Chapter 14

Susan Thompson remembered how gentle Director Cyrus had been during their first meeting, patiently guiding her positioning and praising her natural talent.

She never imagined he'd spike her drink at tonight's wrap party.

Her teeth clamped down on her tongue to stay conscious. Nails dug crescent moons into her palms.

"Director, control yourself!"

"Playing hard to get?" His greasy fingers gripped her chin. "Everyone knows Andrew Lucas dumped you. Be nice, and I'll give you the female lead in my next project."

Susan drove her knee upward.

The director anticipated the move, slamming her against the wall. Silk fabric ripped. Cold plaster pressed into her bare back.

"Let go!"

"I hear your mother's hospital bills are piling up." His whiskey breath scalded her ear. "Make me happy, and I'll cover everything."

A knife twisted in her stomach. Darkness edged her vision.

Her fingers brushed the doorknob before he yanked her hair, sending her sprawling. Hundred-dollar bills rained onto her face.

"Now you develop morals?"

The door exploded inward.

Andrew Lucas stood silhouetted in the doorway, his black trench coat swirling with winter air.

Director Cyrus fumbled with his belt buckle, stuffing cash down Susan's dress. "Great performance, sweetheart. Same time tomorrow."

Andrew's fist sent the director crashing into a champagne tower.

"Mr. Lucas!" The director scrambled backward, clutching his nose. "She wanted this! I have the transfer rec—"

A steel-toed boot cut him off mid-sentence. The director fled, but not before shooting Susan a conspiratorial wink.

Andrew ground a bill beneath his shoe, eyes glacial. "Two thousand per night? Your rates have improved."

Susan curled around the fire in her abdomen, sweat plastering hair to her face. The pain stole her voice.

"Desperate enough to whore yourself?" His tie slithered loose as he gripped her throat. "Let me inspect the merchandise."