I was sure it had never crossed his puny little mind.
“It felt like it was time for an upgrade. Do you like it?” I asked, giving him big, hopeful eyes even as my stomach turned from the words.
“Do a spin for me?”
I should have seen that one coming.
My heart fluttered, but I reminded myself that if I couldn’t see the phone in the bright lights of my dressing room, there was no way it would be visible under the dim lounge lighting.
“Of course,” I said, giving him a playful smile before turning in a slow circle.
“Stunning. As always. We should—” he started, holding a hand out to help me down the six-inch stage.
“Frank,” someone called, making both of us glance toward the door.
One of his henchmen was standing there, a serious look on his face.
“Excuse me. Duty calls.”
Thank God.
Because I was pretty sure he was about to ask me something that would be hard to find my way out of.
And if I didn’t get this snooping over with that night, I was pretty sure I was going to chicken out completely.
I rushed back to my dressing room, grabbed my bags, then made my way back in the direction of Frank’s office.
If he came, I could just say that I thought he was going to ask me to work another shift or something.
I expected to feel a little calmer after successfully getting in once and out without actually being caught.
But my skin felt electric.
My mouth was paper-dry.
And there was this strange shivering sensation continually moving through my stomach.
Once I got to the door, I plunged my hand into my purse to grab the flashlight.
I paused, glancing at the mouth of the hallway, then listening to see if I heard anyone coming.
With no signs of other people, though, I had no choice but to continue my investigation.
I sucked in a breath, pressed the flashlight into the corner of the door where it would open once I reached for the knob, then clicked it on.
It was a blinding kind of bright, making me fumble to push the door open before someone saw something weird and came running.
I aimed it directly at the camera and said a silent prayer that Milo was right about it whiting out the camera feed.
I rushed around and stuck the flashlight on top of a stack of boxes, aimed at the camera, so my hands were free.
Then I ran at the desk, ripping open the drawers one by one.
On the left side, there was just old junk: a tape dispenser, pens with logos on them, sticky notes, take-out menus to places that hadn’t existed in years, even an ancient phonebook.
But on the right side, there were pieces of mail and receipts.
I yanked my phone out of my hidden pocket, snapping pictures as quickly and steadily as my shaking hand would allow.
