Page 24 of Enemies

“There isn’t real or fake coffee…” I take a sip, the flavors mingling pleasantly in my mouth.

Rae’s face lights with triumph, her lips curving. “I told you.”

Ash was right. She is really fucking pretty.

Especially when she smiles.

It’s the first time she’s beamed in my direction, because I would’ve remembered.

And it’s a good thing. If her negotiation had opened with that, she might own my villa right now.

My chest warms, my cold heart thudding harder against my ribs.

“La Mer,” she goes on, oblivious to my turmoil. “It’s bigger than Coachella, than Vegas, than anywhere. Why don’t you own it?”

“I’m working on it. The things most worth having take time to acquire.”

She reaches for the mug, and our fingers brush.

I wanted to catch her off guard, but it’s me who’s rocked when the bolt of attraction has my abs clenching under my dress shirt.

Her eyes widen before she pulls away and heads for the dining table.

“So, how are you going to fill my club?” I ask as she drops into the chair.

I grab the wrapped sandwich Natalia made me knowing I’d come for it when I was ready before returning to perch on the edge of the table.

“I have to give them a different experience every time. Plus, I’m figuring out how to get on the right people’s radar.”

“Debajo isn’t going to be the ‘it’ place,” she goes on. “It’s a basement. The place for those who don’t want to go to the ‘it’ place.”

“People like you? The rebels and outcasts?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

Her gaze flicks to mine, surprised.

“You’re abrasive and petulant.” I can’t help going on. “But add a wig, a hundred thousand euros of sound equipment, and some strobe lights? A rebel girl can turn into a nightclub goddess.”

Her lips part. “Goddess.”

“I’m not referring to your looks,” I say evenly, though the more I stare at her, the more I want to. “Goddesses aren’t defined by their beauty. They’re defined by their power. You have that, yet you react to the world instead of commanding it.”

I don’t know why I’m telling her this, but it’s been weighing on me since the first night I saw her play.

Maybe I see something in her I recognize, the feeling she’s been wronged and is trying—futilely, desperately—to set things right.

“Easy for you to say,” she replies. “People wait for you to act. By the time I have a chance, they’ve already made up their mind about me. Already decided things that change my present and my future.”

The earnest way she’s watching me, like my words are sinking in, has my chest tightening.

“Learn to take your power and no one can tell you what to do.”

Her dark lashes blink as she cradles her chin between her palms, inhaling slowly before letting the breath out.

“Well, damn. Thanks for the career advice, Mr. King,” she says, deadpan.

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