Midnight (Night Fever Serial Book 2.5)

by Hawkins, Jessica

  “Hannah, the thing is, my brother’s celebrating. And he’s just looking for someone easy tonight.”

  Beau sighed and held up his glass to the bartender. “I’ll take another.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes and turned away. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

  “What if I told you he’s a millionaire?” Brigitte called after her.

  She stopped. The music lulled between songs, but the bar remained loud with conversation.

  “And in about five seconds,” Brigitte continued, “I’m going to move on to the next girl.”

  Hannah turned sideways, eyeing Beau. Not many girls had walked away from him over the years. “Is that true?” she asked.

  He didn’t respond at first. He was fascinated by the look she was giving him, her lips parted, an eyebrow arched high. So torn about whether to believe them. Hollywood had no shortage of wealthy men, but this was a dive bar he and Brigitte had grown fond of. Millionaires didn’t hang around here. Not that he technically was one yet—he had a few hours to go.

  “What can I say?” He shrugged. “My sister moves fast.”

  “No, not that…” Hannah turned fully around. “I mean the millionaire thing.”

  Beau knew what she meant. “Can you give us a minute?” he asked.

  She hesitated, looking between the two of them. “I mean, I believe you. Your suit’s expensive.”

  He touched his tie. A couple years ago, when he’d started meeting with potential investors, he’d dropped a lot of money he didn’t have to get this suit custom made. It was part of his visualization, projecting a certain image.

  Hannah came closer. “It fits you like weapon.”

  He narrowed his eyes, pulling back a little. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. It just came out. I guess, like, you could really hurt someone looking that good.”

  “All right,” Brigitte said. “Time to move along. We’ve seen enough. We’ll call you.”

  Hannah’s brows gathered as she looked at Brigitte. “What? Are you, like, auditioning girls to sleep with him?”

  Brigitte knocked back another shot and slammed the glass on the bar. “No. I was k—”

  “Wait.” Hannah’s eyes widened. “Is this an audition? Because I’m actually an actress—”

  “Hannah.” Beau couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed, but he was embarrassed enough for all of them. “Excuse us. Please.”

  She frowned, her bottom lip out. She walked a few steps away, still close enough that he could call her back without raising his voice too much.

  Brigitte grinned at him. “I knew you were bluffing. You never like them easy.”

  “And you know everything I like?”

  “I do. I could find you the right thing for tonight, but I won’t. You know why?”

  He invited her to keep going with a nod of his head.

  “Because the right thing is to hang with me. You have the rest of your life to get laid.”

  He shook his head in disbelief, glancing at Hannah as she idled near by. “I knew it would be easy, Brigitte, but that? That was nothing. I literally made no effort.”

  She nodded sympathetically, like this was a huge problem. “A lot of things are going to be like that for you now. You have to be careful who you tell. Look, why don’t we head home for the night? Blockbuster’s still open. We can grab a movie.”

  He set his elbows on the bar. “You go ahead. I’ll come home soon. I just want to sit and enjoy this feeling a little longer.”

  She rubbed his shoulder. “It’s huge, Beau. This might be the best day of your life. Although, I think you have a lot of those ahead of you.”

  He smiled gently at her. He really had no one else to share this with, so he was glad she was there. But he’d had a couple drinks, and he was feeling pensive. “I hope so.”

  She didn’t move right away. “I can sit with you,” she suggested.

  “I think I want to be alone a little bit.”

  “What’s wrong, am I—what’s that word again?” Her accent thickened when she asked him for expressions—on purpose, he was sure. She requested this one frequently. Also on purpose, he was sure, just to hear him say it.

  “Cockblocking. And no. You were right—I have the rest of my life for that. Tonight will be known as the night I became a millionaire and tasted the best liquor of my life.”

  “All right,” she said, somewhat reluctantly. She offered her cheeks, and he kissed them each. “Come home soon, all right? I’ll wait up.”

  When he was alone, he ordered his third Macallan of the night, third Macallan of his life. This time last year, he’d been neck-high in code for the website he’d just sold. He’d spent four straight weeks on it, looked up and thought—where did August go?

  Beau still had to quit his two part-time jobs. Since the deal that’d fallen through last year, he’d been trigger shy. He worked construction in the valley on the weekends, because otherwise, he’d never get outside. Not with the manic way he worked. The second was as a temp developer for a software company. He’d worked temporary jobs for years, jumping around companies in Los Angeles, soaking up anything he could. He’d learned a lot about management and corporate structure that way, and now that he was capable of creating his own company, he was going to put it to use.

  Beau got up and paid for his drinks. His card went through, and he still had another hundred-and-fifty dollars in his wallet. Hannah had been lingering, making eye contact with him, but he went for the door instead. He still had the urge to get off—he had it bad, actually—but not with someone who’d practically gotten on her knees right there in the middle of a bar. Despite what he’d thought about making tonight easy, that’d never do it for him. He’d rather go home alone.

  Beau walked along Sunset Boulevard, half-assing his attempts to grab a cab. It was a nice night, and the Strip was busy, even though it was Tuesday. Some of the bars had live music and he’d catch a few seconds of it as he walked by.

  He checked his watch and did a double take. It was 11:58 P.M., later than he’d thought. And two minutes until his new life began. Beau stared at it, swallowing dryly, the alcohol making his head swim. He kept walking, glancing at the time every few seconds. This was a moment he’d never experience again, no matter how much money he made in his lifetime. And he knew this was only the start.

  The clock ticked and ticked and ticked—and suddenly, it was midnight. Beau took a deep breath and looked directly up at the stars. He’d done it. All those sleepless nights, the hours upon hours of coding and reading and applying—he’d fucking earned all that money, and nobody could have a single dollar of it unless he deemed them worthy enough.

  Neon flashed in the corner of his eye. He looked down at the building he stood in front of. On the brick wall was an LED sign, pulsing hot pink, the word Girls taunting him. Don’t you want a girl tonight? The sign could’ve been a figment of his imagination, a hallucination his body had dreamed up. Cat Shoppe was real, though, a small but somewhat famous strip club on Sunset Boulevard.

  Twenty-seven years old, and he’d never even been inside one. Didn’t see the point. He liked to touch the things he paid for—he liked to flirt with girls who blushed, smiled and flirted back because they wanted to, not because they were paid to. But it was midnight on the dot, and the most thrilling moment of his life yet, so walking into that club seemed like the logical next step. So Beau paid the cover charge, and the bouncer pulled aside the red rope, gesturing him inside.

  Chapter Four

  Beau stepped into a hallway that was pitch black, except for some blinding lights flickering from behind a curtained doorway. Music thumped, vibrating his shoes. Beau walked closer, drawing the fabric drape aside. The club was gaudy, a mish-mash of neon colors and questionable-looking people. There were multiple platforms with dancers on them. The girl on the stage closest to him was topless, writhing against a pole. He watched for a second and looked away.

  It wasn’t his scene. He though
t about leaving, but a waitress approached him with a tray in her hand. “Drink?” she asked. Her upper lip disappeared when she smiled. “Or something else, handsome?”

  He looked her over, her costume covering only what it had to. He stuck a hand in his jacket and got his wallet, reminding himself it was midnight and he was filthy rich. One more drink, just to toast himself, would put him in a good place after the three he’d already had. “Scotch,” he said. “Neat.”

  She took his cash and walked away. The music slowed, and the lights stopped flashing. Some of the girls got off their platforms. The announcer called everyone’s attention to the main stage. Beau looked, since he was just standing awkwardly near the entrance. A beaded curtain acted as the stage’s back wall, and when the spotlight hit it, it twinkled with little white reflections.

  He inclined forward slightly, waiting. The beads parted, and a girl stepped out. He noticed her body first, couldn’t help himself in the state he was in. It was hard not to with her long, svelte legs. She wore a pair of furry cat ears on her head, the same black color as her hair, which curled past her shoulders in soft waves.

  Beau had to shield his eyes. She shimmered when the spotlight hit her. Her bikini must’ve been millions of little diamonds, she was so bright. The music boomed suddenly, loud and obnoxious, but the girl calmly took the pole and moved her hips side to side, hearing something else.

  She turned her head slightly and looked directly at him. Her hips slowed to a stop, her mouth slackening. He could see, even from there, how piercingly blue her eyes were. She didn’t move an inch, as if waiting for his direction.

  Beau’s chest swelled with the urge to tell her to come to him. Now. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been looked at that way, and it was going to his head faster than any Scotch could. She lowered her chin, glancing at the floor briefly before she continued her number. Beau watched her every move, unable to remove his eyes from her glossy black hair, her perfectly round, buoyant tits. He wanted to spread his hands over her flat stomach, see how her small waist felt in his grip, and those lips—plump and cherry-colored. She didn’t smile. He liked that. He liked a girl who made him work for her smile.

  “Sir?” The waitress stood there with his drink.

  He took it without looking away. “I want that one.”

  “Huh?” she asked.

  He held up his drink and pointed a finger at the stage. “Her. Get me that girl.”

  She cleared her throat. “You want a lap dance?”

  He tore his eyes from the sultry kitten. His sultry kitten. “I want to be alone with her. Whatever it takes to make that happen.”

  Her shoulders dropped a little. “Well, we have private rooms—”

  “Yes. The best one you have. The most privacy. I’ll pay. Now.”

  She took a step back. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Beau gave them the last of his old self. He split the cost of the VIP room between two credit cards, leaving enough cash in his wallet to tip her. He could go to the ATM if he needed more time with her. He bought an hour to start, worried she might think more was strange.

  In the VIP room, he paced as he waited. He was already thrumming from the look she’d given him, and he tried to keep his cock in check. It wouldn’t look very good if he was already hard when she came in. The room was round with plenty of seating. Was it a room where this girl had danced for other men? She seemed young. He didn’t want to think of it. He loosened his tie, took a swig of his drink. Damn her for making him wait. The manager’d assured him his time would start once she got there, but he wanted her now.

  The door finally opened, and she entered. She was in the same bikini, the bottoms tied high on her hips, elongating her white, gazelle-like legs. She stood there a moment, not speaking. All those nights he’d spent alone came rushing back to him. This was what he’d worked for—to have a woman like her look at him that way, the whole night ahead of them. Money had made that happen. His cock pulsed.

  “You can sit,” she said.

  Everything she did was directly at him. Like she’d been waiting in this club all of her—what, eighteen, nineteen years?—just for him to show up. He put his hands in his pockets. He didn’t trust himself. “Who are you?”

  She hesitated. “What do you mean, who am I?”

  “What’s your name?” He took a step closer, balling his hands into fists. “The real one. I don’t want anything fake.”

  “It’s Lola,” she said. “I don’t have a stage name.”

  Beau wanted to believe she’d tell him the truth. He wasn’t just another guy. He couldn’t be sure she knew that yet, though. “Is that safe?” he asked. “Using your real name?”

  She put her hand over her mouth and laughed. “You’re sweet. Where do you want me?”

  “Don’t you want to know my name?”

  “No.” She shrugged. Her shoulders were too angular, and he wondered what she’d say if he asked her out to dinner after this.

  “It’s Beau,” he said.

  “Oh.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “That means handsome, right?”

  He nodded once. “Parlez-vous Français?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” he said. “How old are you?”

  She walked forward, nodding him backward. “Generally, things work like this,” she said. “You sit down and let me do all the work. I’ll dance on the stage, or I’ll dance in your lap—both, if you want. I usually only do ten, twenty minutes, but since you have an hour, I’d recommend a little of everything.”

  Beau swallowed. “You’ve done this before.”

  She gave him a funny look. “Of course I’ve done this before.”

  “But you look so young. How old are you?”

  “I’m legal.”

  She had such blue eyes, so intense, drawing him in. Her hand hung by her side. He reached out to take it.

  “I wouldn’t,” she said, pulling it away. “If they see you touch me, they’ll kick you. You won’t get your money back. They’re strict.”

  “How much is that?” he asked.

  “How much is what?”

  “Touching.”

  She was quiet as she looked away. “You can’t. Just don’t do it. Promise?”

  That was a bullshit thing to ask of him, but there wasn’t much he wouldn’t have given her right then. “All right.” He loosened his tie again, sure it was choking him. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  She scrunched her nose but smiled. “No. Look—what was it? Beau? They’ll charge you for this, you know. Clock’s ticking.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I paid a lot of money to be alone with you.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Do you know why I picked you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to know?”

  “No.”

  God, she was beautiful. She stood straight and tall without apology, but once in a while she’d glance at the ground, like she was now.

  “Find me attractive?” he asked.

  She looked up again. “Yes. What would you like me to do? I’m all yours.”

  He could only grunt his response to that. First, he thought, I would like you to turn around, touch your feet and let me see all of you. That seemed like too much, so instead he said, “Take off your top.”

  She shook her head. “Is this your first time at a strip club? Half the fun is watching as I remove a little here, a little there. I’m still pretty much in the doorway. If I take my top off here, then it’s over, no anticipation. Is that what you want?”

  “Take it off,” he repeated, “now.”

  She reached back with both hands, giving him a clear view of her chest. She pulled a string behind her and lifted the top over her head. It slid out of her hand like water.

  “Christ,” he said under his breath. They were high, they were glowing, they were just-legal tits, and they didn’t disappoint. “Now the bottoms.”

  She blushed, her white skin red
dening from her ears to her neck. “Beau,” she said.

  He liked when she said his name. “What?”

  “We aren’t that kind of club. Topless only. I can’t.”

  His throat was like a desert. “I don’t care. I can pay more.”

  She took some steps toward him and cocked her head. “It’s not about that. It’s against the law.”

  “Who would know?”

  “I would. And you would.” She glanced up at the corner of the room, presumably at a camera—he didn’t look. “They would.”

  He salivated, even though he found that rule very fucking unfair. “Is it against the law,” he said, “for you to tell me about it?”

  “To tell you about…what?” she asked, but the way she shifted between her feet, it seemed like she already knew.

  “Have you ever described it to anyone?”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “Good. Then that’s what I want. If I can’t see you, I want to hear you.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know about this. You’re paying to watch me dance,” she said, “not for me to get you off.”

  “Is it tight?” he asked. “Is it pink? How does it taste?”

  She bit her bottom lip, looking at him. She wasn’t going to answer him. Then, she released her lip. “It tastes like nothing you’ve ever had in your mouth.”

  Beau’s heart pounded so hard, he worried he might pass out. A grown man, six foot three, and he felt like a wilting fucking flower, just from her words. “I want you, Lola.”

  She held out her palms. “Here I am.”

  “Not here,” he said. “Not like this.”

  She grinned, took a step back and began to circle him. When she was behind him, she asked, “Do you always get what you want?”

  “Not until today,” he said. “Today, I get everything I want.”

  “Sure about that?” She returned in front of him.

  “I want you in a way nobody else gets you,” he said. “No—I don’t want that. I need it.”

  She sighed, but not in a way that was anything other than amused. “Sit back on the couch,” she said. “All I can do is dance, but I’ll make you a promise. I’ll dance for you like I’ve never danced for anyone else.”