn, standing in front of the mirror fussing with the suit Mr. Walker had given me.

It hung a size too big, sleeves limp, like something borrowed from wardrobe.

I sighed, feeling like a fraud, shoved myself into it anyway, my head full of Serena’s bewitching smile from yesterday and Mr. Carter’s disgusting stare.

Show business, turns out, isn’t a place a small-town kid like me can just drift into.

At the office, Mr. Walker called me into his smoke-choked room and tossed a stack of files onto the desk.

“Alex, you’re taking Serena to a drinks meeting today. Carter’s talking investment on the new series. Keep sharp—don’t tarnish our name.”

He squinted, warning threaded through his tone.

I nodded, but it felt like a stone lodged in my chest.

Carter’s face from yesterday still swam before my eyes. I had a hunch tonight wouldn’t be simple.

The dinner was at a high-end restaurant downtown, the private room a miniature palace—gold frames on the walls, chandeliers pouring out sultry warmth, the table crowded with lobster, oysters, caviar, and bottles of single malt and imported spirits.

The air was a syrupy mix of perfume, alcohol, and cigar smoke.

Mr. Carter and a few business buddies were already flushed and loud, their laughter crude and booming.

The moment he saw Serena, his eyes lit up like a wolf spotting prey. He slapped the empty chair beside him.

“Serena, sit here. We’re going to have ourselves a night.”

Serena wore a deep navy bodycon dress, the low neckline teasing the curve of her chest, the hem hugging her thighs so every step tugged at a man’s pulse.

She smiled, lifted her glass, her voice honey-sweet.

“Mr. Carter, with you this enthusiastic, I’ll have to keep up.”

As she sat, the dress hitched just enough to bare a strip of pale thigh. Carter’s gaze stuck there, his mouth curling with meaning.

I stood in the corner, Serena’s phone in my hand, on standby for any flare-ups, yet my eyes kept being drawn to her, my heart pounding like a drum.

Carter’s remarks grew cruder. Each toast was an excuse to lean too close, his rough fingers “accidentally” brushing her arm.

“Serena, with that face and that figure, a supporting role sells you short,” he oozed.

The table laughed along, the mood popping like a pot of oil at full boil.

I clenched my fists until my palms were slick, more than once ready to step in, but I had no idea how to start.

I was just an assistant—where was I supposed to find the spine to make a scene?

After a few rounds, Carter’s drunken swagger was in full bloom. His hand settled on Serena’s shoulder and slid toward her waist.

“This investment?” he slurred. “I’m only writing the check because of you. Clear some time and have dinner with me tomorrow. We should really talk details.”

His fingers were nearly at her waist, possessiveness oozing off him, the implication so naked it made my stomach turn.

Around the table, the knowing smiles said they’d seen this show a hundred times.

I couldn’t hold it anymore. I stepped forward, my voice a little shaky.

“Mr. Carter, Serena’s got an early call tomorrow, so maybe—”

Before I could finish, Serena shot me a look, knife-cold, a warning.

My heart sank, and I swallowed the rest.

She smiled even sweeter, gently easing his hand away, her tone playful.

“Since you believe in me, Mr. Carter, I’ll be sure to give you my very best.”

She tipped back her glass, the line of her throat under the lights indecently beautiful.

Carter roared with laughter, but his hand didn’t wander again.

I stared at the floor, heat smoldering in my chest. Is this what show business is? To swallow humiliation for a role and call it professionalism?

Sweet Poison