She’d been blind to her needs and feelings too long, but she was paying attention now. That part of her life was over, and in this next part, she’d be putting one person first—herself. She wasn’t sure where she was going or what she wanted, but it would be on her terms.
When had she known it was over with Johnny? Perhaps it was when she’d sat in Beau’s lap and told him she loved him, the words falling out of her mouth, slippery and dangerous. Maybe it’d been even earlier than that, when she’d made that phone call to Beau in the middle of the night, or when she’d gotten into his limo the second time. But when had it all started?
“I knew we were in trouble when I realized you were considering Beau’s offer. I trusted you a little less. I need to know I’m more important to the man I’m with than anything else.”
“But you are the most important thing,” he said. “I love you.”
Lola went to the kitchen. She found the package of cash Beau’d left on the counter the night before. It was unopened with her and Johnny’s camping picture still sitting on top. She dumped it into her bag with the rest of the million dollars. She left the photo. She left the apartment. She didn’t stop to check if Johnny was all right—because she left that part of herself behind too.
6
Beau rolled his neck until he got a satisfying crack. The elevator beeped with each floor it passed, the digital numbers ticking down. It’d been a long day of slicing through the usual bullshit red tape that came with his line of work. He counted his meeting with Churchill a success, and he’d put out a fire at work while simultaneously closing a deal, but his duties weren’t over yet. His assistant had sent him back to the hotel at four to change for some event tonight, one he didn’t even remember committing to. He’d lost track of how many hours had passed since he’d slept. Over twenty-four. Lola had been gone around twelve. He was lucky to be standing.
The doors split apart. He exited, turned the corner on his way to meet Brigitte and ran right into Heather the concierge. She dropped a folder of papers that scattered on the lobby floor.
“Oh, shit,” she said, crouching. “I’m so sorry.”
Beau also squatted to help her as people passed around them. “My fault. I wasn’t watching. Where are you off to in such a rush?”
She smiled at the floor. “As soon as I get these to the back office, I’m done for the night. I worked a double shift. I need a drink.”
“I see.” Beau glanced up and handed her the papers he’d gathered. He could guess what was coming.
“I was just going to grab one here if you’re interested,” she said, pointing in the direction of the lounge.
Blowing off whatever event he was going to didn’t sound like such a bad idea, but Brigitte and Warner were waiting out front. “I have somewhere to be, and I won’t be back until after ten.” He stood, brushing off his pants. “I should get going, actually.”
“Well,” Heather said as she also rose, running a hand through her hair, “that’s only a few hours. I don’t mind waiting—”
Beau did a double take at the mirror over Heather’s shoulder. In the reflection, just as the elevator behind him closed, he caught a flash of dark hair, a stark-white dress. His gut lurched—Lola. He jerked around a second too late. The doors had shut.
He blinked. It couldn’t have been her. It didn’t make sense. Lola had no reason to be at that hotel unless it was to see Beau, and in order to get to the elevator, she would’ve walked right by him.
Beau blinked and looked back at Heather. “You said you’ve been at the front desk all day?”
She nodded earnestly.
“Did a woman named Lola check in? Black hair, blue eyes.”
Heather grinned and swatted his arm. “Do you have any idea how many people come through this lobby a day? I couldn’t possibly remember—”
“Try,” he said. “Lola Winters. It’s important.”
Her smile fell. “Um. Doesn’t sound familiar?”
Beau looked behind him and stared at the elevator, willing the doors to reopen. The numbers above it rose until stopping at eleven. He waited. After a brief pause, they began counting down again. If she were there to see him, she would’ve gone to Beau’s room, which was on the sixteenth floor.
Beau rubbed his eyes. All day, they’d been burning with fatigue. He needed sleep, and that was the only explanation for his confusion. He hadn’t even napped, not that he would’ve if he had the time. The last time he’d taken a nap was between shifts when he was in his twenties—and he was no longer that kid. He’d made damn well sure of it.
“Mr. Olivier?”
He looked at Heather. “What?”
“I asked if you’d like me to go see about your friend.”
“Oh. No.” He checked his watch. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve got to run.”
“What about the drink?”
“Can’t.” Beau stepped around her. “Night, Heather.”
Out front, Brigitte leaned against Warner’s town car in a short, red dress. Through the dusk, a tiny orange light buzzed around her like a fly. For all intents and purposes, Brigitte was his sister, more family to him than his own mother. For that reason, her risqué attire had no effect on him, but Beau wasn’t sure the same could be said for Warner. He didn’t even notice Beau walking in their direction.
As soon as she spotted Beau, her back straightened. “There you are.” Her French accent made it sound less accusatory. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
Beau silently thanked his assistant for keeping Brigitte at bay all day. “My phone is in pieces. I had to get a new one.”
“Oh. Sounds positively sordid. I want all the details from last night.”
“I’m not in the mood, Brigitte.”
She arched a thin, manicured—and angry—eyebrow. “Not in the mood?” she repeated. “Ten years you’ve been sulking over this woman who fucked you over. And now that you’ve gotten your revenge, you’re not in the mood to share? I thought you’d be bursting at the seams.”
“I’m not.” He eyed Warner. “Thanks for keeping her company.”
“My pleasure, sir. Good evening.”
“We’re headed to the Los Angeles Athletic Club for an event.”
“Yes, sir.” Warner leaned over Brigitte to get the door for her.
She touched his cheek, smiling. “Merci, mon chéri.”
Warner simply nodded, but there was no mistaking the red tint of his face.
Beau waited until Warner’d returned to the front of the car to look back at Brigitte. “I don’t care that you’re a merciless flirt, but does it have to be with my employee?”
She took a deep drag of her cigarette and waved him off. “You’re grumpy.”
Beau took it out of her hand and tossed it on the ground. “You’ll smell like smoke all night,” he said, mashing it with his shoe.
“Everyone smokes in Europe.”
Beau got into the car, grumbling, “We aren’t in Europe.”
She followed him into the backseat. “I looked up the guest list for tonight’s event, and it’s primarily Europeans. There’re potential investors around every corner. You know that.”
“I see. And the smoking is so you’ll fit in?”
“I don’t need to tell you people’s wallets loosen when they’re more comfortable.”
“All right. Do what you like.” Beau turned to the window. The woman on the elevator had jolted him. It was a split-second glimpse, but he’d been sure. He didn’t trust his gut with Lola, though, not after the last few weeks, not when he was this tired. She had no reason to come back to him and no business on the eleventh floor.
He’d been trying not to think of her, but her name had been phantom-like on his mind all day, like a number he was trying to remember for later. She’d disappeared, clean and quick. There one second, gone the next. According to plan. There’d be no stuff of breakups—late night calls, pleas to reconsider, checking in on someone you cared about.
“Beau.”
Startled by Brigitte’s sharp tone, he turned back to her. “What?”
“What happened last night? You’re completely out of it.”
Fatigue was setting in. Beau wasn’t in his twenties anymore, and while he wouldn’t have taken back any of his time with Lola, pulling two all-nighters in the same month was taking its toll. “I could give a shit about these parties. We went to a fundraiser on Monday. I have a gala to attend tomorrow night. Why?”
She put her hand over his. “You know this comes with the territory. It’s never bothered you before.”
He set an elbow on the armrest, massaged the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it has, and I just never told you.”
“Nonsense. We’re a team. We’ve been at this for years, networking. Don’t tell me it doesn’t pay off.”
Beau wanted his hand back to check his phone. He normally took time in the backseat to catch up on work, but if Brigitte lost any of his attention, she would only work harder to get it back.
“Sometimes it’s too much,” he said.
She sucked in her cheeks just a little, tightening her grip on his hand. “What’s too much?”
People were always trying to get to Beau. With wealth, things fell in his lap—opportunities for him to get in at the ground level, to make a killing, to fuck up. The carousel never ended. It was supposed to be a good thing, but Beau was rarely cavalier with anything, and everything required research. It could get exhausting. Brigitte wasn’t the only one vying for his attention. There was no way to put it into words without sounding ungrateful, so he shook his head. “Never mind.”
Brigitte was quiet a moment, and he was thankful for the reprieve. Her fingers were still curled tightly around his hand. “You didn’t go through with it.”
He stared out the window. “Yes, I did.”
“I don’t believe you. You didn’t break things off, and that’s why you don’t want to go tonight. You’re just waiting to get back to her. Where is she? In the room?”
“I told you, it’s done.”
“Then why are you acting like this? We’re supposed to be celebrating our victory, not sulking.”
He looked back at her. “Our victory?”
Brigitte reeled away. “I’ve been there every step of the way, haven’t I? You were my rock when our parents died, and you make it so hard for me to repay you for that.”
“Nobody’s keeping score. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do it because I want to. I never would’ve gotten through my mom’s death alone. When someone hurts you, they hurt me too. I lived your pain when she undid all your hard work and ruined everything. Last night was redemption for both of us.”
“You didn’t do any of the dirty work, though. You didn’t see her face.” Beau could. He could see it right then—her mouth, normally hard, had finally become delicate with him. She’d hated him that first night, and he’d gotten her to love him by the end. Her hard-won delicate mouth, mangled with disgust when he’d told her the truth. The immediate reversal of everything he’d worked for. The way she’d flinched, recoiled, when he’d tried to touch her. He’d thought, if he could just get her in his arms, he could make her see.
“Describe it to me,” Brigitte said. “I want to know it all.”
He blinked at her. “Did you mean for her to see that text?”
Brigitte loosened her fingers, tapped them giddily over his knuckles. “You mean this morning? Why? Did she?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s all over—me and her, her and Johnny.”
“Really?” Brigitte asked, her tone pitchy. “Here I was worried you’d chickened out, but I should’ve known—you never do anything halfway.”
He angled his head at her, knowing he should let it go. “Excuse me?”
“She and Johnny are over—why?” She paused only a second. “Because she chose you, right? You’re the center of her world. She loves you. But she also hates you. You did more than break her heart—you grabbed her by it, pulled her inside out. You put her life on a completely different course. That’s power, Beau.”
It was a cold truth, one that would sicken anyone else. Not Beau, though. Lola’s world revolving around him made him feel good. Wherever she was, she was thinking of him, and her thoughts weren’t casual. They weren’t nothing.
“Or maybe I’m wrong,” Brigitte said, throwing the words out like a fishing line in a pond.
He bit. “Why?”
She studied him. “You’re on her mind, there’s no question, but she’s also on yours. It would appear after all you’ve done to overcome it, she still has some power over you.”
The car stopped at a light, turning the backseat tomato-red. The engine hummed. “Nobody has power over me,” Beau said evenly. “Not even you.”
Brigitte leaned over to stroke the back of Beau’s hair. Her arm reeked of cigarettes. “You’re frustrated, and I know why. It has nothing to do with her.”
Beau sighed deeply, pointedly not asking why. He considered telling Warner to turn the car around so he could end this day already.
“You miss the thrill of conquest,” Brigitte continued. “For weeks, you had this singular goal to focus on. Now that it’s over, you don’t know what to do with all this nervous energy. Trust me, it isn’t Lola you want.”
“I suppose you know what I want.”
“Of course I do.” She smiled. “We need a new challenge.”
“There’s no we, Brigitte. Any mistakes I’ve made are mine alone. This was my game.”
Brigitte returned to her side of the car. “Mistakes?”
The glasses of the built-in bar rattled as they turned a corner. He’d meant to say conquests, not mistakes, but maybe that’s what this had all been. One big mistake. “Yes.”
“Don’t you dare insult me by saying that whore means anything to you,” Brigitte said. “I’m the one who saved you from making a mistake—twice.”
“Calm down. You’re getting hysterical.”
“You called and woke me up last night to tell me you didn’t think you could go through with it. I talked you off the ledge. Obviously, I didn’t know if she’d see my text this morning, but I knew you would—and I knew you’d regret it if at any point in the night, you got off course.”
“You don’t know shit. You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I did.”
“Jesus, the woman makes a fool of you over and over. It’s disgusting.”
Beau pitied his sister. She wanted so desperately to be a part of something, to belong, that she resorted to grasping at straws. Anything to get under Beau’s skin. He wondered if there would ever come a time she didn’t want to be there.
“That’s enough.”
“It’s sad to see you think you’re in charge when she is. Even I have more control—”
“Enough,” he snapped.
“What are you going to do? Spank me? Is that what you did to her when she said something you didn’t like?”
Beau’s nostrils flared with a sharp inhalation. He could still picture the red curve of Lola’s ass after he’d smacked it. He hadn’t held back in the least, but she’d taken everything without complaint. If he wanted to do it again, why shouldn’t he? There was no woman out there who’d walk away from him if he put his mind to getting her in his bed—including Lola.
Brigitte rolled her eyes. “Just like every other pathetic idiot who’s charmed by a decent pair of tits.”
He grabbed her bicep and pulled her across the backseat. “I’d watch my mouth if I were you. Nobody talks to me that way.”
The car jolted as Warner hit the brakes. “Sir,” he said, glancing at them in the rearview mirror.
“Stay out of this, Warner. Brigitte knows exactly what she’s doing.”
“What am I d
oing?” she asked, blinking at him. “You’re my brother, and I love you. All I want is for you to be happy. Believe me, she won’t make you happy.”
“You only want me to be happy if it means I’m alone. You’re worried if I find someone else, you’ll lose me.”
“Someone else?” Brigitte’s eyes twinkled. “Surely you don’t mean Lola? Come on. Deep down you know the truth.”
Beau restrained from flinging her away. She would say anything to needle him, and she couldn’t possibly know what the truth was. She hadn’t spent more than ten minutes in the same room as Lola and Beau. But he spat the words, unable to help himself. “What’s the truth?”
“You’ll never have her. Do you honestly believe after what you’ve done, you could get her back?” Brigitte sniffed. “Your money didn’t matter to her then, and it means even less now. You can’t buy her, and that’s the only way you know how to get anything.”
“Bullshit. I went twenty-seven years before I ever made a dime.”
“Exactly, and not even Warner would’ve looked in your direction before your money. You had nothing and no one.”
“Brigitte,” Warner cautioned from the front seat.
She ignored him. “No one except me.”
Beau’s temper was getting the best of him. “Brigitte, I’m about as patient with you as can be most of the time, but you’re pressing the wrong buttons.”
“You have no way of winning Lola back. You’ll never be what she needs.”
Beau pushed her off. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“She’s better off without you.”
Beau set his jaw and stared forward at nothing. He didn’t have to look at her to know she wore a smug expression. “Put some perfume on. You fucking stink.”
What pissed Beau off the most was that Brigitte was right. Lola was better off without the man she’d met in front of Hey Joe, but Beau didn’t feel like that man anymore. If Lola hadn’t left that morning, if she hadn’t seen that text, Beau would’ve taken care of her in ways Johnny never could’ve. That had to count for something. And if he wanted her back, nothing would get in his way.
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