Page 1 of Beautiful Enemy

1

Rae

The man across the arrivals lounge in Ibiza is abrasively beautiful. The kind of attractive that could rip you in two.

Which is exactly what seeing him does to me.

Wearing a dark suit, cut close to his strong body, he carries himself with a confidence no man should possess.

No one is that right, least of allhim.

The man in the lounge turns, calling out to a woman across the room. He’s handsome, but I realize he’s not the man I haven’t been able to get out of my head for the past two months.

This man has dark eyes, not electrifying blue ones. He lacks the crisp British accent that reeks of boarding schools and privilege. Plus, I don’t have that feeling in my gut, as if the ground is vibrating beneath my feet.

“I’m sorry, Miss Madani.” The baggage clerk’s bright voice drags my attention back to the counter. “Your bag was tracked from New York to Heathrow but hasn’t shown on the system since.”

Her words settle in, and a knot forms in my chest. “That’s not possible. I need that bag.”

“If we can’t deliver it to you in twenty-four hours, you will be reimbursed up to five hundred euros.”

I press the heels of my hands to my eyes.

Barely sleeping on the plane, then stumbling onto the next after stopping to brush my teeth and collect a Starbucks grande to get me through customs and the transfer is catching up to me.

I should’ve known it was a bad idea to put everything I owned in that bag.

Including my pills.

Someone bumps me from behind, and I glance back to see a string of five women in matching white minidresses. The woman at the front of the bachelorette train that was on my plane is wearing a crown and sash, and the train hollers about “one last time.”

I’m the only one herenotlooking for a party.

“I understand this is disappointing. A young woman like you, I bet you had your vacation wardrobe chosen.” The woman takes in my black tank top and ripped jeans as if I’d do better to start from scratch.

“I’m not here on vacation.” I shove a chunk of dark hair out of my face and feel for my crossbody bag, the computer nestled inside.

Thank fuck.

I wonder what she’d say if I told her the truth. That I’m here because I set my career on fire standing up for what I believed in and every venue that was fighting to finger me two months ago is dodging my calls.

When I leave the baggage area, the low-grade throbbing in my gut won’t quit.

The company that hired me said they’d send a ride. Sure enough, by the doors is a huge man in a linen suit with graying hair. He holds a sign that says “L. Queen.”

“That’s me.” Professionally, at least. “You can call me Rae.”

“No baggage?”

“I wish. What’s your name?”

“Toro, señorita.”

I fall into step with him as we dodge tourists and head out the double doors.

“Looks like everyone’s here to party,” I notice.

The people pouring out of the airport are ready to dance and drink and party their cares away.

---