Page 65 of Beautiful Enemy

“Just caught the bug as a teenager. Helped when I got a computer and a synth.”

“Did your parents buy them for you?”

I flex my hands under the table. “My first one, yeah.”

She laughs. “Guess that gave you something to channel your angst. What do they think of your career now?”

Tension climbs up my spine, settles into my shoulders. “We don’t talk about it a lot.”

“You’re one of the only women playing the White Isle this summer. You’ve stood up for women’s rights even when it cost you.”

This is why I hate live interviews. It’s impossible to filter out these kinds of things. “It’s important to speak up for the people who can’t protect themselves.”

Despite the fact that she’s recording, she makes a note. I force myself not to lean over the table to see what she’s writing.

“Harrison King is lying low thanks to you,” she comments, and the right turn has me straightening. “Have you heard from him?”

It’s not common knowledge that Harrison owns Debajo. He doesn’t advertise the fact, and she clearly hasn’t put it together. I’m not going to do it for her.

“I’d rather focus on the future.”

I manage to steer the conversation away from me and toward my music.

As she rises to head to the door, I ask, “When are you expecting to finalize the article?”

“Soon. I’m pulling in more sources, and I’ll come by Debajo to take some photos.”

“Sure thing. I’m actually closing next Saturday.”

There’s a wave of nerves as I watch her leave. Playing a show is high stakes, but you get immediate feedback. With the media, you never know what they’ll come up with until it’s served up to the public on a platter.

I shake myself before dropping back into my seat to review some logistics for the upcoming shows.

Press is good. It’ll help Debajo, and my career.

My phone rings immediately after.

“Greetings, cousin. You’re unreal,” Callie declares.

“Um. Thanks?”

“Truly. With the money you sent, I’ve been able to cover payroll for another two weeks.”

“More will come after the last show,” I promise.

“I’ll pay you back every cent. I swear.”

“You don’t need to.”

I can almost hear her roll her eyes.

“How’s your mysterious, infuriating hottie?”

I turn it over. “Still hot. Still infuriating.”

“So, why do you sound as if you’ve softened?”

“He’s planning something for my birthday.”

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