6. Rae
6
RAE
“H ave you found my bag?” I press a hand to my face to stifle the yawn. It’s noon, and I managed two hours of fitful sleep in the luxurious bed at the villa.
“Unfortunately not.” The woman at the airline repeats the words I heard yesterday about reimbursement as I flop onto the bed and drop the phone next to me.
I stare longingly at the bedside table, where my bottle of pills would typically be. Instead of my belongings, the only way I’ve personalized this room is by throwing Harrison’s suit jacket over the lampshade until I can figure out what to do with it.
After, I make a call to my attorney, who says there’s no clear loophole to get me out of this contract and avoid the damages written in—which I never thought I’d be in a position to consider.
I’m stranded in Ibiza without options, my pills… even a damned razor.
The jet lag is messing with my head.
My workout clothes were in my checked bag, so I pull on my sneakers and the skinny jeans from yesterday.
One glance in the mirror over the dresser shows my hair is a mess of craziness. I yank it all up into a ponytail before I peer out into the hall. No sign of anyone.
When I reach the top of the stairs, rapid shouting in Spanish comes from below, ending with, “Get back here!”
Then I’m attacked.
A big, black dog with brown eyes barrels toward me, leaping. His paws hit my thighs, his lolling tongue licking at my arms.
I catch him awkwardly.
“My apologies, senorita. He loves people,” Natalia calls up the stairs from the doorway of the kitchen.
The creature lets me set his paws back on the ground but continues to eye me as if I’m the only thing he’s wanted his whole life.
“His master hasn’t had time to take him out for his walk today. I was late finishing my errands yesterday, and…”
Probably because she went to get me clothes.
“Are you going for a walk? Would you take him? He’s no trouble.”
Guilt has me saying, “Ah, sure.”
We never had pets growing up. My parents are both in tech—my dad left Tehran for computer engineering at UCLA. They’ve always kept long hours, and though their careers meant my brothers and I never suffered materially, a dog would’ve been one too many interruptions for their goals.
I take the stairs down as Natalia gets the dog’s leash and fastens it on, meeting me at the front door with a grateful smile.
“You would like breakfast when you return?” Natalia gestures toward the kitchen. “And tea?”
I’m not used to being served by anyone, but my stomach growls—probably because I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. “Coffee would be great.”
I take the dog out and let the sea breeze go to work on my brain.
Telemanco, where the villa is, isn’t as busy as Ibiza Town. It’s relaxed and stunning, and I could totally take a vacation here if I had the money.
As I walk, I use my phone to read articles about Harrison King and Echo Entertainment. Search engines keep insisting I want to know about his travels with his ex-fiancée, model Eva Nilsson. There are photos of them in cafés, on the red carpet, at charity galas, and even on the beach.
She’s stunning, and I can’t help noticing the way she beams at him.
Maybe Ash is full of shit. I don’t see a woman who would’ve left. She looks utterly devoted.
Not that there’s nothing to respect about Harrison King. He relentlessly built an entertainment empire, so he’s clearly focused. But he’s soulless.
It was easy to forget when those bottomless blue eyes were boring into me last night in the VIP room. For a moment, I couldn’t help wondering how deep you’d have to fall to find something more in him, and whether it might be worth it.
A grinning old man descends on us, speaking to the dog. “His name?” he asks me after a moment.
I tuck the phone away, stalling. “Licorice.”
The man looks surprised, but the dog barks agreeably. After a few more pets, we continue on our way.
“That was embarrassing,” I inform the dog.
He cocks his head, lifting both ears.
After we’re interrupted another few times, I realize walking the dog is not a way to get quiet time to myself.
So, I make a game of it and give him a new name every time.
“Costas.”
“Siegfried.”
“Roy.”
I wind “Bowie’s” leash tighter to rein him in as I scroll through my banking information on my phone.
I don’t check it often because the only thing I need money for is a roof over my head and plane tickets from show to show, both of which are usually covered by the venue.
Still, the balance is lower than I’d like.
I scan through the recent transactions.
One automatic withdrawal from last month—rapidly approaching for this month—makes me curse.
I hit a contact on my phone, chewing my lip as I wait for the line to pick up.
“Hello, cousin,” I say when it does.
“Hey.” Rustling sounds come over the line as if Callie’s getting out of bed.
Since we were kids, we had a running joke of greeting each other formally. Living a few hours apart, we’d mostly see one another at family events and holidays. We weren’t allowed to have cellphones until high school, and we weren’t supposed to use our computers to message.
Of course, we did anyway, but we kept up appearances to fool our parents.
Since high school, I haven’t been close with my brothers or parents. Callie’s the nearest thing I have to family, and though we don’t hang out on the regular, she’s the one person who’s stood by me since I was a kid when I needed it.
I picture her in the West LA apartment she shares with a roommate as I press the phone to my ear to pick up more sounds around her, clues as to her well-being. “Are you working this week?”
“Um, I’m not sure.” More noises, as if she’s moving around.
My cousin is normally upbeat and inquisitive. Her response makes me pull up, stepping away from the route so we don’t get trampled by runners or tourists. “Listen. I’m calling because I might not have the money this month.”
I hold my breath as I wait for her disappointment, or protest.
“It’s fine,” she says, her voice flat.
“You don’t need it?”
“We need way more. Something we were counting on fell through. I’m not sure we’ll make it this time.”
Alarm has my hand tightening on the phone. “How much are you short?”
She sighs. “Twenty thousand.”
Shit .
There’s no way I have that kind of free cash, even with this contract.
“Can you get a loan?”
“I tried. We’ve just been served an eviction notice.”
The sunshine is every bit as bright, but as the dog tugs me down the path, my feet are heavy as bricks.
“Your landlord can’t kick you out, especially given the circumstances.”
“He doesn’t care. I’m going to be spending the next week packing.”
I’ve been trying to figure out how to leave Ibiza in one piece, but my chest aches when I think of Callie, the one person who’s always had my back.
When I help her, it’s because I want to and I can. Not because she asks.
“Don’t pack yet. Let me get back to you.”
* * *
When I return to the villa, I’m still trying to think of how to help Callie.
I step inside, the leash looped around my wrist. I stop to yank off a shoe.
Before I can, the dog bolts.
I trip each step as he drags me across the floor, up the stairs.
“Stop. Licorice! Costas! Siegfried! Roy! Bowie!”
He hesitates at the last word, and I manage to suck in a breath before he lunges again, nearly knocking me flat on my face.
He galumphs down the hall with me stumbling behind. The door at the end is cracked, and he sticks his nose in before shoving it wide and barreling into the room.
I barely notice the wood furniture and sunny orange walls of an office.
Especially when my gaze lands on the man on the phone, seated on the edge of the desk.
“Unacceptable. We had this solved last week.” Harrison King is impeccable in dress slacks and a blue shirt that matches his eyes. Eyes that widen when the dog launches himself onto the man.
“That was the whole point of the deal,” he bites out into the phone. “We invested in the renovations expecting a return. This is a multibillion-dollar business, not fucking child’s play.”
I stop in the middle of the room, the leash still taut.
“That’s your job,” he goes on. “I suggest you do it.” Harrison stabs a finger at his phone, ending the call.
“Down, Bowie,” I say belatedly. I don’t know what Harrison King is doing here, but seeing the dog put his paws all over the expensive clothes is oddly satisfying.
Harrison’s gaze drags up my body from my running shoes, a slow study. Judging from his drawn brows, it seems to leave him with no more answers than when he started.
“Bowie?” He shifts off the desk and crosses to me.
“I don’t know his name. But he seems pretty rock and roll.”
Harrison loosens the leash from around my wrist. The Rolex on his wrist glints in the light from the open windows.
“It’s Barney,” he says as he releases me. “And he’s my dog.”
Surprise slams into me.
“You and your dog are staying at my villa.” I look around the office again, needing somewhere to focus that’s not his unrelenting attention.
“No. You and your attitude are staying at my villa.”
Horror washes over me.
I slept at this man’s house last night? Walked his damned dog?
What kind of a controlling freak invites a contractor who hates him to live with him?
And skips the invitation, I might add.
“Why?” I blurt.
His gaze is chastising. “I decided it would be easier to keep an eye on you and ensure you complied with your contractual responsibilities. An impulsive decision I’m already regretting,” he adds, frowning as he searches my face.
I could scream, but my attention drags back to his watch. I could probably pawn the thing and solve all of my cousin’s financial problems.
Harrison King could snap his fingers and pay off the debt of a small country.
My mind spins as I concoct a plan that keeps me one step ahead. “About the contract?—”
“I’ve told you, if you break the contract, I’ll sue you.”
“I want to renegotiate.”
His mouth snaps shut.
“You’ve invested a lot in Debajo’s renovations. Give me twenty-five percent of the door for the next month and I’ll fill it.”
He folds his arms across his chest, the blue fabric pulling across firm muscles. The way his eyes narrow as he clicks smoothly into business mode is as compelling as it is intimidating. “Because you can do things my PR firm can’t?”
I match his posture. “Obviously.”
I’m bluffing. Publicity isn’t my strong suit, unless you count publicly going down in flames. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“And if you don’t?”
“I don’t get paid. But when you make money, I make money.”
Something nudges at my thigh, and I look down to see Barney inserting himself between us, tail wagging.
“Ten percent,” Harrison replies as I bend down to scratch the dog’s head.
“Twenty. And I’m moving to alternative accommodations.”
“Fifteen, you stay, plus I get three requests of my choosing.”
The evenness of his voice has my jaw dropping. This man acts as if he always gets his way.
“What kind of requests?”
“Any requests,” he says impatiently. “If I want you to clean the pool using your thong as a filter, you will.”
My hands fist at my sides. “I’m not a genie in a fucking bottle. Clean your own pool.”
Harrison turns away. “Then there’s no deal.”
The dismissal is swift and brutal.
I don’t understand his endgame. One more mystery about the already-confusing man before me.
But I know that what he wants is to put me in a corner.
“These requests don’t involve other people,” I say at last, and his head cocks.
“Only you.”
The way he says those two words makes me shiver.
“Eighteen, plus your stupid requests,” I counter.
His blue gaze is intense enough I feel my ribs crack.
We shake, and electricity runs up my arm at his touch.
He pulls away first. “I’ll have my solicitor send a new copy of the contract. I expect your signature by the end of the day. Along with my jacket.”
My head snaps up to meet his mocking expression. “You knew you’d get it back. That’s why you gave it to me.”
“It’s Brioni.” He says it as if it’s an answer.
“You’re unbelievable. Controlling, demanding, manipulative… No wonder your fiancée left you.”
His fist clenches around the leash, and when he speaks, his voice is dangerously low. “Be careful what you say when you still want things from me.”
A knock on the door is followed by the housekeeper’s immediate entrance.
“Ah, perdón !” she gushes when she sees us. “I see you and Senor King are getting more acquainted.” She’s either oblivious to the tension or ignores it. “I thought senorita would like to know her suitcase is in her room.”
My heart leaps. “The airline found it?”
“No,” Harrison intervenes. “The contents were spilled when we retrieved them, but I trust everything is there.”
He found my suitcase when the airline couldn’t. Through what, some kind of billionaire black magic?
Relief surges through me, though it’s short-lived when I remind myself who’s responsible for it.
His voice follows me to the door. “You may buy replacements for anything missing from your luggage and charge them to my account, with one exception. I do not tolerate my employees on drugs of any kind.”
Son of a…
“And don’t forget my jacket.”
I sprint down the hall and unzip my suitcase, tossing clothes and wigs and toiletries out onto the floor.
The pill bottle is zipped into an inside pocket.
And it’s empty.