Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5)

by Jessica Hawkins

  Lola narrowed her eyes at Warner. Her disgust for Beau branched out, disfigured fingers on a dying tree, looking to take anything down with it. “Is that what you’re to do?”

  He looked from side to side without moving his head a millimeter. “Um—Mr. Olivier called about fifteen minutes ago and specifically instructed—”

  “Mr. Olivier can instruct his foot up his ass. Take another step toward me, and I’ll scream.”

  Warner swayed back as if she’d swung at him. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ll find my own way.” Lola turned back around. She and Beau no longer owed each other anything, not even a lift home. She started the two-something mile walk back to her apartment.

  Innumerable customers had passed through during the two years she’d stripped at Cat Shoppe. It was a wonder she remembered that particular night at all, but she did. That man across the club had worn a suit, not unusual for their clientele. Cat Shoppe had been more exclusive in those days. He’d been older to her then, but now she just recalled him as smooth and spotless. Not the hard, angular man he was now. How she could’ve forgotten Beau’s bottomless green eyes, she wasn’t sure, but she’d tried not to look too hard into anyone’s eyes when she’d worked there.

  He’d stayed near the entrance, watching her. She’d been stared at before, but this was different. It was the same feeling she’d gotten on the sidewalk at Hey Joe—as if he’d been passing by and something had stopped him in his tracks.

  Backstage, the owner, Kincaid, had pulled her aside and sent her to the VIP room. At first, Beau hadn’t demanded anything or tried to grope her. He’d seemed more interested in talking. He’d looked into her eyes when speaking to her, not at her tits. Although, he’d looked at those too. Beau was right that she’d brushed against him when she’d danced for him, even though that wasn’t allowed.

  And then, out of nowhere, he’d offered her money to go home with him—and doused any interest she’d had. It was presumptuous, and in a way, disappointing. Up until then, she’d been a girl intrigued, wanting to know more about this man who wasn’t like the others who paid for time alone with her. As if it’d been some warped version of a first date.

  He’d left abruptly after she’d turned him down, and she’d forgotten it by the next day.

  Beau hadn’t. Her rejection had struck something deep inside him—something that’d compelled him to lead her right into the mouth of a fire just to watch her burn. It didn’t matter that he’d changed his mind at the end. It only took one ember to send everything up in flames.

  She’d had this sick fullness in her gut before—an unruly customer pulling down her thong during a lap dance. She’d knocked the scrawny guy on his ass with a lucky punch. When one of her mom’s boyfriends had struck her, she’d launched toward him, claws out. She would’ve lost if her mom hadn’t stepped in, but that didn’t matter. Both times, she’d fought back.

  Lola readjusted the package of cash in her arms. The sun’s fiery-orange arch peeked on the horizon, silhouetting palm trees. Even though she had the money—the money was all she had—she refused to get a cab. In her eyes, it was no different than accepting a ride from Beau.

  Besides, the sooner she got home, the sooner she’d have to face Johnny. It wouldn’t be difficult to hide what she’d done—declaring her love for the enemy. She doubted Johnny’d even think to ask. The problem was that she’d meant it. No matter how badly Beau had hurt her, love didn’t come with an off switch. She couldn’t go home to Johnny and pretend none of it’d ever happened. And after what she’d been through with Beau, she wasn’t sure she wanted to anyway.

  She and Beau were fire and ice. They were never meant to be together. They clashed. They exploded. He heated her when she was cold and soothed her when she was burning up. That couldn’t be faked. In the convenience store, with a gun under her chin, Beau wouldn’t let the man take her outside where Beau couldn’t see her.

  Johnny wasn’t a protector. The moment Beau’s business card had gone missing from Hey Joe’s countertop, her trust in Johnny had begun to chip away—a gradual process she hadn’t even been completely aware of.

  The first night, as she’d approached the limo idling at the curb of her apartment complex, Beau’d rolled down the window and looked up at her. Johnny had watched from the window. She’d had no idea the two men would each tear out half her heart, leaving a gaping wound in its place. She’d had no idea that as much as Johnny had loved her, and as much as Beau would worship her, it would end this way.

  Lola picked up her pace, flexed her weighed-down muscles. Half a million dollars was fucking heavy. Hadn’t she been good to both of them? For Beau, she’d risked everything. For Johnny, she’d given him whatever he’d wanted the last nine years. She hadn’t asked for much in return. Just to be safe, loved—to be enough.

  She wasn’t safe. She wasn’t enough. And now, she didn’t have anyone. Beau had taken all that away from her. But as sure as that money in her arms, she was still standing. They’d landed their punches, but neither of them had knocked her off her feet.

  It wasn’t over yet, though. Lola and Johnny still had to face the truth. They’d made a deal with the devil, and the devil was cashing in. From Lola, he would take her heart. From Johnny, he would take Lola.

  Chapter 31

  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, w
ith 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.”