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“Is it something I don’t want to hear?”

“Probably. Get even or get over it. If you don’t, it will rot you.”

I take the phone back and glance at the dress before clicking it off.

“Isn’t that what’s happening between you and Mischa?”

Harrison steeples his hands, surveying me with sudden intensity. “It’s not the same. Did I tell you Ivanov tried to recruit me when we were still in school?”

“Recruit you to what?” The metallic taste in my throat makes me swallow.

“His family business. Drugs, not clubs. I’d spent time with his parents over the years, and they knew I had the skills to take their business to the next level. I said no. Mischa tried to convince me.”

My stomach tightens, and I feel my gaze drag down to where the scars sit on his chest under the shirt. “What did he do?”

“Everything he could. But in the end, I sent him back to his parents with his tail between their legs. What they did to him for failing?” He shakes his head. “That I don’t know.”

“He wants to beat you as much as you want to beat him,” I realize.

“More,” he says quietly. “I ruined his relationship with his parents. He killed mine. Neither of us will stop until one of us wins.”

“You mean La Mer,” I say, needing him to confirm it because this shit is taking on a scarier dimension than I expected.

He hesitates a beat. “Yes.”

Damned men with their egos and war games.

“No matter who buys it, it’ll still be Christian’s baby,” I point out. “This club in Burbank is yours. It will have your fingerprints all over it. Isn’t it more of an accomplishment to create something from scratch than just to conquer what someone else built?”

His eyes glint with appreciation. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

When we arrive, a limo takes us from the tarmac straight to Red Rocks. Security gets us IDs and helps us meet up with Annie, Elle, Beck, and another woman in a VIP section. In addition, there’s Annie’s dad, Jax, and his wife, Haley.

Beck nods when he spots me. “Can’t believe you’re not passed out after the way we worked you over today.”

“I’m going to sleep well tonight,” I toss back.

Harrison’s hand is on my hip. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

I hook a finger in the front pocket of his jeans, enjoying his irritated expression. “Nope.”

On my way back from the bathroom, security is holding back a young woman.

“Little Queen, right? I’m a huge fan.”

Normally, I would tense up at someone recognizing me out of costume, but I nod at security to let her through. “What’s your name?”

“Amber. And I want to be a DJ. You’re seriously my hero. I’ve been working on music for a few years, but it’s nowhere near as good as yours. I wish I knew how to make it better.” She flushes, looking embarrassed. “School’s hard, and the music helps me stay focused. I shouldn’t be telling you all this, but I’m nervous.”

“It’s cool. Music helped me get through shit too. Tell you what—send me something. We can talk about it.”

I give her my email, and she clutches her phone to her chest. “Thank you.”

When I get back to our booth, Harrison tugs me against his side. “Friend of yours?”

“A fan who wanted some advice about producing. I told her we’d talk.”

The look in his eyes contains so many emotions—admiration, respect, something more than both.