Page 2 of Beautiful Enemy

“And you?” Toro asks.

“I’m here to help them.”

I slide my sunglasses onto my face, the warm air washing over me. It was spring in New York yesterday, and now it’s summer in Spain.

The ocean breeze washes over me as Toro shows me to a Mercedes limo and holds open the back door.

“I’m riding up front.”

Before he can argue, I pull on the passenger door and lift a book off the seat—Eat, Pray, Love.

“This your throwback book club pick of the week?” I set it on the dash, and my lips twitch as I cut him a look. “Don’t get me wrong, I read it. Upper-middle-class blond chick searches for purpose after her divorce. Found it as relatable as you probably did. Some of us don’t need an international journey to find ourselves.”

I fasten my seatbelt as he pulls out of the spot.

“Then what are you doing here?”

I shift in my seat under his suddenly curious gaze. “Dream come true. You mix in Ibiza, you can work anywhere.”

But this gig isn’t just my big shot…

It’s my last shot.

I’m twenty-four years old, and if I don’t crush this residency, I might never get another chance to do for a living the one thing that makes me feel alive.

I’ve wanted to make electronic music since I first put on headphones in front of the computer my parents got me after a traumatic sophomore year of high school.

DJing connects me with an audience in a way that’s safe and intimate at once. Unlike other performances, they don’t come to watch me.

They come so I’ll move them.

My music stops being about me and starts being about them. How it makes them feel.

There’s no better trip.

But the industry doesn’t exactly welcome new people with open arms. I’ve fought with everything I have to get where I am.

Or at least where I was two months ago.

“You came alone,” my driver says as we pull out of the airport, and I arch an eyebrow.

“You’d be surprised what a woman can do without a man, Toro,” I tease.

I can’t imagine being serious enough about a guy to have him travel with me for work.

I’m not blaming my viewpoint on divorced parents. More like every time life has gotten hard, I’ve found myself alone.

It’s amazing how fast people leave when having your back costs them something.

“I have a grown daughter I haven’t seen in some time. She is independent like you. That is why I’m reading the book. My wife said our daughter enjoyed it, and I would like to understand what she likes.”

It’s so paternal my chest tightens. “She’s lucky you take an interest.”

“I’m sure your parents are very proud,” he says, and I swallow the hard lump that rises up my throat without responding. “I will take you to your accommodations.”

“Would you take me to the club instead? I need to check on some specs.” Besides, there’s nothing I’ll do at the villa except stress about my bag.

Toro palms the wheel like a caress. “Debajo. It means below.”

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