Page 44 of Enemies

I want to talk about your new gig in Ibiza. You’re causing a lot of buzz. When can we meet?

I’ve never done face-to-face interviews, which are outside my comfort zone because it’s harder to control the conversation, so I tuck the phone away without responding.

I shift out of bed and trip over to the door, catching sight of my still-sprayed hair in the mirror. The makeup that didn’t quite come off my face last night after the party.

The party.

It all rushes back. Playing Cinderella. Pretending to be part of that world.

And the feeling of seeing Harrison with his ex.

As I step out into the hall, I expect to hear him, but there’s nothing.

His office door is closed, and so is his bedroom.

“Looking for Mr. Moody?” Ash calls from the dining area downstairs.

I lean over the railing. “Maybe. What’re you doing here?”

“Got back last night to find our club’s villa trashed. Tripped over bottles and naked tourists to come over.”

I pad downstairs and eye the green smoothie Ash is drinking. “That looks disgusting.”

“So do you.” He ruffles my hair. “But last night, you were stunning. Everyone noticed.” He pauses. “He left for business this morning.”

“Oh.” I try not to feel disappointed he didn’t tell me. “For how long?”

“Who knows?” His eyes narrow. “But there’s something in the kitchen for you.”

I look where he’s pointing to see a huge stainless-steel espresso maker.

“Shit. Does it do laundry too?” Up close, it’s even more impressive, and I run a hand over the levers and dials before reaching for the instruction manual next to it. “He must have decided he likes good coffee,” I say as I thumb through the pages.

Ash’s snort has me looking up. “Yeah. He bought it for himself,” he says dryly.

I set the instructions on top of the machine, spotting a Post-it note stuck to the stainless steel.

There’s a number scrawled on it.

Eleven hundred thirteen.

It’s the door from Thursday’s show—up from eight hundred when we started. Two thousand is capacity, so while it’s trending in the right direction, we’re nowhere near selling out.

“Maybe he bought it for when he returns?” I wonder aloud.

“If that’s what you think, you’re daft.” Ash is watching me with a grin and folded arms. “There’s something going on between you and my brother.”

I match his posture. “It’s called a grudge.”

“That might be how you both started, but it’s not why you were upset last night.”

“A month off from soccer and you’re a shrink?”

He plows on, unmoved. “I was twelve when our parents died. Harry showed up at the door of my boarding school. You know the first thing he said to me?”

I shake my head.

“‘No matter what anyone says about them, they loved you. That’s all you need to know.’

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