UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT Chapter 41

That night, I asked Lisa to meet me at a bar—I wanted to pry some information out of her.

She’d slipped into a tight black camisole dress, the hem barely skimming the tops of her thighs, a deep V that made it hard to look away. Leaning against the bar, red lips touching the rim of her glass, she smiled, lush and teasing.

“Hey, pretty boy. I hear you’re neck-deep in scandal. Come on, have a drink with me—let’s talk about how you get out of this.”

I gave a wry smile and took the glass. “Lisa, you’re plugged in. Help me figure this out—who’s pulling the strings?”

She laughed softly, her fingers gliding over the back of my hand, warm as a jolt of current.

“Liam, this industry’s a deep pool. Serena’s hot right now, and she’s blocking plenty of lanes. That gossip blog? I hear it’s got ties to Starlight Media. Their rookie’s been riding a wave, and they want to use this to step on Serena.”

My stomach dropped. Christine’s warning flashed through my head. “Starlight Media? They have that kind of reach?”

Lisa leaned closer, perfume washing over me, the soft press of her chest almost grazing my arm. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Not by themselves—but they’ve got backing. Liam, be careful. Don’t let Serena and Maya become collateral damage.”

Her words hit like a wake-up call, ringing in my chest.

I nodded, my mind already spinning through contingencies. The night air sobered me a little as I left the bar. I knew this PR storm was just the beginning; the real fight hadn’t even started.

Public opinion was a blade you couldn’t see, cutting me raw.

We pushed out the statement, the blogs pulled their posts, but the rumors online were weeds—cut them down and they grew right back.

Serena’s fans were at war with haters on Twitter. Maya’s mood dipped, and she started slipping in auditions. I was spinning like a top, haunted by Christine’s warning and Lisa’s hint, trying to smoke out the hand behind the scandal.

Around noon, I was glued to my screen, digging into a blog’s IP logs, when my phone buzzed. An unknown text popped up:

“How’s life lately—nice and busy?”

Flippant, nakedly taunting, like it was laughing at my mess.

I clenched the phone, anger roaring in my ears. I’d ignored the last few unknown texts, but this time I couldn’t hold back. I shot back:

“Who are you? Those earlier messages—were they from you too?”

Less than a minute later, the phone buzzed again:

“You’re sharp. I like talking to sharp people. Three days from now, 9 p.m., Regency Grand Hotel, Orchid Ballroom. I’ll be waiting. Come alone.”

My heart kicked harder as possibilities flashed—Zach Carter’s revenge? Ms. Ward’s scheme? A probe from Starlight Media?

Whoever it was, they sounded cocky—like they had the board mapped out. I took a breath and decided to bring it to Christine.

That afternoon, I went to Christine’s office.

She wore a tight black camisole dress, the hem stopping mid-thigh, curves poured to perfection, a deep V that made my pulse spike. Leaning on her desk with a glass of red wine, lips parted and lacquered a vivid crimson, she smiled, full of subtext.

“Liam, what trouble have you stirred up now?”

I handed her my phone, the message glowing on the screen.

She glanced down; a sharp light flickered in her eyes. She set the glass aside and stepped up beside me.

Her perfume was sweet enough to dry my throat, the soft warmth of her chest nearly brushing my arm, heat seeping through my shirt and into my skin, making my heart skip.

She murmured, “Interesting. Someone wants to play cat and mouse with you.”

Smoke and Mirrors