Page 16 of Enemies

A big, black dog with brown eyes barrels toward me, leaping. His paws hit my thighs, his lolling tongue licking at my arms.

I catch him awkwardly.

“My apologies, señorita. He loves people,” Natalia calls up the stairs from the doorway of the kitchen.

The creature lets me set his paws back on the ground but continues to eye me as if I’m the only thing he’s wanted his whole life.

“His master hasn’t had time to take him out for his walk today. I was late finishing my errands yesterday, and…”

Probably because she went to get me clothes.

“Are you going for a walk? Would you take him? He’s no trouble.”

Guilt has me saying, “Ah, sure.”

We never had pets growing up. My parents are both in tech—my dad left Tehran for computer engineering at UCLA. They’ve always kept long hours, and though their careers meant my brothers and I never suffered materially, a dog would’ve been one too many interruptions for their goals.

I take the stairs down as Natalia gets the dog’s leash and fastens it on, meeting me at the front door with a grateful smile.

“You would like breakfast when you return?” Natalia gestures toward the kitchen. “And tea?”

I’m not used to being served by anyone, but my stomach growls—probably because I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. “Coffee would be great.”

I take the dog out and let the sea breeze go to work on my brain.

Telemanco, where the villa is, isn’t as busy as Ibiza Town. It’s relaxed and stunning, and I could totally take a vacation here if I had the money.

As I walk, I use my phone to read articles about Harrison King and Echo Entertainment. Search engines keep insisting I want to know about his travels with his ex-fiancée, model Eva Nilsson. There are photos of them in cafés, on the red carpet, at charity galas, and even on the beach.

She’s stunning, and I can’t help noticing the way she beams at him.

Maybe Ash is full of shit. I don’t see a woman who would’ve left. She looks utterly devoted.

Not that there’s nothing to respect about Harrison King. He relentlessly built an entertainment empire, so he’s clearly focused. But he’s soulless.

It was easy to forget when those bottomless blue eyes were boring into me last night in the VIP room. For a moment, I couldn’t help wondering how deep you’d have to fall to find something more in him, and whether it might be worth it.

A grinning old man descends on us, speaking to the dog. “His name?” he asks me after a moment.

I tuck the phone away, stalling. “Licorice.”

The man looks surprised, but the dog barks agreeably. After a few more pets, we continue on our way.

“That was embarrassing,” I inform the dog.

He cocks his head, lifting both ears.

After we’re interrupted another few times, I realize walking the dog is not a way to get quiet time to myself.

So, I make a game of it and give him a new name every time.

“Costas.”

“Siegfried.”

“Roy.”

I wind “Bowie’s” leash tighter to rein him in as I scroll through my banking information on my phone.

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