Page 13 of Beautiful Enemy

“I don’t think so.” I settle in next to him as we head through the private backstage halls. Security lets us pass without comment.

“Damn it. It was going to seem natural when I called you Raegan, but I guess I can’t say you told me.”

I stop abruptly. “How did you—”

“Come on, blondie.” He grabs my wrist and tugs me after him.

I reluctantly follow.

My real name might be on every contract, but I keep my personal life separate where I can. It’s strange hearing not only my nickname, which all my friends use, but my full name.

“Wish I could hide out for privacy,” he says, reading my mind. “I play pro football.”

I scan his lean form. “Quarterback?”

He scoffs. “Proper football.”

It suits him, being an athlete. He carries himself as though he uses his body for a living.

He holds the door for me, and I walk through into another world. There’s a private bar, beautiful people lounging at tables, a poker game in one corner. The veneer of casual exclusivity is impossible to miss. Diamonds against crushed velvet. Wool suiting on faded leather stools.

My gaze lands on the table of men playing cards. One in particular has me stiffening.

Harrison King is wearing a suit tonight. He’s impeccable. Not runway-model beautiful, but mafia-don ruthless. Sharp angles and unyielding planes. His strong face is sculpted into an intense study of the cards in front of him, the ones on the table.

Ash follows my gaze and snorts. “Don’t let him ruin your fun. Just because he’s a prick and he owns the place…”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

We head for the bar, and he orders me a cocktail.

“Harrison King stole my belongings,” Ash goes on after. “Held my head underwater until I conceded. Told on me.” There’s a long pause as I process each of these transgressions.

Finally, Ash raises his glass, grinning. “He’s my older brother.”

I shouldn’t be talking to anyone who shares an ounce of DNA with the man I loathe.

“So, he sent you to make nice.”

“Hardly. He’ll be upset I’m talking to you.”

I clink my glass against his before taking a sip. The vodka soda is clean on my tongue, in my throat, as music from the afterparty outside drifts in. “Then by all means, continue.”

Ash barks out a laugh, blue eyes warmer than his brother’s. “If you hate him, why are you playing his club?”

“A mistake. One I’m going to fix in the morning so I can get out of here.”

“That’s unfortunate. You should stay.”

“Help the man I hate make money?” I scoff.

“I’m going to tell you a secret. You’re making money too, Raegan.”

“Rae,” I correct, not because we’re friends but because hearing my full name weirds me out. “Why do you care?”

He turns the glass in his hands. “Women have followed him willingly all his life. I think you’d show him there’s another way.”

“He wouldn’t appreciate another way. The man treats women like disposable napkins.” I think of how abruptly he silenced his club manager earlier today.

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