2. Harrison
2
HARRISON
I t’s not the first time I’ve tried to open a new door in my life—metaphorically or literally.
Nor is it the first time the way has been thoroughly barricaded.
“How long will this take?” I bark into my Bluetooth headphones, kicking at the stack of cinderblocks barring the entrance to the warehouse.
“Depends. The documents you shared about your parents weren’t much to go on.” The other man’s Northern Irish accent abrades my ears.
“So go to other sources. You’re the investigator.” Cobwebs cover my hands as I lift a brick and set it a dozen feet away.
“You can’t just go around asking whether dead people were involved in illicit activities.”
I toss my tie over my shoulder as I bend to grab two more. “Should be easier than when they were alive.”
My top priority is convincing Christian my parents were innocent so he’ll sell me La Mer. Hence the investigator.
My father helped build the legitimate side of Mischa’s family’s business, acquiring and managing real estate and venues. I didn’t think much of it until the summer after my fist year of uni in Connecticut. I arrived home to find them looking so drained even a self-indulgent nineteen-year-old would notice something was wrong.
They looked over their shoulders when we were out. Stayed in the living room, speaking in hushed tones late at night. While I had been at school, they’d become unhappy ghosts of the people who raised me.
Which was why I told them to leave the Ivanov family’s business.
They were in the process of doing that when they were killed, their deaths made to look like drug overdoses.
“Someone is alleging my parents not only knew the full nature of what transpired in that business but enabled it.”
If anyone but Christian needed the kind of proof I hired the investigator to find, I’d have dismissed it as ugly conjecture. However, what Christian thinks matters because I need to buy his club in order to bury Mischa once and for all.
“You have thirty days to definitively return evidence they were innocent.”
I click off more forcefully than necessary and toss the earpieces in my pocket as footsteps approach me from behind.
“Sounds juicy, boss.” Leni pops a hand on a hip as I grab the last of the blocks blocking the door.
“Christian’s holding out on La Mer. I thought he and my father were good friends. Turns out there was something between them. A misunderstanding, no doubt. My father was a decent man.”
“And if he wasn’t?”
I frown at the sun over the top of the warehouse, sweat making my shirt stick to my back. “Everything I’m doing to rebuild what they started is for them. I can’t believe he would have knowingly helped build an empire on people’s suffering.” I grab my pocket square and wipe the dirt off my hands, the sweat at the base of my neck. “Digging up the truth is my investigator’s business. In the meantime, this is ours.”
She turns to survey the property. “Looks like shit.”
“Most diamonds do before they’re polished.” I unlock the door and gesture inside. “After you.”
The space is massive, a single open rectangle with concrete floors and industrial lighting suspended thirty feet up.
The floor plans I reviewed say there are offices at one end, which we can use. The dozen loading docks are overkill. We might use one, but the rest need to be closed off or redesigned.
“How long to renovate it into a nightclub?” I ask.
“Assuming the permits and zoning are lined up… a year.”
“They’re not, and I want it in six months.”
Her laughter dies. “You’re serious?”
“I’m not waiting around while Christian passes judgment. Echo will continue to expand. We’ve been making acquisitions, but we can’t ignore development opportunities. This will be our next nightclub.”
Rumors of the nightclub industry’s downfall are overblown. The clubs that are closing are ones where the owners don’t understand the business they’re in and don’t evolve to deliver their function in new ways.
A club isn’t a venue that serves drinks.
It’s a theme park.
A secret rendezvous.
Hell, even a runway.
It’s a vehicle for thrills. The thrill made by being swept up in the darkness, the music, of watching and putting on a show.
Leni sighs. “I’ll see what I can do about the timeline. Work our contractor contacts, assuming we can pay twice regular rates.”
“One and a half,” I correct. “I’ll take care of the zoning and permits.”
LA is a city built for that twisted intersection of the elegant and the hedonistic, the cultured and the primal.
This area includes some studio buildings and storage. It’s close enough to Hollywood and most LA neighborhoods to get people in, and transit is established, though I expect most people will arrive by car.
Still, I’ve heard it’s tough to get through the zoning committees. We need to show them that putting a mixed-use entertainment venue here will be an asset to the local community rather than a liability.
“Why are you even here, converting some warehouse instead of running La Mer?” Leni prods. “I thought you and Christian were working it out.”
“I told him I’d prove to him I could run it and suggested an artist who could step in for the long weekend.”
“And?”
“And the day after I promised that, she left.”
My feet echo on the concrete as I cross the space, heading for the doors at the far side.
Leni cocks her head. “Let me guess—she doesn’t know about La Mer. Because your pride stopped you from telling her or from asking her to stay.”
“It’s not pride. She made it clear she wants nothing more to do with me.”
I grimace as I reach the door labeled OFFICE, try the handle. It gives. I peer into the darkness, feeling for a light switch. When I find it, the overhead light clicks on, showing a surprisingly decent space with furniture still in place.
This summer with Raegan was unexpected. I might’ve been the one to trick her into playing Debajo, but the joke was on me.
I felt way too fucking much around her. Not only was she beautiful and talented and stubborn. I wanted to fix the damned world for her, to make myself and everything around me worthy.
None of it mattered because she left at the first opportunity.
It’s unreasonable to blame her after what happened with Mischa. But I do.
I blame her.
Because whatever I felt, she didn’t feel the same, or she would’ve stayed.
Leni passes me and drags a finger across the dusty desk. “Rae’s playing in LA, you know.”
My abs clench at the sound of her name.
When Rae left, I needed to get my head out of my ass and move on with my business. Part of that was being seen at events, which I squared my shoulders for and undertook. I needed to play the game and be seen playing it.
Still… Every suggestive look, every overt invitation from women in my social circle, I’ve turned down.
It’s a strange combination, being available and being utterly uninterested in anyone but the one person I can’t have.
“You’ve been a bear since she left. What’re you going to do about it?”
I glare. “I liked you better when you weren’t up in my business.”
“You’re the one who hired me. Still can’t quite figure out why you picked up a bunch of misfits. Me, Natalia, Toro, half the people in your business.”
“My father always said to put the right people around you. I need a team that doesn’t require coddling to do what has to be done.”
Leni cocks a brow. “And she fits right in. Rae’s tougher than I thought. I like her. And you do too, or you wouldn’t have taken a sudden interest in a Burbank warehouse that’s sat vacant since you bought it a year ago.”
“I’m not here for her. This is business.” I survey the room, imagining the dusty furniture replaced with more modern trappings.
“Let’s pretend that’s true. Rae’s taken a hit, but her cult following is devoted. If we can get this place ready in six months, we’ll need to book talent. You’ve gotten a lot of bad press this year but still came out on top. Mischa didn’t press charges. No patrons were hurt at Debajo the night you two decided to bring your little fight club to town. Not that I’m complaining, but next time? Give me a heads-up so I can sell tickets.”
My gaze snaps to Leni’s.
I knew Rae was here when I decided to move this launch up the priority list for Echo, but she wasn’t the reason. I was done hiding out in Ibiza, licking my wounds, and needed to get back to running a growing corporation—one ready and able to bury Mischa’s once and for all.
“Not everything comes back to her,” I say.
My friend crosses to me and brushes off my suit. “So, why did you have a check printed instead of having her final payment wired to her like the others?” She taps my breast pocket. “Don’t worry, Harry. If I didn’t know you so well, I’d have no idea you were still obsessed with her.”
* * *
The check burns a hole in my breast pocket.
Through my suit, my shirt.
Possibly my skin.
When a member of Echo’s team reached out to see where we could deliver the check this morning, Rae responded with the address of a studio lot. They purposely didn’t say I would be the one coming.
The sun bakes my neck, my face damp under my sunglasses as I approach the trailer. The door opens, and two figures emerge—a young, athletic man with a woman slung over one shoulder and a stack of papers in his other hand.
The woman’s curvy legs are encased in faded skinny jeans. One flip-flop falls off her foot, landing next to the steps of the trailer.
“You owe me a shoe,” she huffs.
“Call my people,” Beck replies cheerfully.
“Fuck your people. I’ll stage an uprising in your closet while you’re sleeping. Throw one of your five-hundred-dollar loafers out the bedroom window and see how much you like that.”
The familiarity of Rae’s low mutter is a kick in my gut. The feelings I’ve been shoving down rise up at once, colliding and combusting in a way that feels uncannily like heartburn.
“Excuse me, do you have ID?” A woman shifts out of a golf cart in front of me.
“I’m Harrison King.”
Before she can stop me, I round the golf cart, leaving her behind.
“Well, this I didn’t expect.” Beck’s amused, and his insolent drawl when he spots me has my nostrils flaring.
Rae shifts on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve got company.” He releases her, bending to set her on the ground with a thud.
It’s an easy movement, as if they do this all the time.
I fucking hate it.
Rae straightens her top as she squares to face me.
She’s the same as I remember… and different. Slow curves even understated clothes can’t hide. Dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes framed with thick lashes narrowed in my direction so I can’t read the emotion beneath even if I want to.
And I want to. I’d give every dollar in my damn wallet to know what’s going through her head when we look at each other for the first time in a month.
It’s been thirty-two days, actually, since I left her in my room in Ibiza.
That night, I wanted to stay with her but forced myself to carry out my duties as owner of Debajo and as a King. I went to see the police, then Christian.
Beck holds up the sheaf of papers. “I’m gonna go read. You need anything, I’m on lunch for another thirty.”
She nods as he walks away.
Of the things I’ve pictured her doing since she left me, Beck wasn’t one of them. Jealousy is a living thing in my chest as I consider what they were doing in that trailer together.
The possibility that he gets to touch her, gets to see her smile, gets to fucking make her smile…
It’s agony.
Rae closes the distance, grabbing my jacket and tugging me to the side of the trailer as a golf cart flies by.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
I drag my sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of my suit. What am I doing here? If I had a reason, it’s lost in her eyes.
That’s when I remember the envelope. “I was in LA for business and wanted to drop this off.”
Rae’s brows pull together as she accepts the envelope, opens it, and sucks in a breath. “This is more than my cut.”
“We filled Debajo, which exceeded even my expectations. You deserve it.”
Dark, troubled eyes search mine.
“Besides,” I go on, impulsive, “I wasn’t sure where to send the espresso machine, and you wouldn’t use it anyway.”
Rae shoves a hand through her hair, looking as if she can’t decide whether to laugh or scream.
I want her to say she made a mistake by leaving. That she still thinks of me late at night after her shows.
Instead, Rae lifts the edge of my suit and tucks the envelope back in my pocket over my heart, her gaze lingering on my shirt as if she can see the scar beneath. “You don’t owe me anything.”
But it’s the look she gives me before turning and starting back toward the trailer door—not angry but sad, overwhelmed—that steels me.
“You owe me something.” She stops, and I press on. “You left my bed without saying goodbye.”
Rae turns slowly. “You didn’t see the article?”
“I saw it. That’s what happens when you’re in the public eye. You grow a thick skin because the arrows only get sharper.”
Her voice rises, her hands fisting at her sides. “I woke up to that news story, to the world calling me a hypocrite and someone I cared about shoving it in my face.”
“Are you a hypocrite?”
“I don’t know!” she retorts. “You didn’t come back all night. I tried calling you. Waited for hours.”
Each word is a knife in my gut.
I figured she’d decided I wasn’t worth sticking around for, like everything else in her life. I wasn’t going to reach out to her and beg her to reconsider.
The possibility she’d taken the article to heart never occurred to me.
She’s so fucking young right now. It should be a warning, another brick in a fortress of reasons I can’t have her, but all I want to do is drag her against me.
“You tried to reach me when I was at the police station,” I say, clenching my hands into fists so I don’t touch her. “I stopped to see Christian on the way home. When I got back, you’d left.”
Raegan doesn’t blink. “What about the issues with the clubs?”
“I swear I cleaned house. I told you I would make them better, and I did. There’ve been no issues since. Not a single claim.”
She wants to believe me. I want her to, though I have no right to ask.
“The article made me question a lot of things,” she says at last. “Things I’d stopped questioning while I was in Ibiza, playing for a man who was my enemy. One I swore I’d never support again.”
“He’s grateful.”
Her eyes cloud, either at the expression on my face or the humility in my voice.
I won’t beg. But seeing her like this, knowing where she’s coming from, I need to make her understand.
I can live with being a villain, but I won’t let her be one.
“I have somewhere to be,” she says.
“I’ll walk you out.”
She reaches into the trailer, coming back with the same backpack she toted around Ibiza. The top is open, and I catch a glimpse of the contents before she flips the top closed.
“He can’t do what I can do, “ I say as we fall into step next to each other and head down the road between studios, runners and golf carts passing every minute.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
The clawing in my chest has my hands clenching into fists.
Hello, jealousy. It’s been a while.
“Tell me you’re not fucking him.” I laugh, but underneath, I’m livid.
“That is every shade of not your business.”
“It is because you still have feelings for me.”
Rae pulls up, looking indignant.
“You kept the headphones I gave you.”
She follows my gaze to the now-closed bag on her back, where I’d caught a glimpse of them in the sunlight. “They’re diamond.”
“And you live out of a single bag. You wouldn’t want the reminder staring at you every day. So, if you were over what happened between us, you would’ve pawned them without blinking, love.”
The endearment slips out, but I hide my surprise. She can’t mask hers, though, and it’s worth the mistake for the way she swallows hard.
When I talked with Leni, I was still telling myself I could move past Rae. Now, I realize…
I don’t want to.
I resume my ambling toward the road until she catches up to me, her fingers digging into my skin through the jacket. This might be the first time I’ve wished I was wearing a polo shirt instead of a suit, if only to feel her touch without asking for it.
“What are you doing here, Harrison?” she demands. “You think you can keep an eye on me?”
“I purchased a lot in Burbank. It’s an industrial warehouse I’ve been planning to convert to an entertainment venue.”
“You’re opening a new club.”
“I need an act opening night. And whether you get off on my cock or just thinking about it”—her dark eyes flash—“you still owe me two favors.”
“Not legally enforceable.” Her voice is full of disbelief.
“But you’re not a woman who goes back on your commitments. It’s why you don’t make them lightly. When you’re done arguing with yourself, you know where to reach me.”
I savor her stunned expression as I press the envelope into her palm.
It’s hardly enough to tide me over until she comes back, but it’ll have to do.