Page 25 of Beautiful Enemy

I have no interest in her, not as a woman.

But the rejection is still refreshingly painful.

I turn to find her pouring coffee into a mug. She holds it out. “Real coffee. I bought it in town.”

“There isn’t real or fake coffee…” I take a sip, the flavors mingling pleasantly in my mouth. “It’s not terrible.”

Rae’s face lights with triumph, her lips curving. “I told you.”

Ash was right. She is really fucking pretty.

“La Mer,” she goes on. “It’s bigger than Coachella, than Vegas, than anywhere. Why don’t you own it?”

It takes a moment for me to catch up. “I’m working on it. The things most worth having take time to acquire.”

She reaches for the mug, and our fingers brush. Awareness runs through me.

She holds my gaze for a moment before heading toward the kitchen table.

“So, how are you going to fill my club?” I ask as she drops into the chair, setting her mug on the table.

“I have to give them a different experience every time. Plus, I’m figuring out how to get on the right people’s radar.”

I grab the wrapped sandwich Natalia made me knowing I’d come for it when I was ready before returning to perch on the edge of the table.

“Debajo isn’t going to be the ‘it’ place,” she goes on. “It’s a basement. The place for those who don’t want to go to the ‘it’ place.”

“People like you? The rebels and outcasts?”

I should be interested in what she can do for my club, and I am, but I’m interested in her too.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

Her gaze flicks to mine, surprised.

“You’re abrasive and petulant. But add a wig, a hundred thousand euros of sound equipment, and some strobe lights? A rebel girl can turn into a nightclub goddess.”

Her lips part. “Goddess.”

“I’m not referring to your looks,” I say evenly, though the more I stare at her, the more I want to. “Goddesses aren’t defined by their beauty. They’re defined by their power. You have that, yet you react to the world instead of commanding it.”

I don’t know why I’m telling her this, but it’s been weighing on me since the first night I saw her play.

Maybe I see something in her I recognize, the feeling she’s been wronged and is trying—futilely, desperately—to set things right.

“Easy for you to say,” she replies. “People wait for you to act. By the time I have a chance, they’ve already made up their mind about me. Already decided things that change my present and my future.”

I imagine it’s been a struggle for her. I can see it on her face.

The earnest way she’s watching me, like my words are sinking in, has my chest tightening.

“Learn to take your power and no one can tell you what to do.”

Her dark lashes blink as she cradles her chin between her palms, inhaling slowly before letting the breath out.

“Well, damn. Thanks for the career advice, Mr. King,” she says, deadpan.

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