Page 5 of Enemies

The staff behind the bar have snapped to attention. They didn’t look up when I arrived, but now, they’re hustling to wipe imaginary spots off the surface while sneaking furtive looks at the man before me.

Harrison crosses to us, stopping in front of the stage. His shirt is open at the collar to expose a tan throat, the muscles flexing lightly. His mouth curves to reveal a smile as perfect as it is cold.

I whirl to face Leni, who lifts a shoulder as if anticipating my accusation.

“Listen…” she starts.

“Leni.” He holds up a hand, cuts her off without so much as a word.

Arrogant prick.

I slam the cover of my notebook and slide it in my bag before shouldering it. “I’m not playing your club,” I toss at the man in front of the stage. “Not tonight, not ever.”

I stalk down the steps and head across the dance floor.

I make it across the club, then yank on the door.

It doesn’t open.

Desperation rises up the second I feel him at my back.

“I’m disappointed.” That smooth voice is inches from my ear, close enough his breath tickles my skin. “I’ve been anticipating this since our first meeting.”

I spin around, my nostrils flaring as I stare up at his infuriatingly gorgeous face.

How could I have mistaken the man at the airport for Harrison King?

No man on earth has his intensity, his charisma.

“A woman was assaulted at my gig in LA,” I bite out, angry with both of us now. “My gig at your club. Your booking agent didn’t give a shit. No one at corporate returned my calls demanding an explanation. When I finally got to you, you didn’t give a shit either.”

“When you confronted me about it at a mutual friend’s wedding, you mean.”

He says that like it matters.

“If you think I have time to personally care for everyone who sets foot in a building with my name on the deed,” he goes on, “you underestimate the size of my empire.”

I lift my chin. “If you can’t protect the people you serve, you have no right to one.”

His throat bobs, a flicker of surprise flitting through his eyes.

Even kings have vulnerabilities.

I try the door again, realizing the lock is on. After turning it, I yank the door open, grab my bag, and run past the confused security guard on the other side.

In the parking lot, I’m breathing heavily as I pull out my phone to call Toro. I need to get out of here—out of this man’s presence. At my resort, I can figure out what the hell to do next.

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’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.

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