Night Fever

by Jessica Hawkins

  He blinked once and turned his head to her. When he raised his hand, she flinched. He touched his thumb to the corner of her lips. “You know what our arrangement is,” he said. His voice dropped. “And on one point I’ve been very clear. Until sunrise, you’re mine.”

  His thumb was still pressed against her skin, distracting her. “I know self-defense,” she said.

  “You won’t need it.” He shook his head. “Trust me.”

  Had she met Beau another time, a time when Johnny wasn’t part of her life, she would’ve been attracted to him. He wasn’t her type—Johnny was, with his unsmoothable edges and no-bullshit attitude. His faded hair, faded tattoos, faded black T-shirts. Beau’s dark-brown hair was just enough for her to grab a handful and no more. Lola had an eye for expensive things even if she didn’t own any, and nothing on Beau’s body came cheap. He just beat Johnny in height, but where Johnny’s T-shirts stretched across his torso, Beau’s terse suits—and tuxedos—perfectly complemented his broad shoulders and muscular, lean frame.

  “My eyes are up here,” Beau teased.

  She blinked up from his chest. “Sorry.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  She just shook her head.

  “Look,” Beau said, sighing, “we have an agreement, yes, but I’m not resting on that. I’m obviously attracted to you or you wouldn’t be here.” He paused. “Maybe I don’t need that reciprocated, but I want it. And I’m willing to work for it.”

  “I love my boyfriend,” Lola said. “You can’t expect me to enjoy sleeping with you.”

  “I do expect it,” Beau said. “When I make love to you tonight, it’ll be in a way that demands everything from you.”

  Lola’s throat tightened. Nowhere in their arrangement had they said they’d be making love. This was just supposed to be sex—straight up sex. No romance. No fantasy. Definitely no lovemaking.

  “I wouldn’t pay a million pennies for any other woman,” Beau continued. “This is about you, not me. Tonight, you’re my queen.” He made sure she was looking him in the eye when he added, “And that makes me your king. If you’re worried about making love, don’t be. I’m going to fuck you too.”

  Lola covered her mouth but couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. “Beau,” she said behind her hand.

  “I don’t want any misconceptions. I’m going to make you uncomfortable. I’m going to worship you. I’m going to dominate you. Any man who just has sex with a woman like you is a fool. I want to make art with you—dirty, impossible, fucked-up, beautiful art.”

  Lola’s mind reeled. The image he’d painted was too vivid to shut out. There were people all around them, but inside she was tightly wound and aching for him to untwist her. One hand twitched with the urge to slap him while the other wanted to fist his lapel and bring him closer.

  “Now you’re giving me something,” Beau said, watching her with intensity. “Something I can work with.”

  Lola didn’t even know the skin she was in. “I need to fix my lipstick. I can meet you at the table.”

  He straightened up. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

  Lola rushed to the nearest bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. Only the slight flush of her cheeks gave her away. The reality of the situation hit her. She would be having sex with this man—this stranger. It was no longer about money, but about two people spending the night together. Her heart pounded from Beau’s words. She could feel blood circulating through her for the first time ever.

  It wasn’t Beau’s promise of things to come that scared her anymore. Nor was it his threat that it was too late to change her mind. What scared her was wanting this, and at the idea of being fucked by him, she had.

  She took out the lipstick the makeup artist had given her. She didn’t leave the bathroom until it was applied perfectly.

  Beau noticed. “You look composed again,” he said when she returned.

  Lola hated that word. Only people with something to hide composed themselves. But he was right—she was struggling to be herself in an environment so obviously meant for someone else.

  They were the last ones to the dining table. After introductions had been made, Beau put his mouth to Lola’s ear and said, “Mayor Churchill is one of those who equates my inability to commit to one woman with the way I do business. An invitation to his table is an opportunity.”

  His warm breath pebbled her skin. She nodded to show she understood, but with him so close, her mind was back on their kiss. It’d been so convincing that even she’d believed it. There had been need and desire in the way his hands had gripped her, but something gentler and almost reverent in his lips.

  Beau conversed easily with the table, but Lola wasn’t listening. She watched. He had an unnerving way of focusing on whoever was speaking. It was similar to how he’d approached Lola and Johnny with his proposition. Where did business end with him? Would it carry over into the bedroom?

  “So, Lola,” Mayor Churchill said between dishes, “are you from Los Angeles?”

  Beau took her hand under the table.

  “Not too far from here, Mayor Churchill,” she said. “East Hollywood.”

  “Same here,” he said proudly. “In fact, the only thing Beau and I have in common is pulling ourselves up by the bootstraps. And call me Glenn.”

  “We have more in common than that,” Beau said.

  “Do we?” Glenn asked, smiling as he cut his chicken.

  “We both love the city we grew up in and want to do right by it.” Beau nodded at Lola. “We both appreciate beautiful women.”

  Glenn waved his fork in their direction. “Okay, you got me there.”

  “Did Beau mention how we met?” Lola asked.

  “Why don’t you tell me,” Glenn invited.

  Beau went tense beside her, his hand tightening around hers.

  “First you have to suspend disbelief long enough to picture Beau in a dive bar,” she said.

  “A dive bar?” Glenn laughed. “What, in his Prada suit and tie?”

  “Exactly,” Lola said. “We met under some neon signs on the Sunset Strip.”

  Glenn sat back in his seat. “I haven’t been out on the Strip at night in years. In high school, we’d volunteer to post flyers for shows all over Hollywood so the bars would let us in to watch.”

  Lola grinned. Her instinct that Glenn would get the story looked right. “Have you been to Hey Joe?”

  “Have I been there? I passed out in my own vomit on Hey Joe’s bathroom floor before you kids were even born.” He sighed heartily. “Those were the days,” he muttered before glancing quickly around the table. “Don’t repeat that.”

  “That part of the Strip might not be much these days,” Lola said, “but Beau and I met there over Scotch and a show.” She reasoned the night had been such a spectacle, it counted as a kind of show.

  “I almost can’t picture it,” Glenn said. “Is it true, Olivier?”

  “The place is legendary,” Beau said warily.

  Lola leaned over and kissed Beau’s cheek. “For more reasons than one, now,” she said loud enough for Glenn to hear.

  “Ever see any good bands there?” someone asked the mayor.

  “That was risky,” Beau whispered as the conversation steered away from them.

  “What, the kiss?” Lola asked, knowing perfectly well what he meant.

  He shook his head slowly. “The kiss I didn’t mind. It was a nice touch.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles and pulled her hand from her lap to his. That simple movement gave her a rush of adrenaline. Her hand was so close to him and still not nearly as close as it would be soon.

  “What are you thinking about?” Beau asked.

  It was written all over his face that he knew exactly what she was thinking. Churchill still talked about his days on the Sunset Strip, so she took his cue. “I was thinking about all the shows I’ve seen.”

  “I’ll bet you’ve seen a lot.”

  She nodded. “In high school, I snuck into bars all the
time for live music, usually with a bad boy whose life’s mission was to get me drunk.” Her eyes drifted over Beau. “That’s always been my type. I never dated anyone who wore a suit.”

  “You’re mistaken if you think only good boys wear suits.”

  Lola nearly lost her heart to her stomach. Bad boys had always been her thing, but since meeting Beau, she was more and more drawn to the suit. She hated to think how she’d fare faced with a combination of the two. “You’re teasing me.”

  “Maybe.” He grinned. “Maybe not.”

  “I don’t exactly think you were an angel, but I can’t picture you as rebellious.”

  “I was in the chess club.”

  Lola laughed loudly. She didn’t care that people looked over at them—she was too delighted by the news. “So you were a geek.”

  “Chess isn’t geeky. It taught me the importance of strategy, and,” he paused and pulled her hand even farther into his lap, “how to manipulate the pawns in my favor.”

  She ignored his insinuation. “Were you any good?”

  “No, thankfully.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What? Why thankfully?”

  “We learn far more from defeat than victory, Lola. Every loss means an opportunity to become better. Stronger. I didn’t know it then, but I was preparing for the challenges that would come my way. It’s made me a better businessman. And a formidable opponent.”

  “Opponent?” she asked.

  “At chess, I mean.”

  She became even more convinced that for him, there was no clear distinction between business and pleasure. She narrowed her eyes. “You’re too hard on yourself. Games are supposed to be fun, not life lessons.”

  “There’s room for improvement in everything we do,” he said. “Don’t you think we should always try to be better?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t even pause to think about that.”

  Lola looked at the tablecloth. “It’s more important to me that I’m comfortable in my own skin. I’d rather look around and be happy with what I have than always wondering what’s around the corner.”

  “You can do that and strive to be better.”

  That kind of thinking was for people who were in an elevator on the way up. She was fine on the ground floor, where her feet were stable. Someone like Beau had a long distance to fall. “My life may be simple, but I’m content,” she said. “I have what I need.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Beau said. “Or maybe I don’t want to believe you. I’m never content. And I’m happiest when I’m conquering myself.”

  “Spoken like a true king,” she said, nodding up at his profile.

  He shook his head, his eyes forward. “No. A king conquers others.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lola ate everything put in front of her—oysters on the half shell, beef tenderloin, roasted vegetables, berry soufflé tart.

  Beau looked as satisfied as she felt full. “Ready for our next stop?” he asked as she finished off her last bite.

  She wiped her mouth with the napkin in her lap. She didn’t answer—the question was rhetorical. Whether or not she was ready didn’t matter.

  Beau scooted his chair out and stood. His smile was inauthentic, but Lola doubted anyone else noticed. Except for Churchill, they seemed more interested in perfecting their own imitations at happiness. Lola was the only woman at the table who hadn’t pulled out a compact at some point to check her lipstick. Maybe she should have, but she didn’t own one. The men were the same with their cell phones. Beau hadn’t so much as glanced at his phone once that she’d noticed, and that surprised her. A man like him had to be busy all times of the day.

  “Thank you for such great company tonight,” Beau told the table, “but you’ll have to excuse us. Lola and I have pressing plans.”

  Glenn came around to shake Beau’s hand. “Olivier, how come we’ve never had that meeting?”

  “You’re an important man, sir.”

  The mayor teased Beau by winking at Lola. “Let’s get one on the books,” he said to Beau. “Have your secretary call mine.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Glenn smiled and nodded over at Lola. “Word of advice? Don’t screw this up. I like this one. She’s good for you.”

  Lola thanked the mayor and let him hug her before they left.

  Out front, Beau went to the valet stand while Lola waited at the curb.

  “That went well with Churchill,” he said, his hands in his pockets as he returned to her. “All I needed was a meeting. The rest will take care of itself.”

  “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, but you can be very convincing,” Lola said.

  “But these things aren’t about business. They’re about networking and relationships. Churchill liked you. That’s the only reason he gave me the time of the day.”

  “I think that was a compliment,” she said. “So thank you.”

  He turned all the way to her. “No, this is a compliment. You’re not just beautiful, but smart too. Churchill saw that. I see it.”

  “You can drop the act,” she said. “I don’t think the valets need to hear it.”

  He took her chin and pulled her mouth an inch from his. “I have to be a certain person in my professional life. I try not to be that in my personal. I may not always be forthcoming or virtuous, but when it comes to you, I don’t act.” He kissed her softly without lingering. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You may have just earned me a great deal of money.”

  Lola twisted her face away at the mention of money. “I’m so glad.”

  “You should be. Nothing puts me in a better mood than making money.”

  Lola stepped back a little. She couldn’t fall under his spell. Once, she’d been unimpressed with Beau’s past because attaining his level of success often meant screwing someone over.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “This meeting I helped you get…it isn’t anything illegal or corrupt, is it?”

  “He’s the mayor, Lola.”

  She pursed her lips. “And elected officials are always angels.”

  “You have nothing to worry about it. It’s all legit.”

  “Well, what’s it about?”

  “You really want to know?”

  Why did she care? Beau’s business was just that—his business. It had nothing to do with her. She’d convinced herself coming into this that spending the night with Beau would be easiest if he were just a stranger. But to say she wasn’t curious about him would’ve been lying to herself. She nodded. “Sure.”

  “The meeting’s about tax breaks and incentives for angel investors—those of us putting a lot of money into early-stage startups. Los Angeles has access to so much talent with USC and UCLA, plus the arts and entertainment industry—we need to work on keeping that talent here. But it’ll follow the money if it goes to a city with more benefits.”

  “Why wouldn’t he want to do that?”

  “It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he’s just not very tech forward. I’m sure he has people telling him different things, but I want to lay it out for him from the perspective of someone who has a vested interest in this city. Unfortunately, he thinks my businessman’s heart has bad intentions.”

  Lola lifted an eyebrow. “Does it?”

  “Tax credits are good for me, no doubt. The more money I save, the more I can invest, and that’s potential to earn. Local talent would also help me. If a startup is headquartered in Los Angeles or does significant business here, they’re on my radar.”

  “How come?”

  “Because it’s good for our economy. Los Angeles is my home, and I want it to stay competitive with places like San Francisco and New York.”

  Lola could understand that—she’d never lived anywhere else, so she was particularly fond of L.A. Still, Beau would always be a man with a bottom line. “I can see why Churchill is skeptical,” she said. “It’s hard to believe you don’t have an ulterior motive.”

&nbs
p; “I’ll be upfront about how I benefit in the short and long term. I just want Los Angeles to benefit equally.”

  It wasn’t until a silver sports car pulled up that Lola remembered Warner. “What about the limo?”

  “We’re finished with that portion of the night,” Beau said. “I’ll be driving to our next destination.”

  “Your hotel,” Lola said.

  “Not yet.”

  The valet hopped out of the car, beaming. “This is why I love working these events. The Lamborghini’s no joke, dude. I mean sir. That was my first time driving the Aventador Roadster.”

  “How was it?” Beau asked.

  “Fucking awesome. I had to restrain myself from finding out the zero-to-sixty.”

  “It’s about three seconds,” Beau said.

  The valet looked Lola up and down. “Lucky bastard.”

  Beau laughed as he took out his wallet. “I won’t argue with that.”

  The boy’s eyes bugged wide when he accepted his tip. “And I won’t argue with that! Thank you, sir.”

  Beau waved him off to let Lola in the car himself. The three-quarter doors rose up like wings. Inside, only the dashboard lights glowed in the dark.

  Once Beau was behind the wheel, Lola found the button on the console that lowered their windows. “It’s such a nice night,” she said.

  “I’m not really a wind-in-my-hair type of guy,” he protested.

  “Can’t you fake it for a night?”

  He shook his head at her teasing smile. “I suppose one night won’t kill me.”

  Before he pulled into the street, he reached over and undid Lola’s hair with one hand.

  “It’ll get messy,” she said when it fell around her shoulders.

  He looked at her, winked and stepped on the gas. “It already is.”

  Soon, they were speeding down Sunset Boulevard. “Beau,” Lola called over the engine. Her hands wrapped around her neck and hair. “We’re going fast.”

  “What other way is there?” he asked, grinning ear to ear. “Relax. Enjoy the ride.”

  She forced her fingers to loosen. The road seemed to open just for them. Beau navigated swiftly through traffic, swerving between cars, racing yellow lights, leaving no room for error so her heart raced with them. Neon lights blurred together as they passed bars, souvenir shops, comedy clubs. Black palm trees silhouetted against the billboards. She released her hair, put her head back and closed her eyes.