Beautiful Enemy (The Enemies Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  A ringtone sounds, but the call breaks before Toro answers.

  Shit.

  I scan my surroundings, my gaze landing on the busy road.

  “You have an exceedingly low opinion of me,” King calls from behind me as I head for the street, searching the horizon for a cab.

  I spin to face him. “I’m surprised you care what my opinion is.”

  His expression flickers with emotions I can’t read before he slips into aristocratic arrogance once again. A resting asshole face if I ever saw one.

  “I trust your attorneys looked at the terms for failure to fulfill your contractual obligations,” he goes on.

  The wind blows my fallen hair into my face, and I set my bag down at my feet to shove it back with vicious hands.

  “Thanks to you,” he drawls, “one of my top-performing venues became the worst overnight. You will recover what you cost me. For the next month, I own you. If you try to leave, I will sue you for every dollar you own. I will take your computer“—he picks up the bag at my feet, and I tense—“your music. Every scrap of clothing in your wardrobe and on your body.”

  Each word lands on my chest like a brick. Judging by his cruel expression, that’s exactly what he intends.

  “What. No response?” he chides softly.

  Breathing is hard. We’re outside, but it’s as if the greedy asshole has consumed all the oxygen.

  I’m usually the type to rebel with silent resistance, but something about his arrogance brings out my confrontational side.

  I refuse to go down without a fight. There are too many bullies in this world.

  When I finally speak, my voice is remarkably level.

  “If it takes litigation to get a woman naked…” I snatch my bag from his hands. “Your game needs work.”

  His mouth twists in disbelief, as if he’s just as shocked by my words as I am.

  Before he can respond, the horn of a car honks and a cab pulls over to the side of the road.

  I reach for the back door of the car, my heart still thudding.

  “If you try to leave, I will sue you for every dollar you own. I will take your computer. Your music. Every scrap of clothing in your wardrobe and on your body.”

  Even as the car pulls away from him, I can’t kick the sickening possibility he’s right.

  For the next month…

  The man who ruined me owns me.

  3

  Rae

  When the cab pulls up to the sandstone villa perched halfway up a winding road and sheltered by a lush hedge of greenery, I can barely appreciate its beauty.

  Judging from the size, this villa is more like a boutique hotel than a resort. When I enter, backpack in tow, a woman looks up from where she’s vacuuming. I don’t spot a concierge or front desk, so I approach the woman.

  “I’m supposed to be staying here tonight.” I reach for my passport, but she stops me.

  Her face brightens as she clasps my hand between both of hers. “Sí, señorita. I am Natalia.” Her voice is warm and welcoming. “I will show you your room.”

  She leads me up a staircase and down a hall with doors on either side, half a dozen in total.

  “This will meet your needs?” she asks as she opens a door.

  I step into the room of pale-yellow walls, and beyond them are double doors opening to a balcony that overlooks the ocean. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  She nods before ducking out, closing the door.

  The sight and the fresh scent of the water unlock my chest, a twisted knot wound tighter since my run-in with the devil himself.

  I’m in another country without most of my possessions, and my only potential source of income is the man I hate.

  But I know one thing—there’s no way I’m playing for him. I’ll walk into the sea first and never come back.

  I pull out my phone, digging around to find the contract. His name’s not on it anywhere, but that’s not unusual for a large organization.

  The amount I stand to lose by not playing has my stomach sinking.

  I send the paperwork off to my lawyer anyway, asking how I can get out of it.

  This gig was supposed to be my salvation. Instead, I’m being forced to play for the man I hate.

  I’m used to traveling, but suddenly, I feel adrift.

  I do a quick calculation of the time difference—six hours behind—before I hit a number on my phone.

  “Hey!” Annie’s panting voice comes through the speaker. “You caught me in the midst of my morning stomach pyrotechnics.”

  “Hardly seems fair Tyler’s on tour and you’ve been hugging a toilet for the last two weeks.”

  My roommate from arts school and her rock-star husband are going to be parents in less than five months.

  “Don’t worry. He’ll be making it up to me.”

  Her breezy tone has me shaking my head. I have no doubt she’ll tell him what she wants. Or that he’ll move mountains to give it to her. Their relationship is almost enough to make me believe in love.

  “I was going to ask if you had a chance to lay down vocals for that track I was working on.”

  “I need one more listen before I send it over,” she promises. “Now please distract me so I don’t think about how every smell in our house makes me want to upchuck.”

  Her earnest plea makes my mouth twitch.

  “I just got into Ibiza.” I flop down on the double bed, which gives gently under my weight. The fabric smells fresh—not from-a-can fresh either. “But the residency gig isn’t what I signed on for.”

  Telling her the full extent of what’s going down might upset her or, worse, make her try to intervene.

  I don’t need her solving my problems. Both because I can solve them myself and because she knows what went down between Harrison and me.

  We met at her wedding.

  The man holding me contractually hostage is a friend of her husband’s.

  She makes a noise of sympathy. “If it’s anything like doing a show on Broadway, it’s exhausting and scary but rewarding too.”

  Doubtful.

  “Where’s Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody?” I change the subject.

  “Tyler’s in Amsterdam this week. Since the honeymoon, I’ve been going into travel withdrawal. I heard Ibiza is beautiful.”

  My feet carry me out to the balcony. My finger trails along the sandstone half wall as I inhale the fresh air.

  “Only if you’re into fresh air, crystal-blue waters, beautiful people, and partying.”

  She laughs. “Hard to imagine anything could ruin that. You deserve it. I don’t think you’ve stayed in one place for a month since college.”

  The problem with staying in one place is you get attached to it. You expect things of the people around you.

  I learned early how dangerous and destructive that can be.

  “Listen,” I start, “I should let you go. But it’s good to hear your childish enthusiasm. You want a souvenir?”

  “Bring me back a good story and we’ll call it even.”

  I click off and stare at the water.

  Harrison’s right about one thing—I can’t leave without a plan. Right now, if he wants to go after me legally, I have no doubt he’d win.

  Annie wants a story.

  I might be young, but I’m not powerless.

  I won’t run from this villain.

  Not without getting a few swings in first.

  Harrison King might be the man with the money.

  But I’m the girl with the mic.

  A light knock at the door has me turning back toward the room as Natalia comes in, a perplexed look on her face. “Where are your bags?”

  “The airline lost them.”

  Her eyes widen. “Dios mío. I can take you shopping, if you like, or send you to the best boutiques.”

  I cross to the middle of the room and look down at my clothes. I need something to wear tonight if I’m not leaving today. “Maybe not the best boutiques,” I warn because that soun
ds expensive. “If I called them and told them what I wanted, could they send a few items over?”

  “Of course.”

  “Including a wig,” I say, setting my phone on the dresser and tugging out the half-assed bun I made on the side of the road an hour ago. “Blond,” I decide.

  If it’s a strange request, she doesn’t balk. “You should go to the beach. We also have a pool and a jacuzzi. Enjoy yourself before you have to work. You’re too young to look so serious.”

  Inspired, I reach for my computer.

  Natalia is right. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself a little.

  Defiance flows through my veins as I send off a quick text to Annie with some lyrics for a new verse.

  My contract says I’ll play for Harrison King.

  Tonight, I will.

  But the contract doesn’t say I have to do it nicely.

  4

  Harrison

  “We’re here, señor.” My driver’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror as he pulls up in front of the club.

  I straighten my suit. “Thank you, Toro.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  I frown. “It’s a Thursday night like any Thursday night.”

  Except it doesn’t feel like it. My body is humming, braced for a fight or coming off of one.

  I shift out before Toro can open my door. He follows me around anyway, stubbornly taking the car door in his aging hands as I fasten my jacket.

  “It’s a new club. The renovations are only just complete. And new talent,” he goes on as I start for the entrance.

  I pull up, turning to cock my head at him. He only nods before retreating to the driver’s side.

  New talent indeed.

  I head to the back door. Security stands at attention when they see me.

  A man with a purpose is dangerous to the world.

  A man without a purpose is dangerous to himself.

  When I enter a room, it’s to tell people what I want and make it immediately clear I’m going to get it. The faster they see that, the more painless it is.

  My first acquisition was dirty and spare, cobbled together like the money I used to finance it. Now, I stride down a private hallway used for deliveries and talent, absorbing the fresh paint and shining floors with a grim satisfaction.

  When I bought Debajo, everything was in disrepair, as if its name meant not only “beneath” but “forgotten.”

  It takes a particular eye to see what others miss. But for a man who looks beneath the surface, one who’s as relentless as he is patient...

  There is treasure to be found.

  Now, the club is a cool kiss. An elegant reminder of how far I’ve come.

  I wish my parents could see it.

  The twinge in my gut sneaks up on me, lingering like the burn of bad whisky.

  A budding actress who’s rising to stardom makes her way toward me, coming from the direction of the club.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” she purrs, the telltale enthusiasm of alcohol lingering in her voice as she stops in my path with an inviting smile. “Haven’t seen you stateside for way too long.”

  “You came to find me and enjoy my hospitality,” I reply evenly. “So, my plan worked.”

  She slips her hand inside my shirt, and I smoothly withdraw it, my grip firm enough there’s disappointment in her eyes.

  A hundred men in this place would take her home tonight.

  I’m not one of them.

  I used to enjoy beautiful women, particularly ones who made a lifestyle of being enjoyed.

  No more.

  Not since I let myself believe one could stand at my side and be what I needed. Trusting a woman with my life, my home, my future, cost me far more than the years I invested in that relationship.

  It won’t happen again.

  I straighten my shirt before I continue down the hall, making eye contact with the security guard at the end and nodding to him to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t find trouble.

  I feel the pulsing music through the leather of my dress shoes before I hear it. I approach the door that leads to the club, then turn and take the stairs up to the second level. At the top, security opens the door. Pulsing music flows into me, through me.

  The metal grate flooring creaks beneath my feet on my way to my private booth next to two other VIP booths upstairs. Below, revelers drink and dance to the opening act.

  I pause, one storey up with a perfect view of the performers and the crowd.

  I’ve been out all day but have confirmed with Natalia and Toro that my newest contractor intends to play tonight.

  I knew she would see reason. She might be fiery, but there was no way she’d abandon this. I’d sue her fast enough she’d land on that curvy bottom.

  The first time we met, at the island wedding of my friend Tyler, she was fury itself. Barely waiting until after the cake had been cut and the couple rode off into shining bliss to rain righteous hellfire on me.

  I told her the same thing I’d tell anyone criticizing my business:

  Thank you very fucking little for your input.

  Evidently, she wasn’t pleased with my reaction.

  A single social media post condemning my business caused the door income of my best club to drop by half overnight and spurred a bloody mountain of paperwork and hostile media inquiries my team had to deal with. Most of them made their way up to me and ruined a string of otherwise good days.

  A small consolation was that she exploded in an equally bad way.

  My PR staff told me that while a few fans had applauded the move, many were ambivalent. More importantly, no club owner from London to Miami would touch her for fear she’d find fault with their operations.

  Part of me envies her idealism. We were all naïve once, even if the last time I knew so little of the world I was still in knee socks.

  “Whisky, Mr. King?” the upstairs VIP bartender asks, and I nod.

  “In my booth.”

  “Sí, señor. You have a visitor.”

  Before I can demand who the fuck is in my private space, the bartender’s gone. I round the corner of my booth and stiffen.

  “Let me guess—half your renovation budget was for the club and half for whisky.” The last person I’d expect is sitting in the booth in khakis and a polo shirt, nursing a drink.

  “Ash. I didn’t realize you were coming.”

  My brother Sebastian is a decade younger, and has a propensity to avoid me unless he wants to lay blame at my feet.

  “Premier League has been over for a week.” He flashes a grin. “Thought I’d raid the bar at your newest club.”

  “I’ve bought two more since.”

  “Yet you’re still here. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hiding.”

  Ash doesn’t miss a thing. He’s the smarter of the two of us, yet he plays professional football and I’m the one running a corporation.

  “I’m not hiding. I’m relaxing.”

  His smirking gaze runs from my dress shoes up the suit to my tight face.

  “You look positively rejuvenated,” he quips. “When will you stop this relentless quest for acquisitions? When you own every entertainment venue in the world?”

  I accept the thirty-year-old Glen Scotia whisky the bartender brings on a monogrammed napkin. “We’ll find out.”

  I sip, and the smooth alcohol lingers on my taste buds.

  “Our parents wouldn’t want you to do this,” he says.

  My grip on the glass tightens. “You don’t know what they’d want. You were a boy when they died.”

  My brother shifts out of his seat. He has the same hair and eyes as me, but he’s a few inches shorter. He’s made the most of what he’s been given and is now a forward for the second-best professional football club in England since getting drafted out of uni last year.

  “I thought you’d started to mellow when you were with her.” My brother leans over the railing next to me. “You stepped back
from the business. Started genuinely enjoying life a little. It was good to see, Harry.”

  My gut clenches. “Love is an illusion. I was a fool to think it was more.”

  The tabloids paint me as a richer-than-Midas entertainment mogul with no greater pleasure than adding to the piles of money I’ve made.

  It’s easier for me that they do.

  Their needling over superficial flaws and supposed weaknesses doesn’t bother me.

  It keeps them from digging at the real ones.

  The crowd below us is dancing, losing themselves in the music pounding through the speakers, reverberating off every wall.

  “Leni texted this afternoon to say I should come down to see a show,” Ash says over the music. “She also said a woman tore you a new one.” His grin flashes white for a second before the club lights go dark.

  The hairs on my neck lift in anticipation.

  The DJs change over. It happens every night between the opening act and the headliner, but tonight, I feel it.

  It’s a tug in my gut, a thrumming in my veins.

  It’s why I came, though I’d never admit it.

  The way she spoke to me earlier… No one challenges me like that.

  She can’t honestly think she’ll get out of this deal. The fact that she’s here means she’s admitted the truth.

  She’ll bend to me, like everyone else does.

  When the black light comes on, the crowd erupts.

  She’s on stage, her hair, trousers, and cropped body-hugging top glowing white before the lights change to a more normal range.

  I’m floored.

  Out of costume, off stage, she’s moody, seething. A girl who hissed at me like a cornered animal.

  On it, she’s vibrant.

  “Little Queen,” Ash observes. “The name suits her.”

  Her clothes cling to her body in a way that draws attention to her curves but also lets her move uninhibited. A long, blond wig is a stark contrast to her warm skin and dark lashes, thick and lowered as she studies the computer in front of her with the intensity of a rocket scientist navigating a launch.