“Shit, Dax, is that you?” One of the trainers pauses on the edge of the ring. He laughs, recognizing me. “Where the hell have you been, boy?”

  “Around,” I smile. Old Alec was pushing seventy when I was here last; now his white hair is thinning, and the lines on his face are carved deep.

  Al chuckles. “You going to take a bout? You could show these kids a thing or two. I’m telling you, they’ve got no discipline, not like in your day.”

  “What are you talking about?” I laugh. “That’s the same line you were spinning me.”

  “Ach, get on with you. Good to see you, lad.”

  I nod, and let him get back to work, drilling some young turk with footwork there in the ring. I head for the back stairs, but one of Nikolai’s goons moves to block my path.

  “Private property.”

  It’s the guy from this morning, acting like he’s never seen me before.

  “Tell Nikolai I’m here.” The goon looks me up and down, then slowly lumbers up the stairs.

  I follow without waiting— I’ve had enough bullshit for the week. I push past the guy into the office.

  “Hey--”

  “It’s OK, Dmitri.” Nikolai slowly rises from behind his desk. “You can leave us.”

  Dmitri scowls, then exits the room.

  I look around. “Same old,” I note, not surprised to find it just the same as when I was here last.

  “Not quite.” Nikolai nods to the high-tech computer system in the corner. “I found a guy in Queens, runs numbers and algorithms through that thing like you wouldn’t believe. We haven’t lost a spread in months.”

  I whistle. “Could’ve used that back in the day.”

  “I’ll introduce you. He’s a fascinating guy, ran a trading desk at JP Morgan for a while.” Nikolai looks me up and down. “But I guess you run into all kinds of fascinating people at your club.”

  I tense, guarded. “It’s a hot spot. You know how it goes.”

  “Yes, I do.” Nikolai’s mouth spreads into a grin. “You always had a talent for the details, I’ll give you that. Anyone I’d know?”

  “Membership is confidential,” I reply evenly.

  “Course it is,” Nikolai smirks. “Can’t have anyone knowing their bankers and officials are getting all kinky on the weekends. That kind of thing would rattle a few cages, I’d bet.”

  His voice is meaningful. Is this what he’s after: details of my clientele?

  That’s never going to happen.

  “Did you like my delivery?” Nikolai asks. “Thought you might enjoy the tickets.”

  “It was very generous,” I say politely. “And I thought about your proposition. But I’m sorry to say I don’t need investors right now. If you’re still looking for opportunities, I know some people who would be glad to work with your capital.”

  I pass him a list of names I drew up in the car. Restaurateurs, club promoters, people who I know from experience are more flexible about where their investment comes from. I figure it’s a way to neutralize Nikolai and show I don’t mean to insult him.

  “There are some big names there,” I add. “Big potential returns.”

  But Nikolai barely looks at the paper. He tosses it aside. “Thanks, but I’m set for now. Besides, I have a feeling you and I will work something out. You know business, it’s always changing. You never know when you might need my help after all.”

  His voice is friendly, but I hear the truth beneath his pleasant tone.

  A threat.

  “I should get back,” I say, getting to my feet. It was a mistake to come here. Whatever Nikolai’s game is, he’s not going to reveal it right now. “Take another look at the list. Some profitable businesses there.”

  “I’m all set for profit.” Nikolai smiles, showing me to the door. “I’m in real estate, these days. You know what people will pay for a few square feet of dirt? Through the roof, my son.”

  His hand comes down on my shoulder in a friendly pat.

  I don’t flinch.

  “Good luck then,” I say sharply, stepping away.

  “You too.” Nikolai narrows his eyes at me, and for a moment, I see the same menace, the dead-eyed stare that struck fear into every heart in town. “Stay safe. It’s a big city, plenty of dangerous folks out there.”

  I walk downstairs and out of the gym, more uneasy than ever before. If Nikolai isn’t the guy behind the anonymous notes, then I’m looking at two threats to the club right now.

  Three, if you count Miss Kate Kendell.

  I can’t stop my brain from conjuring up images of the way she gasped for more under my touch, moaning and wild. Everything else may be spiraling out of control, but she’s the one thing I can handle.

  And handle her I will.

  Tonight.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ZOE

  I’m one martini into my reunion, and I already know, I’m going to need way more to make it through dinner later. And those drinks will hardly be up to the challenge of what’s waiting for me after dinner.

  Dax. His place. Showdown.

  I take another gulp, wishing I was anywhere but here. A tropical beach somewhere -- yes, that would be great. Far away from New York City and all my secrets and career worries. Someplace I didn’t have to feel like such a guilty fraud all the time.

  The other people at the table don’t have that problem. They love their lives right now.

  “It’s so great being part of a strong digital team,” one of the girls, Karlie, coos. “Our editors are all about flexible content.”

  “The trainee program at the Times is the best,” another guy brags. “We rotate through all the departments. It’s the best education.”

  I flag down the waiter. “Another martini please,” I whisper, wishing I was invisible.

  I can’t believe I was looking forward to this. The old team from my college newspaper, back together to catch up. Except it turns out, everyone’s launched their high-flying journalism careers since graduation, and I’m the only one left in the dust.

  “Sorry we’re late, guys. You know how it is, breaking news waits for no man.”

  I hear his voice and my stomach drops. It’s Troy. My ex-boyfriend Troy: sauntering in with his arm slung over the shoulder of some drop-dead glamorous girl.

  Shit. Shit.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  The group greet him enthusiastically. He was always the big-shot on campus; that was part of what drew me to him: his confidence and charm.

  I didn’t realize then what a lying, cheating asshole he’d turn out to be.

  “Hey Zoe.” Troy gives me a casual grin. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you here. Thought maybe you’d gone back to Mississippi.”

  “Missouri,” I answer through gritted teeth. “And no. Still here.”

  No thanks to you.

  “This is Greta, by the way.” He introduces us to the stunning blonde – who hasn’t looked up from her cellphone yet. “She’s a fashion blogger over at Vogue.”

  Of course she is.

  The waiter delivers my second martini. I take another angry sip.

  “We were just catching up on what everyone’s doing now,” Karlie gushes, batting her eyelashes at Troy. She always did have the biggest crush on him. “Of course, everyone knows about you. How is Politicas?”

  “Great, really great.” Troy settles back in his seat. “We’re gearing up for the mayoral race. I’m interviewing Andrew Landsley next week. One-on-one in-depth profile.”

  There are envious murmurs.

  “What about you, Zoe?” Troy turns to me. “What have you been up to?”

  “I’m actually working freelance right now,” I reply.

  He smirks. “Sure you are.”

  I narrow my eyes. “It’s a big undercover piece for the New York Daily,” I say, before I can stop myself.

  His smile drops. The others make noises of approval.

  “That’s so cool,” Karlie gasps.

  “Let me guess,” Troy interrupts, patronizing. “You’re working under a team that has you running research and fact-checking.”

  “Actually, I’m the lead reporter,” I reply coolly. I don’t remember him being this much of a pompous ass when we were dating, but clearly, things change.

  “Oh yeah? What’s the story?”

  “That’s confidential,” I say quickly.

  His smirk returns. “Uh huh,” he says, his voice making it clear that he doesn’t believe me for a minute.

  I try to act like I couldn’t care less.

  “You’ll see the story next month,” I fib. “The editor promised me the front page.”

  “Wow,” the others nod in approval. Somewhere in my head, alarms are going off. A front page story? No way am I pulling that off. Unless I find something really scandalous. And now I’m going to have to. No matter what it takes.

  “And there we were, worried you’d be the only one of the gang left without a job.” Karlie smiles at me. “It’s so tough out there!”

  “You’ll have to let us know when the story runs.” Troy gives me that look, like he still doesn’t believe me. “A front-page scoop, that’s a big deal.”

  It is. I look around, seeing the envy on everyone’s faces.

  I start to feel better. Sure, I’m the one scrabbling away for my break, but I’m making it happen, aren’t I? I found the story, and convinced Granger at the newspaper to give me a shot. I’m not just following the normal path, I’m carving out my own.

  “What’s it like?” Karlie asks, looking fascinated. “Being undercover? I could never keep my story straight.”

  “It’s... tough,” I admit. “Not just getting the details right, but feeling like I’m lying to everyone. It’s like part of me is betraying my new friends.”

  I think of Anna and the other hostesses. And, most of all, Dax. Just because something shady is going on with him, it doesn’t make it any easier to lie to his face every night. Especially when we keep getting closer.

  “I wonder if it’s even ethical,” I add. “Pretending to be something I’m not just to get the story.”

  “You can’t think like that,” one of the guys insists. “A journalist’s duty is to the story, the public.”

  “He’s right,” Karlie agrees. “If the story is in the public interest, you’re doing the right thing by exposing it.”

  Am I? Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. But my old colleagues all agree.

  “Think of the important stories broken undercover,” another guy agrees. “Sometimes it’s the only way. For the greater good.”

  That isn’t a comfort. What kind of good is it to lie and cheat? I’m still no closer to revealing any real criminal activity or corruption at the club, and every day that passes, it weighs on my conscience even more.

  “Just keep your eyes on the prize,” Karlie advises. “A front-page article like that, it will open all kinds of doors for you.”

  Troy snorts. “I don’t get how you managed to secure that kind of break,” he says. “It’s not like you have any experience.”

  I bristle.

  “Well, some of us have to hustle for their jobs, instead of getting daddy to make a couple of calls.”

  There’s silence. Karlie stifles laughter, and Troy’s smile drops. Ha, score one for me! I’m just starting to enjoy dinner when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance down. It’s from an unknown number.

  I’m waiting. D.

  Dax.

  Shit. I check the time. Almost nine.

  “I need to run!” I exclaim, leaping up. “I have to get back to work.”

  I throw down a few bills, glad that my tips at the club are so good. I would never be able to afford a fancy place like this otherwise.

  “Good luck!” Karlie tells me. “You’ll do great.”

  As I exit the restaurant, I wish I could be so confident. The thought of seeing Dax again fills me with nerves -- and lust. If this was just about the story, maybe I could be calmer, but the truth is, our dynamic has too much sexual tension blazing through it for me to keep my head on straight. And that spells danger: for my story, and my sanity.

  I’m already late, so I catch a cab over to his apartment again. This time, I actually ring the buzzer instead of loitering on the street.

  A moment later, the door clicks.

  Here we go.

  I take a deep breath, and push my way inside. There’s a hallway area, leading to an industrial-style elevator. I pull the grate shut behind me, and hit the button. The elevator swoops up toward the top floor. I quickly smooth down my dress and check my hair, realizing it’s the first time Dax will see me out of my work clothes. I’m still dressed up, but instead of the hostess-friendly uniform of a skimpy black dress and heels, I’m wearing something more my style: a mini-skirt, a black silk tank, and kick-ass knee-high boots.

  Somehow, without my usual costume, I feel more exposed. Like it’s the real me going to meet him tonight instead of the fake Kate Kendell I’ve been pretending to be.

  The elevator stops. I reach for the grate, but instead, someone else yanks it back.

  Dax.

  Damn.

  He’s waiting for me, casual in jeans and a crisp oxford shirt, open at the neck. His dark hair is wet and tousled, and he’s got sexy stubble along his chiseled jaw.

  He looks me up and down.

  “You’re late.”

  “I’m sorry,” I mutter, feeling butterflies in my stomach. “My dinner ran late.”

  “A date?” Dax demands.

  I force myself to pull it together. “None of your business,” I reply coolly, stepping out of the elevator. I look around, and immediately, my cool act drops.

  “Wow.”

  I’m standing in a huge loft space, bigger than the entire club. Bare brick walls and exposed pipes stretch the length of the building, with double height ceilings and a bank of massive windows looking out on the downtown city lights. Everything is stylish and industrial: metal accents, an open kitchen area with stainless steel and granite, and a bedroom mezzanine platform towering over the room.

  It’s masculine, edgy and hot. Just like the man himself.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Dax asks, strolling over to the full bar in the corner.

  I pause. I’ve already had two martinis, and I need to be on my game around him. “Just water, thanks.”

  Dax turns to me and arches an eyebrow. “Now, that’s no fun.”

  I shift. He’s got a gleam in his eye that I don’t trust -- even if it is crazy hot.

  “Maybe just one,” I relent.

  “Better.”

  Dax pours me a glass of something and slowly walks back to me. There’s music playing on low, and the lights are dimmed. Everything about this screams ‘seduction.’

  Shit. What have I gotten myself into?

  “You said you wanted to talk?” I blurt, then immediately regret it. Talking is the last thing I want to do. It would only mean more lies.

  “I have a better idea.” Dax regards me with that dangerous stare. “Let’s play a game.”

  “A game?” I echo, my voice rising. I clutch the glass and take a sip -- only to splutter as the strong whiskey hits the back of my throat.

  “Yes.” Dax smiles. “Think of it like truth or dare. I ask the questions. For every one you answer truthfully, you get to take off an item of clothing.”

  I blink. “You’re assuming I want to get undressed,” I shoot back, infuriated by his arrogance.

  Dax just smirks. “I think it’s a pretty safe assumption.”

  I glare, then stalk deeper into the apartment, my mind racing. I hate that my desire is so obvious to him, how he’s acting like I’m a sure thing. Surely there’s some way for me to turn this game around on him, and find out exactly what I’m after?

  “What about you?” I finally ask, turning back to him.

  “What about me?” Dax looks surprised.

  “I think you’ve got this all wrong.” I decide to be bold. “How about, for every question you answer, I take off my clothes. And vice versa.”

  “An interesting proposition.” Dax narrows his eyes. “But what do you want to know?”

  “Everything about you.” I smile. “That was a question, by the way, and I answered it. So, it’s time for you to lose that shirt.”

  Dax pauses, then slowly unbuttons his shirt. He pulls it off and tosses it aside, revealing his tanned, muscular torso.

  I bite back a moan of admiration. I’m in so far over my head here.

  “Why did you get a job at the club?” Dax demands, taking a step closer to me.

  I back away. “I told you, curiosity,” I reply, only half-lying. “I heard about the club, and I wanted to know what happened there. Pants,” I add.

  Dax gives me a withering stare, but he undoes his belt and drops his trousers. He’s wearing navy briefs, tight enough for me to see the hard outline of his cock straining through the fabric.

  My stomach twists with lust.

  “I seem to be running out of clothes,” he murmurs, prowling closer. “Your turn.”

  I catch my breath and decide to take a risk. “What was that note I saw in your office?”

  Dax’s eyes flash angrily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do.” I stand my ground. “It was a blackmail note, wasn’t it? Who was it from?”

  “I don’t know.” Dax grounds out the reply. I snort, but he silences me with a glare. “It’s the truth, I don’t know who’s sending them, or what they want.”

  He gave me an answer. I pull my tank top over my head and toss it aside, so I’m standing in my boots, skirt, and bra.

  “Is anything illegal going on at the club?” I ask, pressing my advantage.

  Dax frowns. “No. Not that I know of.”

  “What about the employees?” I keep pushing him. “Could Dominique be doing something behind your back? What about the security guy? Your hostesses?”