7
They’d circled her neighborhood twice already, Lola biting her nails, the cab driver growing impatient. “Come on, lady, where you want to go?” he kept asking.
Walking out on Johnny had sounded easier when she’d known Warner would be out front, waiting to drive her back to Beau at the Four Seasons. For a little while, she’d had two homes, and now, she didn’t even have one.
They hadn’t had a real relationship in a while, but Lola could’ve shown up at her mom’s house without an explanation. The place she’d grown up had stopped being home a long time ago, though, and she hadn’t gone crawling back yet. Her mom might not say “I told you so,” but she’d be thinking it, the words close to the surface even eleven years after Lola’d moved out to strip.
She put her hand on the black duffel bag and felt the money just underneath the fabric. She had little of her own, but what she did have was hers without a doubt. An inordinate amount of cash. A freedom most people couldn’t dream of. The chance to leave her troubles behind. There were things at the apartment she might’ve liked to keep—mostly photos or mementos—but everything she needed was there on the seat next to her. She no longer had anything tying her to Los Angeles.
Beau had cut deep, though. In two nights, he’d seen inside her, and like she’d told him in the shower—she’d felt him there like a thunderstorm. On her stomach, on his hotel bed, he’d had her at her most vulnerable, but it was more than physical. She’d trusted him. And in return, he’d treated her like one of his companies, an investment, a challenge, leading her down a path painstakingly designed to get her where he wanted.
How many people had fallen prey to his charms, been the subject of his fascination, been manipulated by him? She had no idea, but she knew this—Beau had never paid the price for his sins. Nobody’d ever had the weapons to use against him, and he’d made sure of that. Every careful step Beau made in his life was toward wealth, but Lola knew it wasn’t the money he cared about. It was the power it afforded him. While his bank account was fat, nobody could ever deny him anything.
Lola felt it like a knot in her chest, the indignity of it. Beau couldn’t be allowed to play with people’s lives anymore. He deserved to feel her pain as if it were his own. He’d once said to her that a man of his wealth trusted his enemies more than his friends. Lola was an enemy now, but she’d been a friend to him once, and she could be that again.
Lola looked at the driver in the rearview mirror. “Take me to Rodeo Drive.”
If she was going to play Beau’s game, she had to look the part—and that meant buying herself a wardrobe fit for the queen Beau had once believed her to be.
* * *
Lola stepped out of the cab and looked up at the towering Four Seasons. With a garment bag draped across her arm and a million dollars slung over her shoulder, she entered the hotel. She wore her new white dress, a form-fitting, short little thing she never would’ve looked twice at before. She was greeted by three different men before she reached the front desk.
“Good evening.” The male concierge smiled. “How can I help you?”
Lola handed him her passport, currently her only form of identification. “I need a room.”
He dropped his eyes to the computer. After a few clicks of his mouse, he nodded. “You’re in luck. We have a couple left. How many nights?”
Lola traced her finger over the marble counter. She had to act fast. Beau was a man of resolve, but she meant something to him. He’d be confused by that, his memories and wounds fresh, his need for revenge less pressing than he’d thought. She needed to worm her way back in before he’d hardened into something unbreakable again. “One night. And I’m paying in cash.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “I’ll need a card for incidentals, though.”
Lola hesitated. She had no plan yet, and she preferred to stay off the grid until she knew more. “You won’t charge it?”
“Not unless you give us a reason to. There will be a pending charge, but it’ll fall off after a day or two.”
She gave it over reluctantly, leaving her hand open for the few seconds it took the concierge to swipe it. He handed it back to her and slid a keycard across the counter. “How’s the eleventh floor?”
“Fine.”
“Do you need assistance to your room?”
She shrugged a shoulder and showed him her bags. “This is everything I own.”
He glanced over the counter and raised his eyebrows. “Not much, is it?”
A voice behind her stopped Lola’s response in her throat. She would’ve recognized it anywhere, from the gates of heaven to the depths of hell and everywhere in between.
Her heart pounded. The concierge spoke, but she couldn’t hear him. Five minutes in the lobby, and she was already going to see Beau again. She hadn’t planned for it, but she hadn’t planned for anything yet. Her only goal was to reconcile with him as quickly as she could.
She inhaled a deep breath to calm herself. Beau would sense any fear and trepidation in an instant. She picked up the key from the counter and turned around. Beau was squatted on the floor next to a pretty blonde.
She didn’t wait to find out why. She seized the chance to pass him while his head was down. This wasn’t the right time to see him. She needed time to figure out some kind of strategy.
“There’s always a plan, Lola.”
Lola punched the “Up” button, thankful the elevator was already there. Inside, she selected the eleventh floor and tried to turn away. She couldn’t. She watched in a nearby mirror as he stood. It was almost reassuring to see him again. It was clear as day to her now, how she’d associated being near him with safety. The feeling passed quickly, and she concentrated instead on grasping tidbits of his conversation with the girl.
“…somewhere to be…after ten.”
“…only a few hours. I don’t mind waiting…”
The doors began to close, and as they met in the middle, Beau’s eyes shifted over. Her breath caught. A second passed, and the elevator rose with a jolt. Even if he’d seen her, she didn’t think it’d been enough time to recognize her. Still, with every floor she passed, tension gripped her, and it didn’t let go until she was safe in her room.
She dumped her things on the cloudlike comforter and went directly to change the temperature. Johnny had always kept the thermostat low, complaining about the heat even on the mildest Los Angeles nights. The men in Lola’s life were oversized children who’d chosen themselves over her time and time again. And yet they always seemed to come out on top—Johnny had half her money and a new plaything. Beau had blonde girls at his feet. Her dad was off somewhere, not taking care of anyone, the way he liked it.
Lola got to her knees and opened the minibar. She downed three bottles of liquor, one right after another, making a mental note to pay for them later in cash. Who did she have? Herself. She wasn’t an abandoned daughter. She wasn’t Johnny’s girlfriend or Beau’s conquest. Nobody would tell her where she was going or how to get there anymore. She wouldn’t give them that control. She drank three more bottles and crawled over to the hotel phone. She picked up the receiver and angrily punched in the number for Hey Joe.
Johnny answered. “Hello?”
“You weren’t supposed to cheat. Ever. But why her? She wasn’t even a blip on my radar.”
“I—”
“I don’t even care,” Lola said. “That’s bad, isn’t it? He hurt me more. I’m sorry if that makes you sad. I saw him with a woman today, a fucking blonde.”
“I think you have the wrong number.”
“I thought he liked brunettes.” She frowned, her mind playing catch up. “What? Is this Hey Joe?”
“No. You called a home number.”
Lola hung up and lay on the carpet. Life hadn’t been that fair to her, but she didn’t remember ever feeling like this. To still be so deeply in love with someone who’d gone out of his way to hurt her was more than one person should have to handle. She thought she should cr
y—it seemed like a healthy reaction. Nothing came. She stared up at the ceiling, forcing her eyes to stay open until they watered, until one salty drop slid from the corner of her eye to the edge of her lip. She wondered how much she’d have to drink for her tears to taste like vodka.
The sun set, painting the room orange. It was vivid and majestic, different from any sunset she’d ever seen. Or maybe it just seemed that way from upside down, drunk, eleven stories above the city.
She groaned. It wasn’t enough, but she couldn’t seem to move from that spot to get more alcohol. She closed her eyes, and the sunset streaked neon against the backs of her lids. Her hands and armpits were clammy, the hair at her temples damp with sweat.
Who was she to be angry with Johnny, though? He didn’t even know the depth of her sins. Her sins—fucking the enemy and enjoying it. Letting the enemy close enough to break her heart. Loving the enemy.
Beau had a soft side. She already missed that. She even missed his hardness. Despite all the reasons not to, she’d come to trust him. Only a monster could invent a scheme to hurt someone so thoroughly. Only the devil himself would actually go through with it, though.
Beau’s room was only five floors up from Lola’s. She would’ve requested a room above his, but it seemed he was always at the top. The devil shouldn’t get to live at the top, hiding in plain sight, moving people like pawns. The devil should have to suffer—just as his victims had.
8
Beau shut his eyes in the backseat of Warner’s town car and pulled his necktie loose. The dinner conversation at tonight’s event had dragged more than usual. Bids for his attention had been pushier too. In those situations, he was grateful to have Brigitte by his side. Unfazed by their earlier argument, she’d been her charming self all night.
“How’d it go?” Warner asked from the driver’s seat.
Beau opened his eyes and blinked off sleep. It wasn’t like Warner to chat, so it took him a minute to figure out if he’d dreamed it. He sat up a little. “What?”
“The event. Was Brigitte okay? I was afraid you might snap earlier.”
“Oh.” Beau nodded a little. “She’s fine. She was great, actually. Nothing puts her in a better mood than getting me riled up.”
“It’s because she cares.”
“All right.” Beau didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t really Warner’s business, except that it was, because he was always there, observing. Beau just wanted to sleep, but Warner was glancing at him in the rearview mirror like the conversation wasn’t over. “It’s good for business anyway,” he added.
“What is?”
“Brigitte, when she’s happy. She’s my secret weapon.”
Warner grinned, a rare sight. He seemed satisfied with that and looked back out the windshield.
These events were prime hunting grounds. Old, rich men were weak for Brigitte’s candid, often crude remarks—always delivered in a French accent. When Beau needed capital for one of his companies, he and Brigitte were a team that was hard to refuse. Usually.
Tonight, she’d dropped off buttered-up men at Beau’s feet and strutted around like a lion after a fresh kill. Beau, on the other hand, had been distracted. He’d mixed up two of his companies and called an important man by the wrong name. There were things on his mind, though—like the woman he’d glimpsed in the reflection earlier.
Once, before they’d sat down to dinner, Beau had caught himself looking around the room for Lola, ridiculous as it was. She could be anywhere, though, including right there in that room. He still had no idea what’d happened to her once she’d walked off hotel property, and it was making him more and more agitated.
Warner turned the car into the Four Seasons’ circular driveway and stopped to let him out. Beau reached for the door handle.
“I know you doubt yourself, but you’re good to her,” Warner said.
Beau looked to the front of the car. “Lola?”
“Brigitte.” Warner frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “You’re more patient than you think. She just loves having your attention.”
Beau hesitated, somewhat embarrassed he’d thought Warner was talking about Lola. “Right. Well. It’s been a long day—”
“Goodnight, sir.”
“Yes. Goodnight.” Beau shut the car door behind him and looked up. The hotel glowed, the lobby and the rooms, like it was filled with gold. Was Lola up there? Or was she just—gone? Walking inside was like trudging through mud. He was shutting down, his body crashing without enough sleep. He was almost to the elevator when he heard, “Mr. Olivier?”
Beau stopped, turning to the man at the front desk. “Yes?”
“Your visitor’s in the lounge.”
Beau was already removing his cufflinks, sticking them in his pockets. “You’re mistaken. I’m not expecting anyone.”
“She’s been in there half an hour. She was very clear that you’d be expecting her and that she’d wait as long as necessary.”
Beau squinted in the direction of the hotel bar, then glanced at his watch. It was 10:32 P.M., half an hour after he’d told Heather he’d be back. She’d be an easy fuck, requiring little to no effort on his part—just what he’d thought he needed. Sleep sounded more appealing.
“Do me a favor? Tell her I’m not interested and that I’ve gone to bed.”
“I understand, sir.” He cleared his throat. “She’ll find someone who is. Half the staff is enamored by her.”
Beau had turned toward the elevator again, but he stopped. There was no reason someone shouldn’t be enamored by Heather—after all, she had tits for days, perky too, always a plus. But it made him think of Lola, sitting at a bar, single for the first time in almost a decade. No man in his right mind wouldn’t be enamored by her, that was for certain.
It could only be Heather waiting for him. It had to be. Yet Beau found himself turning back and heading for the lounge. He wasn’t one to ignore his instinct, and it told him it wasn’t Heather he’d find in there—but the woman who’d been firmly entrenched in his thoughts since she’d walked out of his life that morning.
9
Present day
It wasn’t even noon, and Lola had already charged seventeen hundred dollars to Beau’s credit card. She hadn’t lied to him in his foyer earlier that morning—each task on her to-do list was important, including shopping. In only weeks, she was becoming a reluctant regular on Rodeo Drive.
Beau worked long hours. Most days she met him for lunch, keeping herself fresh in his mind, but he rarely had more than a half hour to spare. So she would go to the park or to a museum or a matinee, and when she’d exhausted all those venues, Rodeo Drive welcomed her like an old friend—as long as she was carrying Beau’s black American Express.
The Burberry trench coat in her shopping bag fit her like a second skin. All designer clothing was smooth that way. Easy to wear, easy to move in. If it wasn’t, though, Beau’s tailor would come to the house, take it away and return it to her better. But this particular coat wasn’t for her. She wouldn’t wear it to feel good or to exhibit wealth. She’d wear it for Beau—to make him feel good. That was the power of a well-made piece of clothing. Even though she only needed it for one night, if she bought herself anything less than the best, it would raise questions from him—and she didn’t need questions she couldn’t answer. She was playing a role in Beau’s life, and that role was expensive.
Only three blocks constituted the main part of one the world’s most expensive shopping streets. She walked over plaques honoring fashion icons and under California’s signature palm trees, stopping in front of a high-end lingerie shop she’d been eyeing for a while.
She pulled open the glass door and descended black marble steps. Her heartbeat picked up a little. She might’ve been a woman just looking for something to please her man—or she might’ve been a woman experiencing her fantasy, three weeks in the making, coming to life.
A lady with a pinched smile approached her. “Good afternoon. What are you shop
ping for today?”
“Lingerie.”
“What kind?”
Lola touched a white silk negligee and let it slide over her palms. “The kind that does the most damage.”
The saleswoman made a noise. “I think that depends on the person wearing it.”
Lola turned around to see her smile had turned genuine. Before Lola could answer, a flash of light near the window caught her eye. She crossed the small store and picked up a black, lace corset that sparkled when the sun hit it.
The garment was embedded with hundreds of tiny, glistening gemstones. “They’re Swarovski crystals,” the saleswoman said.
Of course they were. In Beau’s hotel room, the night she’d learned the truth, Beau had said, almost accusingly, that Lola’d been covered in diamonds when he’d seen her on Cat Shoppe’s stage. He must’ve thought very highly of her as a stripper if he’d believed that. They were actually rhinestones. She’d purchased the two-piece bikini in November during a Halloween clearance sale. It’d come in a plastic zip bag. At the register, she’d grabbed a pair of cat ears to top off the outfit. Every other girl at Cat Shoppe had had a thing, and she’d needed a thing. There’d already been a couple of feline-themed strippers, but none of them had sparkled like her.
But that was then, and this was now. Now, Lola had Beau—the kind of man who appreciated extravagance. The kind who expected his stripper to wear diamonds when he put her up on his pedestal.
“I’ll take it,” Lola said, “as well as black underwear and thigh-high stockings.”
The saleswoman nodded. “Shoes?”
“I have them. Four-inch Louboutins.”
“You must be looking to deliver quite a blow.”
“Something like that.” Lola opened her purse and pulled out Beau’s weighty credit card. Before she handed it over, she paused as she was hit with an idea. “By any chance, do you carry cat ears here?”
Explicitly Yours Series Page 36