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.
Chapter 36
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 shopping 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?”
“I’m sorry?” The woman’s hand twitched, as if resisting reaching for the credit card. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Lola held her hands on both sides of her head and pointed upward. She wiggled her fingers. “You know, like the ones you wear on Halloween?”
“Oh. No. Of course we don’t.”
“Hmm.” Lola tapped the card against her bottom lip, thinking. “That could really pose a problem for my outfit.”
“I’ll take care of it.” The saleswoman watched the card, her eyes fixed on the rhythmic back and forth. She held her hand out. “I’ll find some and have them delivered wherever you like along with your purchase.”
Lola smiled and handed over the credit card. “That would be fantastic. They don’t need to be anything fancy. I’ll take the lingerie with me, but I’d like those sent somewhere else.”
“That won’t be a problem, Miss…” She checked the card. “Olivier.”
Lola paid for everything and returned to the Range Rover, which she’d parked at a meter. She slipped into the front seat and rested her hands on the steering wheel, but she didn’t turn the engine on. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. What a funny thing money was—it bought not only things, but people’s time. Lola had discovered how true that was since she’d been by Beau’s side. Just now, in the store, she’d used her newfound wealth as leverage to get what she wanted. Was it too much time around Beau that had Lola acting like someone she didn’t recognize? Or was that just how money worked, no matter who you were? It was addicting to have it that easy, and part of her understood, for the first time, how complicated Beau’s relationship with his fortune must be.
Lola shook her head quickly. She couldn’t think too hard about Beau this late in the game. It was as simple as this—Beau wasn’t the man she’d thought he was, and for that he deserved whatever was coming to him. Three weeks had seemed like a lifetime to fake all the things she had—forgiveness, affection, submission. Now that it was ending, she worried she wasn’t prepared. Beau was used to getting his way, which meant a number of things could go wrong. Lola needed to keep her head in the game and a sway in her hips. It was a delicate operation, pulling the string that unraveled him without yanking it. He’d been salivating over Lola for long enough now that he was right where she needed him. That was what she had to distract him with—his own crippling need. It was the art of misdirection, and the key to pulling off her magic trick.
Cat Shoppe’s music thumped so loudly, Lola felt it in her bones before she even reached the entrance. The bouncer took one look at her plum-colored vinyl miniskirt and opened the red velvet rope for her. Even in the middle of the day, severa
l men and a couple women sat around the stages, drinks and dollar bills in their hands. The place stunk, as if the furniture was soaked nightly in vats of beer, and the men bathed in cheap cologne.
She’d changed in the Range Rover, sinking down in the backseat to swap her Alexander McQueen dress for a vintage concert tee. She’d smeared her perfectly-applied lipstick onto a tissue before caking on glitter eye shadow.
At the bar, she ordered a shot of tequila as reinforcement from a girl in a platinum-blonde wig. At least, Lola thought it was a wig, the way it poofed around her chipmunk cheeks and met under her chin like a heart. This time, the tequila didn’t make Lola wince the way it had in Beau’s car up on Mulholland Drive. It was courage. She’d never grimace after a shot again if she could help it.
The bartender took the glass back. “Another?”
“No, thanks.” Lola dug a twenty out of her pocket and put it on the bar. “I’m here to see Kincaid.”
“You looking for a job?”
“Not really.”
“Good, because there’s not enough to go around as it is. As you can see, I’ve got to work the bar just to make some extra cash.” She took Lola’s bill off the bar and went to the register.
“Keep the change,” Lola said.
She turned back. “Really? It was three dollars.”
Lola waved a hand. “It’s fine.”
“Cool.” She stuffed the money in her white bikini top, not even cashing out the shot. She fixed the string of her bottoms, then looked up and caught Lola watching her. “Marilyn,” she said, pointing at the drawn-in birthmark on her upper lip. “Monroe?”
“Oh.” Lola nodded.
“Also known as Susan, but that’s not really my gig.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Marilyn-Susan refilled Lola’s glass with tequila and set it in front of her. “On the house. You dance?”
Lola picked up the shot. “Not anymore. I worked here a while back, though.”
The girl’s breasts bounced when she clapped her hands together. “Really? So you know Glinda the Good Bitch?”
Lola smiled hearing her old friend’s name. Glinda’d been stripping as long as she’d had something to show. She’d taken Lola under her wing just like she always did with the new girls, kind of like a mentor. They’d grown apart when Johnny’d come along, though. He’d forbidden her from going on a girls’ trip to Vegas, and after that, she’d begun to lose touch with the group. “I used to, yeah. Best dancer this side of Hollywood.”
“Not lately. Been hitting the blow too hard. She’s in a bad state.”
Lola glanced down at the bar. The news didn’t surprise her, considering how easy it was to get sucked into that life. She almost had. A lot of girls, some she knew, many she didn’t, had gone too far down the path Johnny had pulled Lola back from. She was indebted to him in a way she could never repay, and no matter their history, she’d never forget that.
“I’ll go grab Kincaid,” Marilyn said, walking away.
While Lola waited, she looked over her shoulder at the girl writhing on stage. Her hard nipples grazed the floor as she danced for the dollar bills fanned around her.
“She’s got nothing on you,” said a man behind her.
Lola turned to see Cat Shoppe’s owner. “Kincaid.”
“Lola.” He put his hand on the back of her stool and kissed her cheek. “Or do you go by Melody now?”
“Still Lola.”
Marilyn was back behind the bar. “Was Melody your stage name?”
“No. It’s my full name, but I don’t use it.”
“Melody,” Marilyn repeated. “Like a song. That’s sweet.”
Sometimes, she thought her given name was the only thing her mom liked about her since she’d picked it out. Lola had once cried as a kid about not having a middle name, though, so her dad had told her it could be Lola, short for Melody. The nickname’d stuck, and Lola had a theory Dina had taken it personally.
Back in the day, Lola was the only one at the club who’d danced under her real name, the rest of the girls making up something sugary and anonymous.
Lola turned to face Kincaid completely as he pulled up a seat next to her. “So, how are you, Kincaid?”
“It’s been a while.”
“Not as long as you think,” she said.
“Aha. So that was you I saw on the security camera a few weeks ago.”
Lola hadn’t seen Kincaid when she’d come to Cat Shoppe with Beau, but she remembered his diligence when it came to security. He almost always had someone on the cameras, making sure his customers stayed in line. “Yep. Kind of an unexpected trip down memory lane.”
“With someone who’s got money to burn.” Kincaid gave her a once over. “That guy you were with? You wouldn’t believe what he paid for a room, two of our girls and some privacy.”
“Actually, I would believe it.” When she swallowed, she tasted tequila. Tequila and Beau, that first night she’d put her lips on him. “I hope you didn’t watch the whole show.”
He smiled cautiously. “Seen enough couples come through here to know when to look away. What I did see, though, was good. Can’t fake that kind of love for the dance.”
“Actually, that’s why I’m here.” Lola cleared her throat. The backs of her thighs had begun to sweat, turning the stool’s leather tacky against her skin. She needed Kincaid tonight, or her entire plan could go to shit. “The man I came with last time loved the show so much, I want to give him another.”
Kincaid shrugged. “Not a problem. Same girls, or—?”
“Just me,” Lola said. “He has a kind of fascination with watching me dance.”
“Right. Angel and Golden said it was the easiest money they ever made. The guy barely looked at them the whole time they were in VIP.”
Lola nodded and tucked her hair behind her ear. She’d definitely had his attention that night. “I want him to have a real, true-life, gritty experience, though. As if I worked here, and he wandered in off the street.”
“You want a room for a few hours, you got it. I have to charge you, but—”
“Money isn’t the issue. What I’m asking for is—I want to be…one of your girls again. Just for tonight.”
Kincaid narrowed his eyes, searching her face. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Can’t be good, though. You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
“It’s good,” Lola said, reassuring, nodding. “There’s a lot of money in it for you if you play along.”
Kincaid made an inviting gesture with his hand. “I’m listening.”
“This is how it’ll go. Tonight, I work for you. I belong to you—no one else. I want him to have the full experience.”
“You said that already.”
She leaned forward, conspiring with him, looking into his eyes. “I want your protection.”
“My protection?” He absentmindedly picked at some peeling plastic on the countertop. “Sounds serious. What about your bartender a few blocks down? As I recall, you two were pretty tight.”
“We’re not together anymore.”
“That so? Completely done? Because he was the reason you left all this behind.”
Lola ran her tongue along her upper teeth. “Yeah, well. Things change.”
“What things?”
“You ask a lot of questions.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Do we have a deal?”
“You know how I am about my girls and my business. It’s all I got. I don’t need any jealous boyfriends coming through that door.”
“He won’t. Trust me—Johnny and I are through. So, can you do this for me? I told you, there’s good money in it for you.”
“I’ll do anything for you, Lola, soon’s I understand what you’re asking me.”
Lola shifted in her seat. Some people were not as easily bought as others, and that would’ve given her some comfort if she didn’t need this last piece of the puzzle. “Customers don’t come here expecting to take one of us
home,” she said. “It’s like a fantasy, right? They watch us. They let us tease them. I could sit Beau in a kitchen chair and dance in his lap, but it wouldn’t be the same. There, I’m his girlfriend who he gets to fuck after. But here? It’s a game, and I’m a prize he can’t have.”
Kincaid nodded. He was no idiot—he understood her. He’d made a living off keeping women just outside of men’s reach. “What do you need me to do?”
Lola opened her purse. “I’ll pay you now. Cash. I’ll explain the rules to Beau over dinner. But as soon as we walk in the door, he’s a customer, and I’m an employee. I’ll take him to the VIP room. Just watch him, and make sure he behaves.”
“You know we got the big rules here. For the employees, bottoms stay on, no sexual activity. For customers, it’s no touching unless the dancer initiates it, and even then, it’s all over the clothing.”
“Exactly. I’m not agreeing to allow any of that.”
“All right. So what if he doesn’t behave?”
“Same as if any customer were to touch one of your girls.” Lola handed over enough cash to rent the VIP room for an entire night, though she didn’t think she’d need even an hour. “You don’t let him get away with it.”
Chapter 37
Beau stared at the buildings just outside his office window, a whiskey in his hand. All day, he’d been wondering about tonight, what this secret was Lola had planned, how long she’d make him wait for the main course. He was eager to get his last meeting over with so he could go home to her.
He was becoming someone he didn’t recognize. Work had always been his constant, but the only thing that calmed him now was her—specifically, the security of having her in his arms where he could see and feel her. He’d thought paying for her had been the way to own her, but he’d been so off base, it almost made him laugh. Knowing she loved him enough to let him earn her trust again—that was how he owned her, how she owned him.
Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5) Page 37
