Page 58 of Beautiful Enemy

“Interesting.”

Getting Rae’s song played last night at La Mer wasn’t planned, but then she walked away from me, looking gutted.

I believe in her, but I’m practical too. The business part of my brain reminded me La Mer has its pick of the world’s top DJs regardless of who owns it.

I didn’t immediately think I could use that platform to help her become one of those DJs.

And she will be one.

The possibility that she needed to hear that had never occurred to me because she’s so damn independent.

I had to fix it.

I’m supposed to want to put things right in my business, and my life. It matters more than anything. Except…

All I could think about last night was proving myself to Rae. Torn between sweeping her off her feet and laying whatever I have at them.

So, I grabbed her and did what I’ve been thinking about for fucking weeks.

Kissing her on the dance floor wasn’t planned, but when I saw her cutting through the crowd, searching me out, a beast unfurled inside me. One that wanted to protect her. To make sure nothing ever hurt her the way I had.

My reward was the single hottest kiss of my life.

I want her under me. Stripped down to nothing so she can’t hide behind a costume or anything else. It’s all I can think about.

She’s infiltrated my life, and I have no one to blame but myself. I brought her here, was hellbent on punishing her and reclaiming what she’d cost me.

Instead, she’s turned me inside out.

She’s a siren with a sound system and the power to move everyone she can reach. And even though she hasn’t spilled her problems at my feet, I see her pain as plainly as if she had.

The woman lives out of a single suitcase, has a love-hate relationship with the bottle of pills she hasn’t touched since I replaced them, and creates extraordinary music.

But I have to keep the part of me that’s obsessed with Raegan Madani in check this morning because we’re back to business and Brioni.

“Well, if you have more interesting evenings planned, I hope you will celebrate her birthday,” Toro says.

“Her birthday?” I echo.

“This weekend.”

I bite my tongue before saying what comes to mind. What the fuck do you get the woman you can’t get out of your head when you have no business thinking about her?

We’re not dating. At worst, she’s my hostage. At best, my employee.

Except neither of those labels feels adequate to describe what’s happening between us.

I want her in my bed. But more than that, I want to do something for her, something she can’t do for herself.

I can’t get her what I’d get any other woman, or she’ll look at me as if I’ve missed the obvious, the way she did when I bought her the espresso machine.

When we pull up to the villa, I shift out of the car and fasten my jacket, thanking Toro before I take the steps two at a time.

My intention is to conclude this deal today. Of course, the signing will come later, but Christian is a man of his word. He won’t reverse once we shake on it.

The door is opened by a young woman with light-brown hair and a familiar bone structure. “Mr. King. Please come in.” Her light French accent matches Christian’s.

She shows me to a study where the man in question is watching a baseball game.

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