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

by Jessica Hawkins

“Okay—”

  “But make sure Larry calls me before they make any—”

  “I’ll take care of it, Mr. Olivier. Just enjoy your vacation.”

  “I’m not on—”

  The line went dead, the first time she’d ever cut him off that way. He set his phone down, envisioning everyone in the office break room, celebrating his absence. He doubted that, though. Beau could be hard, but he was a good boss and a good man to work for—he knew that. Maybe that was why they all seemed to think he needed time away.

  He shifted in his seat, the road out his windshield narrowing into the horizon. He thought about e-mailing his assistant and asking her to send detailed minutes of the meeting directly after, but he let it go.

  Lola had mentioned more than once his frustrating devotion to work. She’d wanted more of his attention than she got. Well, she had it all now.

  Beau spotted the New Orleans motel a second too late, and his tires shotgun-shrieked against the pavement when he slammed on his brakes. He veered across oncoming traffic into the parking lot. Lola wasn’t far now. She might not be in her room, but he had all evening to find her. They’d been playing this game for too long—it had to end. They would argue, that was unavoidable—he was angry. Seeing her again would test his control. But then what?

  Beau entered the front office chest first, his authority unmistakable. “I’m looking for a woman who checked in here earlier.”

  The long-nosed, pimple-faced clerk was unimpressed. “We get a lot of those—women.”

  Beau flattened his hand on the counter. “My associate called and spoke to someone. Was it you?”

  “Your associate?” He looked over Beau’s shoulder, then his own. “Uh, it wasn’t me.”

  “Is there anyone else working?”

  “Yeah, but he’s on his break for another twenty minutes.”

  “Fine. Her name is Melody Winters. Check your system.”

  The man blinked once slowly before turning to the computer. His mouse clicked, his fingers tapped the keyboard. He shook his head. “I don’t see her…”

  “But I was told that she’s here.”

  The clerk raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. Uh…”

  “What?”

  “What’d you say the first name was?”

  “Melody.”

  “Oh.” He shook his head. “Nope.”

  Beau rolled his eyes. He inched his hands closer to the computer, tempted to jerk the screen in his direction. “How about Lola?”

  “Oh.” The man nodded. “Yep.”

  “She’s here?” Beau’s frustration yielded to relief. “Which room?”

  “I can’t—”

  “Money. I have it. You can have it. For your cooperation.” Beau almost cringed, barely able to form a full sentence. He wanted to be better, to do this the right way, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d come too far, was too close, to start following some ambiguous set of rules. He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his wallet, pulled out three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. “You can come with me if you don’t trust me. Keep my wallet as collateral. Whatever. Just give me the room number.”

  The man looked from the money to Beau to the door behind him. He slid the cash toward himself on the counter and pocketed it. He wrote something on a slip of paper and held it out.

  Before Beau could take it, the clerk pulled it back and whispered, “I never gave this to you.”

  “Fine.”

  “Destroy it when you’re done.”

  “Give me the fucking paper.”

  The man’s eyes widened. He handed it over.

  118.

  Beau went to room 118 and knocked. He sniffed, stuck his hands in his pockets. So much for a thought-out, specially-tailored plan. He banged on the door until it opened to reveal a short, gray-haired woman.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  She scowled. “You knocked on my door.”

  “I’m looking for my—my girlfriend…my wife…”

  “Well, which is it?” the lady asked.

  “She told me she was in room 118.”

  “Harold,” the woman called behind her without removing her eyes from Beau.

  “I’m not here to bother you,” Beau said, holding up his palms. After a nostril-full of air, he said, “I’m just looking for my wife—have you seen her by any chance? Dark hair, slim, tall, blue eyes, shiny hair—”

  “Oh—shiny hair,” the woman exclaimed. “How on earth does she get it so shiny?”

  “What?”

  “I know exactly who you’re talking about. Lola.”

  “Right,” Beau said so loudly, the woman jumped. “That’s her. Is she in there?”

  “In here?” The woman shook her head. “What a doll. What an angel. You are a lucky man.”

  “I’m a desperate man,” Beau said. “Where is she?”

  She tapped a finger on her chin. “Gone, I think.” Her eyebrows knit. “She didn’t mention anything about a husband.”

  His heart dropped. It was impossible. He wasn’t even in the room, and the walls seemed to be closing in around him. Somebody had to be responsible for putting him through this shit hour after fucking hour. He would wring that person’s neck for it—the clerk, this woman, Bragg. Lola. He steadied himself against the doorframe. “Gone? When did you see her?”

  “Well, earlier this afternoon, Harold and I were checking in at the front office right over there,” she pointed to where Beau had just been, “when this girl comes in behind us. See, Harold and I had some trouble with our trailer this morning, so we had nowhere to sleep and not much cash on us.”

  Beau’s face was getting hot. He rolled his lips together to keep from hurrying her along.

  “We were trying to work out a deal when Lola taps me on the shoulder and says she paid for two nights—”

  “Word for word,” Beau interrupted. “What’d she say?”

  “Ah. Um, let’s see. She introduces herself and goes, ‘I was thinking of canceling my second night, so why don’t you take it instead?’ I ask if she’s sure, and she says something like, ‘I’m sure. I just got some news, and it’s time for me to move on.’ The darling girl, she didn’t charge us a thing and was out of the room in ten minutes.”

  Beau was shaking his head. “No. That’s bullshit.”

  “You’re a bit pale,” she said. “You want to sit down? My husband’s right inside, so don’t get any ideas—”

  He walked away, got in his car and stared forward. Now, it was the roof that was falling on him. Lola had to have known he was coming somehow—to have done this on purpose. Revenge. Wasn’t it? She couldn’t know, though—it wasn’t like she’d violated his privacy like he had hers, scouring his credit card statements, tracing his phone calls, hunting for clues. He slammed his palms into the steering wheel. He did it another time, honking the horn.

  “What the fuck, Lola? What are you doing to me?” He took a deep breath. “Enough is enough. I’m done with this. I’m done looking for you in the corners of the earth. I’ve had enough.”

  But he took out his phone and dialed the number he’d already been abusing almost two weeks.

  “Let me guess,” Bragg answered. “You’re so grateful for my help, you’re calling to see where you should send my bonus. I appreciate that, I really do—you got a pen?”

  “Have there been any other charges?” Beau asked. “Anything at all.”

  Bragg sighed heavily. “No, kid. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you sure there isn’t any way she has another card or a cell phone? How’d she get this far without charging more?”

  “We’ve been over this. It’s the cash.”

  Beau looked at his lap. She had run because of him, and she stayed hidden because of him. He’d thought buying her would give him the last laugh, but he sat in his car, unable to even remember the happiness he’d had just a short time ago. And to think there was a time he’d thought he could slice her right out of his life like a bruise from a peach. He’d done this to
himself—and it’d been deliberate.

  Bragg cleared his throat. “Look, Beau…”

  Beau lifted his eyes a little. “What?”

  “Maybe it’s time to take a break. You’ve been looking for this girl for a couple weeks now, and you got nothing to hang your hat on.” He hesitated. “Thing is, you haven’t even told me the reason.”

  “You want to know why?”

  “Guess I should’ve asked this earlier, but you didn’t strike me as the vengeful type—it’s not because you want to hurt her, is it? Just that you seem a little strung out.”

  “No,” Beau said flatly. “I don’t want to hurt her. There are a lot of things I don’t want to do, though, like keep chasing her or go home without her.”

  Bragg grunted. “Could it be that you’re in love with her?”

  It was such an odd question, even odder coming from Bragg, who never asked why—who rarely strayed from business. Beau didn’t answer.

  “Don’t you have someone you can talk to about this?” Bragg asked. “Brigitte?”

  “Brigitte hates any woman who has my attention.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” the detective said, “but I do know this ain’t healthy. You’ve got to let Lola go. I think she wants to be let go.”

  “I know, it’s just that we had these two nights…” Beau said.

  Bragg was silent. Beau didn’t blame him. It was a weird thing to say. He’d had no one to talk to about this. He wasn’t even sure he could count his time with Lola after those two nights—not if she’d been plotting against him the whole time. His heart sank. Maybe that was how she’d felt about all of their time together.

  “You fell in love with someone in two nights?” Bragg asked. “That’s—”

  “What, impossible?” Beau laughed grimly and hung up the phone. Bragg had no idea just how possible it was.

  He jumped at a noise. The woman from 118 was tapping on his window, motioning for him to roll it down. He opened the door and got out.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “I’m sorry if I was rude about you knocking on my door, but you were in a fit. Still are. You don’t look like you should be driving.”

  “Did she say anything else?” Beau asked. “Anything at all? What was she wearing?”

  The woman shook her head. “Jeans, I think. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Was she in a red car?”

  She frowned and reached toward him. After a brief hesitation, she rubbed his shoulder. “I’m real sorry, honey. I wish I knew more. She’s a lovely girl. I’d hate to lose her too. Maybe there’s some way Howard and I can help you find her.”

  He searched her eyes, finding warmth that hadn’t been there before. He’d barged into that hotel like he’d owned it, demanding things and banging on doors. What the fuck was happening to him? What he had wasn’t enough—he had to make people feel small too?

  “Why would you help me?” he asked.

  She smiled a little. “You seem like a good man who got caught in a nasty web. You have that look about you like you might take off running any second.” She shrugged. “You know, Lola did say one more thing on her way out the door that makes me think she might like me to help out.”

  His ears rang. “What was it?”

  “I asked if there was any way we could thank her. She says, ‘All I did was pay it forward. If you want to thank me, do the same.’”

  Chapter 62

  Lola stepped out of the motel shower onto a frayed floor mat and wrapped a towel under her arms. After seven hours of traveling, her shoulders ached. The fluorescent light flickered angrily. She wiped steam from the mirror, her face developing in parts. She looked older. A couple vertical wrinkles between her eyebrows remained even after she’d stopped frowning. Smaller ones were forming at the corners of her eyes. Her hair was longer than she’d ever worn it, the wet ends stuck to her breasts, right above her nipples. She couldn’t remember when she’d last had it cut.

  Even after a shower, her skin showed indents from the waistband of her pants. She turned sideways and ran her hand over her naked tummy. It was too early to see any change, but she thought she could. On the counter next to her was a stick that looked like a headless toothbrush.

  After check-in, she’d made herself watch TV for an hour while drinking water and patiently waiting for her bladder to fill. She didn’t want to do it wrong—it was the first pregnancy test she’d ever taken, anyway. She’d peed on it and chanted—two lines pregnant, one line not. As if she might forget and have to check the instructions a second time.

  They had faded in, two lines, distinct and solid. She’d already known what the verdict would be, so she’d gotten in the shower without making a big thing of it. One night of tossing and turning plus a drive from New Orleans to Houston had been a good amount of time to let the news sink in.

  Lola dried her hair with the towel and caught herself smiling in the reflection. She was going to be a mom.

  She dropped the pregnancy test in the trash behind the toilet, then reflexively tried to catch it at the last second. Was she supposed to keep it as some sort of souvenir? The thought made her wrinkle her nose. She left it and washed her hands for a third time.

  She changed into her pajamas, sat on the bed against the headboard and aimed the remote at the TV, but didn’t turn it on. Suddenly, she covered her mouth and giggled into her hand. So the news hadn’t actually sunken in—not completely. She kept having giddy, heart-soaring moments where she wanted to run outside and tell someone, anyone, how drastically her life had changed in mere months. That kind of news was hard to keep inside.

  Lola stuck her thumbnail between her teeth, checking the clock from the corner of her eye. Her suitcase was by the bed, sleeves, pant legs and bra straps sprouting from all sides. Pregnancy would mean the death of her leather pants, at least for a while. She couldn’t imagine chasing a juice-sticky toddler around in them. The pants’ last night out had been when she’d met Beau, their stiff creak the only sound as she’d cautiously approached him, both of them lit up by the neon signs in Hey Joe’s window.

  She and Beau were forever linked now. She wouldn’t be able to keep the secret long, nor did she want to. The time would come to tell Beau he was going to be a father. Maybe he didn’t want that. Maybe he would be angry. She looked at her fingers, bit at a hangnail. He’d made her sign that contract in the beginning, absolving him of any responsibility should she get pregnant. The thought of having his child had disgusted her then, but now she couldn’t drum up a negative feeling about it. If he wanted nothing to do with them, she’d deal with it. She wasn’t sure what role she wanted him to play anyway.

  It was 7:32 at night on the West Coast, two hours behind Houston. That meant in California time, she was still waiting for her bladder to fill, the pregnancy test placed conspicuously at the edge of the bedside stand.

  Lola could only think of one person to share her news with. She wasn’t sure how her mother, who hadn’t even been happy about her own pregnancy, would take it, but Lola had gone too long without talking to anyone familiar. Any reaction seemed better than none. Lola picked up the phone by the bed and dialed a number she’d never forgotten, even though she rarely used it.

  “Hel-lo?” Dina asked. Just answering the phone had already annoyed her.

  Lola opened her mouth. She’d half expected to get the answering machine since her mom often worked nights at the diner.

  “Yeah?” Dina said. “Why you people always calling me a minute after I sit down to dinner? Hello?”

  “Mom? It’s me, Mom.”

  “Lola?” There was quick screech in the background. “Hang on, I’m sitting down.”

  Whenever Lola pictured her mom, it was usually in her uniform—dumping a Styrofoam container on the kitchen counter after a shift, or at the diner, swishing by the booth where Lola sat, her legs hanging over the edge as she colored or did homework. Lola rarely thought of her at home, eating a solo dinner. She wondered if she ate at
the kitchen table or on the living room sofa. She used to fall asleep there watching PBS specials like Andy Williams: Greatest Hits!

  “You there, Lola? I thought you were a telemarketer.”

  Lola nodded, looking down at her lap. It was comfortingly familiar, that gravelly voice built for hollering out breakfast orders. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Been worried about you, though.”

  Lola raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Tried to reach you, but that girl at the bar, Veronica, she told me nobody’s seen you. Said Johnny didn’t phone because he’s scared of me. Hasn’t returned my call.”

  “That’s because we—did she mention—?”

  “You and Johnny are done, yeah. Wouldn’t say why, though, not her business.”

  “Okay. Well, that’s not why I’m calling.”

  “But you know how I feel about Johnny. I been trying to figure out what could’ve gone wrong. I spoke to him a few months ago, and everything seemed fine.”

  “It’s a long story. We both got sort of…off track.”

  “Off track? Both of you? Him too?”

  “He’s not the angel you think he is, Mom.”

  She grunted. “Maybe not. What about you, though? You getting off track got something to do with the man who came by the diner?”

  Her ear tingled, as if Dina’s words had physically tickled her. Even though Lola’d gone through so much to get away from him, she hoped that man was Beau. And not because going as far as to track down Dina definitely meant he was unraveling. “Who?”

  “Come to think of it, I don’t think I got his name.” She made a noise like she was thinking, coming up short with ways to describe him. “He was wearing a suit.”

  “When? What did he say?”

  “Almost a week ago. He was looking for you.”

  Lola only realized her hand was flattened on her chest when she felt her heart beating against her palm. “Did you tell him anything?”

  Dina laughed in one loud bark. “What would I say? I know less than anyone. He’d have had better luck with Johnny and them.”

  Lola’s blood froze. Johnny and them. She hadn’t thought, in very much detail at least, of Beau going down to Hey Joe and turning the place upside down looking for her. “Have you heard from anyone since?”