First Star I See Tonight (Chicago Stars #8) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,15

too much.”

“And you’re making this up.”

“Am I? Has your so-called security picked up on the side business that at least one of your employees is running? At your expense.”

“What kind of side business?”

“Don’t call your legal eagles, and I’ll tell you.”

“I’ve already called ’em.”

She gulped. “Suit yourself. But I strongly suggest you do your own liquor inventory instead of farming out the job. And when you come up short, remember this conversation.”

“You’re bluffing.”

He was done with her, and as he turned to the door, she knew she had to give him something more. “Keep a closer eye on your red-haired bartender. Then call me and apologize.”

That stopped him. His face toughened with anger. “Keith? That’s bullshit. You picked the wrong guy to lie about.” He drove a pointed finger in the general direction of her head. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to give me the name of the person who hired you or you’ll hear from my lawyers.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

***

Cooper fumed all the way to the club. She was a liar ten times over. Keith Millage was one of his oldest friends. They’d played ball together all through college. Bartenders were notorious for skimming from club owners, and Cooper had brought Keith out from Tulsa just so he’d have someone he trusted watching his back. As for Vivian . . . Coop had no interest in any of his customers, but if he did . . . Unlike some of his stupider teammates, he’d never made himself vulnerable to those “accidental” pregnancies.

He pondered the most important question. Who’d hired a detective to follow him and why? He knew the Chicago nightclub business was cutthroat, but what could anyone hope to learn?

He arrived at the club and settled behind his desk. He didn’t like mysteries, and he especially didn’t like mysteries when he was trying to attract an investor. Not just any investor, either. The best in the city. The only one he wanted to work with.

It was time to get down to the floor. He was the card that drew in customers, and while other celebrity nightclub owners made only passing appearances, he played to win, even if it meant being accosted by overzealous fans and trapped by self-proclaimed football experts who only thought they understood the game.

To his disgust, he caught himself watching Keith that night, a guy he’d trust with his life. His hostility toward Piper Dove hardened. As he turned his attention to the group of women pressing up against him, he made up his mind. Nobody won a championship by letting his enemies walk free. He was taking her down, right along with her penny ante detective agency.

***

On Monday morning, Piper dressed in black for what was certain to be the most miserable meeting of her short-lived career as a business owner. Black sweater and black wool slacks. She polished her ancient black boots and unearthed a pair of jagged silver earrings. As long as she was going down in flames, she’d look tough while she did it.

Deidre Joss’s right-hand man and senior VP met Piper in the reception area of the Joss Investment Group offices. Noah Parks was Piper’s regular contact, the person she’d had to call with the ugly news that Cooper Graham had made her. Even though he was an East Coast Ivy Leaguer, his buzz cut, blunt nose, and square jaw made him look like a former Marine. He gave her a curt nod. “Deidre wants to talk to you herself.”

Noah directed her through a set of glass doors into a light-flooded hallway where bands of cream-colored marble bordered the hardwood floors. At the end of the corridor, he opened a door into the office of the firm’s president and CEO.

Tall windows and sleek designer furniture projected stripped-down elegance. But the whiteboard that took up most of the end wall testified that this was a workplace, not a showroom. Its CEO sat at an imposing desk beneath an oil painting of her father, Clarence Joss III. Like Piper, Deidre Joss was following in her father’s footsteps, but unlike Piper, she hadn’t been forced to buy the business from a jealous stepmother. At thirty-six, Deidre was only three years older than Piper, but she seemed a generation older in sophistication and experience.

Tall and thin, with small dark eyes that tilted up at the corners, a long, patrician nose, and mahogany-brown hair, she looked more like a prima ballerina than a CEO. She was dressed in black, as she’d been at their