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

by Jessica Hawkins

  “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 doing?” 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.

  Chapter 34

  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 h
im 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 cry—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.

  Chapter 35

  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?”