Page 102 of Disharmony

The engine roars as we head down the main drive leading back to the highway.

I chew my lip. “You know I’m not allowed to leave camp, right?”

“She has you under house arrest, huh?” Damon jokes. His words are light and jovial, but his hands tighten around the wheel.

“Yup,” I reply with a huff. “But I guess it doesn’t count if we’re not leaving-leaving camp.”

Damon revs the engine, throwing me back in my seat as we drive a few minutes down the highway, past the secret cut-through in the trees to the cabins. Further down, there’s a second turn next to a subtle sign labeledHarmony Resortin an elegant swirling silver font. Up ahead, a tall fence is manned by security guards, which would make it difficult for paparazzi to sneak by to take pictures of celebrities relaxing on their holiday.

Damon lowers the window as we reach the gate. The guards’ eyes bore into me as he leans to key in a code that makes the gates slowly open for us to pass. Will the guards report to Jacqueline I’ve been here?

Unlike on the opposite side of the lake where the forest has grown wild, Harmony Resort is exquisitely maintained. It’s filled with exotic, non-native flowers and perfectly landscaped gardens that remind me of a golf course.

The car roars past a row of beautiful buildings. I shrink back into my seat as I see McCallister disappear into one of them, the Paradise Spa. As well as the spa, there is a gym, pool, chic-looking coffee bar, and a fine-dining restaurant. Everything a celebrity could need when trying to escape their hectic lives.

Damon takes a turn and continues along a tree-lined road. Through the leaves, the glittering blue lake surface shines through. We pass a number of beach houses of varying size, and the smallest makes the cabin Cookie and I share resemble a tool shed. They’re the kind of houses you’d see in the Hamptons.

Damon pulls up in the drive of the second largest house. It’s painted white but weathered in a purposeful rustic way. A row of steps lead to a huge porch, overlooking the lake. I can see why the Lionhearts don’t come to the mess hall for meals when they have this view on their doorstep.

I gaze up at in awe. “Is this where you stay?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing and gets out of the car.

“I can open the door myself you know,” I say, swatting him away as he comes around to open my door. “We’re not in the 1950s.”

He shoots me a gorgeous smile, “Of course you can.”

Damon’s dark, handsome looks make women fall at his feet, but his flawless bone structure won’t lull me into a false sense of security. It’s what’s inside that counts.

“Where are we going?” I ask. “Is this where you take all your mentees?”

He ignores my question. “I already told you, we’re going for a walk.”

Who am I to argue with the king of one night stands? I trail behind him as we turn from the house to walk along a leafy path bordering the lake. It’s eerily quiet with no one else around.

“How long will this take?” I ask.

He ignores me as we cut through the trees and onto the sand. There’s a formation of large rocks up ahead that’d be perfect for sitting on. From here, I can see perfectly across the lake to the spot where the campfire parties are held.

Damon strides to the rocks and starts climbing. I follow and have to use my hands to pull myself over the top of one. The heat of the rocks warms my palms as I go.

“Do you need a hand?” he asks.

“Puh-lease,” I snort. “I’ve been coming to places like this for years with my dad.”

“So, you like the outdoors then?”

“I guess,” I reply. “More than the city. We used to camp a lot in the summer.”

“Not quite like this though, right?” He stops to sit on the highest rock. “Camp Harmony feels like it’s separated from the rest of the world.”

“You could say that,” I say cautiously.

Is he trying to get me to talk to report back to Jacqueline on how serious I am about the program? I pause to sit on the rock below him and admire the view. It’d be a great spot at sunset. It’s peaceful. Usually, camp is filled with the sound of music from constant practicing. At first, I enjoyed being surrounded by instruments playing—living and breathing music is why I wanted to come here—but following my conversation with Jacqueline, it feels stifling.

“How are you enjoying your time here?” Damon asks.

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you gonna quote me for the website?”

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