Page 84 of Beautiful Enemy

“I can’t be with your daughter, Christian,” I say at last. “She’s lovely and intelligent, and she’ll find someone well suited to her.”Without your help, I don’t add. “But that man isn’t me.”

He sighs. “That is indeed a disappointment. I was looking forward to the idea our empires might one day become one.”

He’s withdrawing. I feel it.

This can’t be over. I won’t lose La Mer this way.

Adrenaline pours through my veins.

“My parents were married in Ibiza,” I hear myself say. “A small ceremony.”

“I remember.”

“After, they danced on the beach in the place La Mer now stands. When it opened, they thought it the ideal place—not a club, but an altar. A slice of heaven where the sea meets the sky.”

Christian chuckles. “One you wish to possess.”

“One Mischa doesn’t deserve to.” There’s an edge of desperation to my voice. “He’s playing to your vanity.”

“And you to my morality? Surely there are better men for that.”

I circle the chair, shift onto the edge, and look the man dead in the eyes. “My father was your colleague. Your friend. You were business partners occasionally. Friends always.”

His gaze sharpens. “Friendship is easy to portray. A smile here. A handshake there. I’m sure there are moments you and Mischa could be mistaken for friends, in a polite room.”

The hairs on my neck rise. Was there bad blood between him and my father? If so, that’s news to me.

I regroup, vowing to get to the bottom of that later.

“Think about my recommendation. I stand behind her unreservedly.”

He rubs his chin, eyes altogether too knowing. “If you are certain she’s available, I will consider it.”

I nod. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Despite the unresolved nature of the La Mer deal, conviction surges through me.

Now, I have a reason to ask her to stay.

On my way out of the study, I nearly run into Mischa, who’s waiting in the hallway.

I don’t know how much he heard, but as I start down the hall, his dead eyes leave holes in my back.

20

Rae

“Impossible.” Leni drops onto a stool at the VIP room bar, putting a shot of tequila in front of me.

“What is?”

“We broke sixteen hundred on Monday,” she reminds me. “Tonight, we’re at eighteen hundred and you haven’t even taken the stage yet. There’s a line around the hotel.”

We clink glasses and toss them back.

“At least I can go out on a high note,” I say after I swallow, the alcohol burning down my throat. “Thank you for this.”

I’m a few minutes from my final performance at Debajo, and it’s bittersweet.

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