UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT Chapter 33

I walked in with my nerves taut, my head full of Serena’s humiliation at Mr. Carter’s party, but the moment we stepped onto the set, Maya and I both froze.

No sleazy producers, no leering directors—every single person on the floor was a woman.

Leading them was a middle-aged female director named Ms. Parker. She had a warm face, loose shirt and jeans, and the easy friendliness of the neighbor everyone trusts. She nodded to us, her tone bright:

“Liam, Maya, welcome! We’re shooting the summer lingerie line today—fresh, youthful vibe. Maya, relax and just do your thing.”

Maya let out a breath and gave me a relieved smile.

My own guard lowered a notch. Looked like this shoot would be safer than I’d feared.

Once we started, I stood off to the side, handling schedules and coordination.

In front of the camera, Maya changed into the first set—a pale pink lace number with straps fine as silk, tracing the outline of her alluring, youthful figure. The fabric was light, hinting at her fair skin; under the lights, the curve of her chest was a suggestion more than a reveal. The energy was youthful, the shyness charming, like a flower about to open.

She was a touch stiff at first, but Ms. Parker coached her patiently, and the mood felt more like a college-look photo spread than anything risqué.

Other models filed in—about a dozen vibrant, beautiful women in a range of lingerie, striking pose after pose. One lifted her hair to expose a long, elegant neck; another leaned sideways against a prop, showing the line of her waist. Lace as fine as gossamer glimmered under the lights; deep V necklines, sheer hems, and teasing silhouettes formed a living gallery that dazzled the eye.

Standing there as a guy, I actually felt my face warm and my heart pick up. I ducked my head and pretended to check my phone, trying hard to look professional.

Maya changed into the second set, a white style with a pearly sheen and a micro-skirt that barely reached the upper thighs. Lace trim hugged her skin, lending her the look of an angel who’d taken a wrong turn and ended up on earth. She turned, and the openwork back flashed smooth skin; her waist looked slender enough to span with one hand.

My eyes flicked over her before I could stop them. My pulse jumped; I wrenched my gaze away, my throat dry as sand.

The set buzzed—bright laughter from the women, the photographer’s cues, the snap of the shutter—yet in my head I kept seeing Serena’s tearful eyes last night and hearing her, “I don’t mind sharing.” A restless heat stirred in my chest.

When a break came, Ms. Parker walked over, patted my shoulder, and smiled gently.

“Liam, thanks for the hard work. Come to the lounge for some tea and we’ll go over the collaboration details. Maya’s got the team with her—she’s fine.”

I glanced at Maya. She was talking to the makeup artist about the next look, excitement bright on her face.

I asked, “Maya, I’m heading to the lounge for a bit. You good here?”

She waved me off with a sunny grin. “Go get a break, Liam! I’ve got this!”

Her tank top was damp with sweat, clinging to her skin and sketching out youthful lines that were hard to ignore.

I nodded and followed Ms. Parker upstairs to the lounge.

The lounge sat on the studio’s second floor, cozy and inviting. Pink throw pillows dotted the sofa; fruit and pastries sat on the table. Ms. Parker poured two cups of black tea and handed one to me, her tone casual:

“Liam, I hear you manage Serena. After you helped her blow up, people in the industry say you’ve got an eye. Maya’s doing well today too—you have razor-sharp instincts.”

Soft Focus