Johnny pointed at the duffel bag. “Is that what this is about? You’re going to see him again?”
“No. This is about you and me.” While Beau might’ve been the catalyst behind their breakup, he wasn’t the reason. He had his own sins to pay for, but she couldn’t blame him for this. “I’m not the girl you want. I tried so hard, I honestly thought I was all these years. But I need more. I don’t want to spend my life doing something mediocre, like working at Hey Joe. It doesn’t make me happy.”
“Mediocre?” he repeated. “Oh. I see. One night with a millionaire and suddenly you’re too good for me. That’s just bullshit.” He picked her bag up off the bed and held it to his side. “I know you’re angry. So am I. But stop and think about what you’re saying.”
Lola tried to take the bag. “We’re finished—”
“No.” He pulled the duffel back and went to block the doorway. “You don’t just fall out of love overnight because you slept with someone else.”
“I already told you, this isn’t about him. You fucked up, and because of that, I see the truth. What we have is easy. I love and care about you, Johnny, but I’m not in love with you.” She tried to get by him, but he stayed where he was. “Give me my bag. I’m leaving.”
He visibly tried to speak, but nothing came. He opened and closed his free hand as if grasping for something.
“Johnny. Move.” She shoved him aside, and he dropped the bag to grab her wrists. They struggled for a second and then both stopped, their breathing labored. Neither of them moved as they stared at each other.
He released her. “Don’t do this.”
She hoisted the bag off the ground and walked down the hallway.
“Amanda blew me in the stockroom,” he yelled. “I guess that means I fell out of love with you too. Is that how it works?”
Lola’s heart dropped. Her hand went automatically to her stomach as she turned around. “Amanda?”
He ran a hand over his hair, also looking like he might be sick. “Doesn’t feel so good, does it?”
Lola could’ve smacked the pathetic, somehow smug, look off his paling face. She hadn’t thought him capable of cheating, but the last few weeks, he’d been a different person. A weaker one. It didn’t surprise her as much as it should’ve.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“You piece of shit.”
He shrugged, but he looked anything but casual. “I needed someone, and she was there.”
Lola’s eyebrows weighed heavy. She was too livid to feel hurt. “And where was I?” she asked. “Screwing another man to give you your dream.”
“Oh, don’t fucking kid yourself. You’re the only one who gets to have a little fun on the side?” His face fell. He walked toward her, but she backed away. “I drank a handle trying to forget what you were doing. It didn’t even put a dent in me, Lo. I tried to stop her. I pushed her away. It meant nothing.”
It meant everything—a permanent nail in their coffin. “It’s not nothing to me. You gave me away twice, and now you sealed your fate. What if I’d come home, and we’d moved on with our lives? Did you think I could forgive this?”
“Yes, because it was all I had. I was desperate. I’ve never been as miserable as I was last night.”
“Poor fucking baby.” She scoffed. “I can’t believe Beau was right about you.”
“About me?” He touched his chest. “What did he tell you?”
“He said resentment makes people do ugly things—like cheat on their loved ones. He said you’d do that.”
“That’s rich coming from him of all people,” Johnny said. “You let him talk about me that way?”
“You don’t seem to understand,” Lola said evenly. “I don’t let him do or not do anything. He does and says what he wants. Did I think he was completely crazy for saying that? Yes. But apparently I was the crazy one for thinking I could trust you.”
“This is such bullshit. And I was supposed to trust you after finding out you actually enjoyed sleeping with someone else? By my count, I’d say we’re about even.”
Her jaw tingled. She was disgusted with the whole thing—Johnny and that desperate slut. “Asshole. Did you stick your dick anywhere other than her mouth last night?”
“No.”
“Did you finish? Come all over her? I bet she just gobbled it up. How many times have you done this behind my back?”
“Never. You know me better than that.”
“I don’t know anything or anyone anymore.” She turned and left the hallway. “You can all go to hell.”
“Where are you going?”
She had no idea. She just had to get out of there as soon as possible. She transferred everything from the coffee table into her bag. “I’m taking my half of the money.”
“Lola, come on. Don’t do this. I’ll go to Mark’s and give you some space to cool off. We’ll figure this out when we both calm down.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “You know it’s over. Don’t act like I’m the only reason we’re through. You had to have known at some point this could happen.”
“I didn’t. I swear. Did you?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. He could only be that oblivious if he was shrouded in denial. “Yes,” she admitted.
“When? Did you know this could end us before you left the apartment last night?”
She turned to face him completely. For nine years, she’d believed Johnny was the one. She would’ve married him if he’d asked. She’d wanted his children. She’d convinced herself that what she’d done for him—maturing, settling down—was something everyone did at some point. It was hard to believe that not only had she not questioned that, but that it’d only taken her two nights with Beau to wake up.
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.
Chapter 33
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 wat
ching. 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 sat forward, the leather creaking. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t drop by Hey Joe or her apartment or even call her. She wouldn’t be there. Her purse had been stolen—credit cards, phone and all.
“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. 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.
Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5) Page 35
