Page 65 of Enemies

When did I become the girl who has fantasies about a guy in a suit?

But he’s not alone. The woman next to him is pretty, with big sunglasses and pale skin under a wide-brimmed hat. She smiles at him as he talks animatedly, gesturing with his hands.

My stomach knots, twisting into a heavy mass.

We’re not dating. I’m not looking for a partner, someone to settle down and create one life with, to argue with and compromise with and lie awake at night next to.

No matter what Callie says, I need to keep my feelings for this man in check.

Starting with whatever he has planned for my birthday.

16

RAE

“I feel like a mole,” I say.

Blackness surrounds me, but the sun warms the bare skin of my face and shoulders.

“The spy sort? As in Mission Impossible?” Ash calls from somewhere ahead.

“No, the underground animal sort. As in I can’t see shit.”

The wind tugs at my hair, but the cloth around my eyes holds it firm as I walk. It doesn’t help that the firm hand on my back is warm and distractingly low.

“Being blindfolded is not my thing,” I mutter.

“Then you’ve never been blindfolded by the right person.” Harrison’s mouth at my ear sends shivers down my spine.

I'd glare if I could see him. Lucky for him, I can't. “I got up early on my birthday?—”

“Eleven,” Ash corrects cheerily, sounding farther away.

“To be kidnapped and forced to trek through God knows where.” All my attention goes to my other senses—the scent of the sea and the sound of shorebirds. The next step I take, the surface changes, giving and creaking beneath my feet.

“I could carry you,” Harrison suggests.

“I’d rather be thrown into the ocean.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Then the blindfold is gone and light floods my eyes, leaving me blinking in the brightness.

Blocking part of the sun is a huge white boat.

I’m riveted by the monstrosity tethered at the dock.

“You got me a yacht?” My voice rises an octave as I turn to take in Harrison, who’s watching intently.

“It’s a charter.”

“It’s a behemoth. A leviathan. This thing blocks out the sun.”

Yet it’s not the boat but the faces appearing over the edge that take my shock to the next level.

“Hey, birthday girl!” Annie calls. My roommate from performing arts school waves. A big, straw hat protects her pale complexion.

Her husband, Tyler, is next to her, a possessive arm around her shoulders.

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