Explicitly Yours Series

by Jessica Hawkins

  Beau strained his hands against the fabric of his trouser pockets as the elevator leveled with the hotel’s ground floor. He hadn’t slept a wink, but when the doors opened, he straightened his shoulders and strode out like he would any other day. Because it was any other day. There was nothing particularly special about this one, except for his early-morning meeting with Mayor Churchill—a meeting he’d been trying to get for some time, and one he wouldn’t have without Lola’s help. At least she’d been good for that.

  “Good morning, Mr. Olivier.”

  He smiled at the familiar face behind the front desk. “Morning, Heather.”

  “New tie?”

  Beau touched the knot at the base of his neck. “Thank you for noticing.”

  “I always do. How’d you sleep?”

  As he passed, Beau rapped his knuckles against the counter and winked. “Like a baby. Cab’s out front?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Living in a hotel had its perks. Being greeted in the mornings by the Four Seasons’ model-actress concierge, Heather, should’ve been one of the best. But the quickest way to turn Beau off was to make it easy for him. Girls like Heather had become a dime a dozen the day he’d put on a bespoke Prada suit and stepped onto the sidewalk of Rodeo Drive.

  The attention had been fun at first, but the appeal had worn off quickly. It’d been some time since Beau’d picked up a random girl for a night, but he figured after what he’d been through the last twenty-four hours, maybe it was just what he needed. A nap, a strong drink and a good, meaningless fuck. Not necessarily in that order.

  Out front, Warner waited at the passenger’s side of his town car, his expression typically stoic. Beau’d worked with the man ten years, though, and he sensed something was off when Warner didn’t jump to get the car door for Beau.

  “I already arranged a ride,” Beau said, checking his watch—6:56 A.M. Approximately thirty minutes since Lola had bolted from his room. “I thought you’d be longer.”

  “I tried calling. Miss Winters refused a ride home.”

  Beau slowed to a stop. “Did she?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Beau blew out a heavy sigh. Of course she had. Lola could be stubborn and proud—a potentially self-destructive mix. “I take it you put her in a cab?”

  “She walked.”

  Beau’s body locked up. The hotel’s sidewalk curved along the driveway and disappeared behind a wall of greenery. When she’d left, the sky had still been dim. Beverly Hills or not, she shouldn’t have been walking alone at that hour. Especially not with all that cash. He didn’t like it.

  “What the hell were you thinking letting her walk?” Beau asked.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I’ve never given any of your dates a ride home. I didn’t think you’d mind.” Warner’s mouth twitched at the corner. “And she can be very convincing.”

  Beau raised his chin. It was true. When Beau spent the night with a woman, he’d usually send her off with more than enough cash for a cab and didn’t think of it again. He flexed his fingers, which he didn’t remember curling into fists. “Of course. You’re right. She’ll be fine.”

  Warner moved to get the car door for Beau. “We could probably still catch her.”

  Beau unbuttoned his blazer. Lola was a smart girl. She wouldn’t put herself in danger. And if she did, that was Johnny’s problem, not Beau’s. He got into the backseat. “I can’t be late for this meeting. Miss Winters will have to handle herself from here on out.”

  “Very well, sir.” Before Warner closed the door, he cleared his throat. “If you’d like, I can drop you off and go look myself. I didn’t mean to imply she’s just another—”

  “I said no.” Beau sniffed. “Don’t bring it up again.”

  Warner nodded and shut the door.

  Beau’d had enough of thinking and talking about Lola. She’d made the choice to walk out when he’d asked her to stay and trust him. Maybe that was a lot to expect, but he’d deserved that little bit of faith after what they’d been through. Beau looked out the window and tried to focus on his upcoming meeting. He wanted to be done with Lola, wanted her out from under his skin. All the more reason to find himself a Heather for a night—and soon.

  What Beau didn’t expect to find was someone better than the attention-hungry Heathers he normally met. Upon entering Mayor Churchill’s City Hall office, he was not greeted by a pretty, young brunette. She didn’t even look up from her computer when he approached her desk.

  “Appointment?” she asked, clicking her mouse furiously.

  “Yes, I have an appointment,” Beau said deliberately. “Beau Olivier.”

  She glanced up for a brief moment and then away. “I’ll let the mayor know. You can take a seat.”

  She had long, dark hair and fair skin. There was skepticism in her blue eyes—of him, of everything around her. She resembled Lola enough that he didn’t want to stop talking to her.

  “Mind if I stand?” he asked. “I’m not very good at sitting still.”

  “Makes no difference to me.”

  “I could use a coffee,” Beau said. “Didn’t have time to stop.”

  She sighed, finished whatever she was typing and left the room.

  She was clearly annoyed with him, and Beau loved every moment. He glanced at her computer clock. He had four minutes before the meeting began. It could be done. He’d turned a girl from cold to hot in less time.

  She returned and handed him a paper cup. “I hope you like it black. We’re out of creamer.”

  “It’s perfect—” He stooped to read the nameplate on her desk and chuckled. “Heather. Is that your real name?”

  “What kind of a question is that?” she shot back.

  “Never mind. Have you worked here long?”

  “Yes.” She scratched her neck, leaving a bright red mark on her skin. Just like Lola, her throat was long, slender and pale.

  “You must really love your work,” Beau said. “You’ve barely taken a second to breathe.”

  “I do.”

  When she didn’t continue, Beau asked, “Why? What do you love about it?”

  She blinked a few times at the screen and stopped typing. “Well, Mayor Churchill’s so—I really like working for him.”

  “How come?” He craned his neck to the side to catch her eye. “A lot of people actually hate working for politicians.”

  “That’s just it,” she said quickly, turning to him finally, her expression brightening. “He’s not your typical politician. The mayor’s very dedicated to this city. It’s an honor to be on his team. When I was young, I wanted to be an elementary school teacher, but then I took this poly-sci class in school, and it’s so weird, because…”

  Beau was sure it was weird, but he didn’t care. He stopped listening. It turned out that almost-black hair, blue eyes and a white throat didn’t mean anything. But that was the point, wasn’t it?

  He smiled at her, nodded.

  Heather was still talking when he looked up to find Churchill standing in the doorway of his office, watching them. He straightened up. “Good morning, Mayor.”

  “Glenn is fine.” He stepped aside. “Come on in, Olivier. About time we did this.”

  “I agree.” Beau crossed through reception and shook his hand.

  “Thank you, Heather,” the mayor said, inviting Beau into his office with an open arm. He shut the door behind them and rounded his desk to sit behind it.

  “Mayor—Glenn, thanks again for clearing time in your schedule to see me,” Beau started. “This meeting isn’t about you or me. It’s about Los Angeles. Together, we can—”

  Churchill held up a hand. “Slow down, Olivier. It’s not even eight in the morning yet.” He picked up a mug with a large, black mustache printed on the side. Before taking a drink, he held it out and nodded. “Isn’t that something? Got it for Christmas last year from my nieces. Makes me look like I’ve got facial hair when I drink out of it. Watch.”

  Beau shifted in his
chair as Churchill took a sip, the mustache lining up right under his nose.

  Churchill swallowed, raised the mug and laughed as he reclined back against his seat. “Isn’t that something,” he repeated. “Got any plans for the weekend?”

  “No, sir. Just work.”

  “Work? You’re not serious.”

  “The way I see it, Saturday’s just another day to get things done,” Beau said. “Every day might as well be Monday to me.”

  “Huh.” Churchill nodded slowly, studying his coffee a moment. He raised his eyebrows at Beau. “That’s a shame. Saturday mornings, Lois and I like to take a walk through the neighborhood, get some fresh air while it’s quiet out. Then we meet friends at a Santa Monica-based coffee shop and roaster. If we aren’t careful, we’ll sit there all day talking about absolutely nothing.”

  Beau smiled. It was a nice picture, but it wasn’t him. And it had nothing to do with why he was there. “I’m glad to hear you support small businesses in the area. I try to do the same. Just like the talent coming out of our universities that I’d like to keep here in Los Angeles.” He sipped his coffee.

  “How’s Lola?”

  Beau coughed, nearly spitting out his drink. Lola? Gone, that’s what she was. Out of his life for good. And she needed to stay gone. Beau’d watched Churchill fall in love with Lola the night of the gala—her spunk, her fire had worked on him. He didn’t blame the poor man. If she could sucker Beau into falling for her, then Churchill had no chance.

  Beau opened his mouth to answer and quickly decided to use this to his benefit. He cleared his throat. “She’s doing well. Keeping busy.”

  “I imagine she’d have to if you’re working weekends.”

  Beau pursed his lips at the thought of having an entire weekend with Lola. Even though he’d spent nearly every morning the last few years working, it wasn’t that difficult to picture it—driving to Venice Beach with the top down, enjoying the sun and breeze, eating ice cream cones on the boardwalk. Things he hadn’t done in years and years. He ran his hand along the arm of his chair. “I make time for her too.”

  “I don’t know what it is,” Churchill said. “There’s just something about her that’s stuck with me. Think it’s that she reminds me a little of my wife when we were younger. I asked Lois out probably ten times before she finally gave in just to shut me up.”

  “I’m sure she’s thankful you were so persistent.”

  “My wife is the most amazing woman I know,” he continued. “You probably think I’m an old fool to say this, but I believe it—the caliber of woman a man chooses to have by his side says a great deal about how he does business.”

  Beau looked down into his coffee. That was one of the many differences between Lola and the Heathers of the world. Lola wasn’t insecure, but she was even more than what she gave herself credit for. Beau’d seen that even from across the room when he’d entered that strip club. No matter how much he tried to forget her or how angry he was, he couldn’t take that from her. She would always be that caliber of woman.

  Beau shook his head a little. “I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s rarely a man who chooses a woman. It’s the other way around.”

  The mayor laughed. “How right you are. Especially a woman like that. I said it once, but I’ll say it again—don’t let go of that one.”

  A memory hit him hard, flooding into the tiny cracks in his resolve. Lola in his arms as they’d stood on his hotel room balcony the night before. He’d held her tightly, afraid he wouldn’t be ready to let her go when the sun rose. He shut the thought down, refocusing on Churchill. “You’re a busy man, Mayor. I am too. Should we get started?”

  “I’ve been paying attention to you since our dinner,” Glenn said. “You have an impressive track record, Olivier. When you choose a company, it almost always succeeds. What’s your secret?”

  Finally, a topic Beau was happy to distract himself with. “It’s the other way around, actually. I choose them because they’re poised for success. It’s all about meticulous research. At the firm, I make sure we cover all our bases. We pore over numbers, we do case studies, we submerge ourselves in the markets.”

  “Sure, sure,” Churchill said, waving a hand. “But it’s more than that for you, isn’t it?”

  Beau set his coffee on the desk. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand the question.”

  “You have an unorthodox way of dealing with the founders of the companies you invest in. Instead of sending your employees in your place or just gathering research online, you spend weeks courting them, getting to know them firsthand.”

  “That’s all true.”

  “You’re not investing in these companies. You’re investing in the people.”

  “Well, businesses don’t run without people. I vet them thoroughly, which is why I’m so confident in my portfolio.” Beau slid the end of his tie through his hand. “As a result, the returns have been staggering.”

  “Beau,” Glenn said, dropping his smile. “Be straight with me. I looked into your background. It took some digging, but I found that yearly conference thing you do. You never mentioned it before.”

  “It’s no secret that Bolt Ventures sponsors Entrepreneurs in Tech.”

  “Not just sponsors. You and your company put it on, every last detail.”

  Beau nodded slightly. In fact, he’d even helped design the conference’s lunch menu, since he’d been the one paying for it. “It’s important. To us. And me.”

  “What I don’t understand is why your name wasn’t front and center on the project. What do you get out of it if not publicity? What’s your concern with young, struggling entrepreneurs like the ones behind these companies you endow?”

  Beau released his tie. He had answers prepared for everything. He liked having the right response, one he’d perfected over the years based on people’s reactions. He never lied, but how you said things was sometimes more important than what you said. People picked up on keywords, tone, delivery.

  Churchill wasn’t responding to that. He valued truth and authenticity. Those were things Glenn’d seen in Lola, and they were the reasons she’d ‘stuck with him.’ Beau knew how that went. She’d stuck to Beau like glue, and he was beginning to think he wouldn’t get to just shrug her off like he’d hoped.

  “I know what it’s like to struggle for something that might never happen.” Beau spoke carefully. Weakness wasn’t something he talked about if he could help it. “I also know what it’s like to have someone take a chance on me only to have them turn around and virtually incinerate all my work.”

  “You’re talking about VenTech?”

  “Yes. When they bought my website ten years ago, they assured me they’d take it to the next level. Since they offered me more than it was worth, and I was eager to start another venture, I was hasty to accept. They didn’t volunteer the fact that one of their private subsidiaries was an up-and-coming competitor of mine. They picked my work apart until it was a carcass.”

  “You came out on top, though. I read all about it. You got more out of that deal than you should’ve.”

  “If I hadn’t sold it, my website would’ve destroyed the competition. George Wright, the founder, looked me in the eye and told me I could trust him, though.” Beau paused. He couldn’t remember a time in the last ten years when he hadn’t been tracking VenTech’s stock, waiting for the company to stumble. “I guess back then, it wasn’t all about the money.” It felt more like an admission to himself than to the mayor. It’d been a while since his fortune hadn’t sat in the number one spot on his list of priorities.

  “So that’s why you put on the conference?” Glenn asked. “To prevent others from making the same mistakes?”

  Beau had his go-to response ready—he funded the convention because the young entrepreneurs of Los Angeles were America’s tomorrow. But instead, he gave Churchill the real reason. “I never forgot how it felt when those bastards trashed years of blood, sweat and tears. Yes, I do it to provide
entrepreneurs with the resources I didn’t have, either because they don’t know about them or can’t afford them. Even though I came out on top in my deal, perhaps with proper legal help, I could’ve put that company on a better course.”

  Glenn nodded knowingly. “I understand. A man never gets the taste of his first real failure out of his mouth. Not with money, not with revenge.” He frowned. “I’ll be honest, I was reluctant to take this meeting. People are always coming to me with what I can do for them. Not what they can do for Los Angeles.”

  “I’ve always been upfront with you about the fact that I’m a businessman first, but entrepreneurial growth in Los Angeles benefits us all in the long term. And that starts with a conversation about tax reform.”

  “When you cut the bullshit, Olivier, you’re all right. People like me, we see a lot of crap. Men putting me on, getting me a drink here and there, trying to shake my hand, hungry smiles, wives slobbering on men who aren’t their husbands. It’s a breath of fresh air to see this side of you. And I know where it’s coming from.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “We’ve talked here and there at events. Seen you in the tabloids with women too. You’re different with Lola.”

  Was he different? Or was Churchill under Lola’s spell, the way Beau had been? Who was he kidding—Beau was still under her spell. He fought himself not to look at his watch. He hadn’t forgotten that Lola might still be walking home.

  Beau opened his mouth to tell Churchill he was right—Beau was a changed man, and it was all because of the amazing woman at his side. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Beau had been different with her. “She’s…”

  Glenn tilted his head. “Yes?”

  Beau could easily ignore everything they’d just discussed and take the easy route. But Churchill was a good guy who deserved the truth. “She’s not too happy with me at the moment,” Beau admitted. “We had an argument, and it’s—well, things between us are—over.”

  “I see.” Glenn took his mug by the handle but didn’t drink. He just squinted at Beau. “I’m not all that surprised, actually. I don’t mean this as an insult to you but a compliment to her—it would take a certain kind of man to hang on to a woman like that. Do you think you’re that man?”