Page 7 of Beautiful Enemy

“This will meet your needs?” she asks as she opens a door.

I step into the room of pale-yellow walls, and beyond them are double doors opening to a balcony that overlooks the ocean. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

She nods before ducking out, closing the door.

The sight and the fresh scent of the water unlock my chest, a twisted knot wound tighter since my run-in with the devil himself.

I’m in another country without most of my possessions, and my only potential source of income is the man I hate.

But I know one thing—there’s no way I’m playing for him. I’ll walk into the sea first and never come back.

I pull out my phone, digging around to find the contract. His name’s not on it anywhere, but that’s not unusual for a large organization.

The amount I stand to lose by not playing has my stomach sinking.

I send the paperwork off to my lawyer anyway, asking how I can get out of it.

This gig was supposed to be my salvation. Instead, I’m being forced to play for the man I hate.

I’m used to traveling, but suddenly, I feel adrift.

I do a quick calculation of the time difference—six hours behind—before I hit a number on my phone.

“Hey!” Annie’s panting voice comes through the speaker. “You caught me in the midst of my morning stomach pyrotechnics.”

“Hardly seems fair Tyler’s on tour and you’ve been hugging a toilet for the last two weeks.”

My roommate from arts school and her rock-star husband are going to be parents in less than five months.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be making it up to me.”

Her breezy tone has me shaking my head. I have no doubt she’ll tell him what she wants. Or that he’ll move mountains to give it to her. Their relationship is almost enough to make me believe in love.

“I was going to ask if you had a chance to lay down vocals for that track I was working on.”

“I need one more listen before I send it over,” she promises. “Now please distract me so I don’t think about how every smell in our house makes me want to upchuck.”

Her earnest plea makes my mouth twitch.

“I just got into Ibiza.” I flop down on the double bed, which gives gently under my weight. The fabric smells fresh—not from-a-can fresh either. “But the residency gig isn’t what I signed on for.”

Telling her the full extent of what’s going down might upset her or, worse, make her try to intervene.

I don’t need her solving my problems. Both because I can solve them myself and because she knows what went down between Harrison and me.

We met at her wedding.

The man holding me contractually hostage is a friend of her husband’s.

She makes a noise of sympathy. “If it’s anything like doing a show on Broadway, it’s exhausting and scary but rewarding too.”

Doubtful.

“Where’s Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody?” I change the subject.

“Tyler’s in Amsterdam this week. Since the honeymoon, I’ve been going into travel withdrawal. I heard Ibiza is beautiful.”

My feet carry me out to the balcony. My finger trails along the sandstone half wall as I inhale the fresh air.

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