And now she’d get her fix again. The decision was made for her. Johnny had cemented it when he’d walked away. She took her cell from her pocket and pulled up Beau’s phone number.
“Lola, ma chatte,” Beau answered. His voice was low and raw.
“You were sleeping,” she said.
“It’s one in the morning.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “Unless this is a dream. Then you should be very sorry.”
She smiled. Except for a yellow streetlamp nearby, it was dark. They were alone.
“How are you?” he asked.
She blew out a breath and flicked ash from her cigarette. “I’m okay.”
“Most women who call me in the middle of the night are not okay.”
“I don’t want to be most women,” Lola said quietly.
“You aren’t. Not to me.”
She closed her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”
“So this call isn’t personal, then. That would make it business.”
Lola waited. Her mind was even more made up hearing his voice, but she couldn’t sound too eager. Just like Johnny, Beau had to know with certainty that money anchored their arrangement. That there were boundaries. “What are the terms of your new offer?”
After rustling on the other end and a short silence, he said, “The same. Including the test if you’ve slept with Johnny again.”
“Why would that matter?”
“If you’ve had a partner after the test, then it matters.”
There was that sterile word again—partner. “Beau, he’s my boyfriend.”
“You weren’t with him the night you were with me. Who knows how he kept himself occupied?”
She stared daggers at the back door. She knew Johnny better than she knew anyone, and he wasn’t a cheater. “Johnny would never. You don’t know him.”
“I don’t have to. I know people. Resentment is ugly. It makes people do ugly things.”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t.”
“So have you slept with him?”
She took a drag of her cigarette. She imagined Beau sitting forward in his bed, the sheet around his lap. The corner of his hungry mouth twitching as he waited. His mouth was so goddamn hungry when it was on her. “No. Have you?”
“He’s not my type.”
“Be serious. You know what I mean.”
“I haven’t seen anyone. The impression you left is…unshakeable.”
“How romantic,” she said dryly to hide the fact that she wanted it to be true.
“You asked me to be serious. I am. Housekeeping has replaced the sheets but I smell your perfume here. It’s impossible, I know.” His voice dropped even lower. “The window is still smudged from your tits.”
Her pulse stuttered. From the start, he’d been catching her off guard, startling her with his brashness. She bit her lip, knowing any noise she made would come out sounding like a moan. “I—I don’t wear perfume.”
He chuckled. “So, Lola. Do we have a deal?”
“Five hundred the night before. Five hundred the next morning.”
“Sunset to sunrise.”
“When?” she asked.
“If I hadn’t already lost the hours, I’d say right now. God knows I want you here. Can it be tomorrow?”
“It’s a weekday.”
“But you work nights,” he said. “You can sleep the next day.”
“I meant for you.”
“Don’t worry about me. My impatience reaches disconcerting levels where you’re involved.”
“I’m flattered. I think.” She hesitated, not ready to get off the phone. Talking to him was smoothing out the rollercoaster week she’d had, a temporary cure for her distress. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” he repeated.
She hung up before she said something she shouldn’t—like “I can’t wait” or “I look forward to having you inside me again.” The stab of guilt in her gut was drowned by the quick beats of her heart. Vero and Johnny were both right. Lola liked this. She enjoyed it. Not only that—she fucking wanted it.
Chapter Five
Lola couldn’t come up with the words to tell him. She and Johnny had been driving home from the bar for ten minutes, but she’d been pretending to sleep with her head back against the passenger seat headrest. In fact, she’d been awake, searching for those impossible words to say she’d promised herself to another man tomorrow night. It was hard enough without wondering if Johnny would be relieved or angry. Was she relieved? Was she angry? Johnny wasn’t acting like the man she knew he was. It made her wonder if he’d ever been, or if it was possible she’d built him up to something else over the years.
Johnny pulled into their parking spot and shut off the car. “When we own the bar, does that mean we can hire other people to work this late?”
She looked over at him. It was the first attempt at conversation he’d made since their argument.
“We’re getting too old for this shit,” he continued. There was something in his voice—nerves? Guilt? When she didn’t respond, he said, “I’m sorry about earlier. I acted like a jerk.”
Lola glanced at her hands. “I’m not admitting to that. To the thing about being too old.” One thing she appreciated about Johnny was his ability to admit his faults. When they fought, he almost always apologized first. And when he didn’t, it was because he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. “I promised my early-twenties self that I’d never get old,” she said. “But my late-twenties self is having a tough time holding up her end of the bargain.”
Johnny grinned—she knew without even looking. Things were right with him again, but not for long. As they got out of the car and walked to their apartment, the air around Lola seemed thick, as if a storm were brewing.
Johnny fought with the lock on the front door. “Every damn time,” he muttered. He flipped on the lights once they were inside. “We should think about getting a new place.”
“I’d like that,” Lola said.
He tossed his keys on the coffee table. “How much would you love not paying rent?”
“So much,” she said on the way to the kitchen. “Adults pay mortgages, after all.”
“Yep.” He came up behind her, curling his arms around her middle as she poured herself water from the tap. “You know what else adults do?”
“I can think of a thing or two,” she said.
He nuzzled her neck, squeezing her to him. “How about a shower to wash the night off? We both stink like cigarettes.” He slid his hands up to her breasts. “Good thing I like you anyway.”
“A shower at three in the morning?”
“I don’t care. Horny, babe.”
Water flooded the glass in the sink. She was unaffected by his advances. His cruelty and abrupt dismissal earlier still left her chilly. But even if she responded to Johnny’s touch, she couldn’t sleep with him. Not after she’d told Beau she hadn’t.
“Johnny,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I called him.”
He stopped moving. His breath warmed her cheek. Her anxious heart was trying to burst out of her chest.
“What?” He released her. “You’re going back?”
She turned around and steeled herself against the sink. “Yes.”
“But you—I thought we’d discuss it more.”
“You said what you had to say outside the bar. I didn’t like it, but you said it. So I made the call.”
“Well, fuck.” He ran his hands over his scalp and held them up. “You just made the call, that’s it?”
“He agreed to another million,” she said. “Same terms as before.”
He dropped his arms at his sides. “You should’ve discussed this with me. What if I didn’t want you to do it again? Or what if we could’ve gotten more? We hold the cards here.”
She gripped the counter, narrowing her eyes. The money was becoming too important a factor for him. “Don’
t be ridiculous. Another million is more than enough. And you’re the one who told me to call.”
“Come on, Lola. You know how I am. I was mouthing off because I was pissed.”
She’d known exactly that, but she’d made the call anyway. Did that mean she was to blame? “So, what? You don’t want me to do it?”
He blew his cheeks out with his exhale. “I…”
They both looked away from each other, he into the next room and she at the stove. Her heartbeat had slowed. There was no point in pretending he didn’t want that money enough to let her do this again. She wasn’t the only bad guy. Her desire to see Beau became less of a weight on her shoulders.
“I saw a video online. You and him at that benefit or whatever.” Johnny’s eyes darted over the floor.
“When?”
“A couple days ago.”
She’d forgotten he might see that. Johnny’d wanted details—how was that for one? Her red lips glued to Beau’s mouth, turning his lips red too? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged in his lumbering way, looking up again. “Brenda found it on one of those entertainment news sites. Mark showed me it on his phone.”
“What’d you say?”
“It caught me totally off guard,” he said. “I had nothing.”
Her stomach heaved. She covered it with one arm. Mark and Brenda weren’t judgmental people, but that didn’t matter. A situation like this was nearly impossible to justify. “You told them the truth? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“What was I supposed to say, it was your long lost twin out for a night on the town with one of the richest men in Los Angeles? Mark and I played pool with the guy the night he came into the bar.”
“Too many people know.”
“You should’ve thought of that. Did you not notice the cameras? I asked you not to kiss him, so you went and did it in front of thousands of people.”
“But, Johnny, he—”
“Yeah, yeah, he made you do it. They called you ‘Beau Olivier’s Sassy Mystery Woman.’ Sassy? In what universe do people use that word? And to describe my girlfriend?”
“You don’t understand. I was playing a part.”
“You were damn convincing too. Especially when you told that reporter to take her hands off your man. Real sassy. You think I liked having to watch that in front of my best friend? Trying not to react?”
Lola rubbed under her eyes with her knuckles. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but you know what I was dealing with.”
“Whatever.” He started to leave, but turned back to her. His stance relaxed, and he put his hands out, as if asking her for help with something. It reminded her of the first time he’d come with her to the Laundromat, and she’d explained the concept of delicates. “So tell me how this goes,” he said. “He picks you up. Takes you—where, his place? A motel? Does he push you onto your knees or do you go willingly?”
She flinched. “Stop it.”
“In your stupid dress and red lipstick—yeah, I saw that on the video too. Why don’t you wear lipstick like that for me?”
“Like what?” she asked. “You want me to wear red lipstick while I wait tables at a dive bar?”
“Did it ever occur to you that I might like to see you in such a fancy dress?”
“No, because it’s not us. That was some girl Beau dressed up like a doll.”
“Oh, drop the act. What girl wouldn’t love to be fussed over like that?”
So what if she had? The hair on the back of her neck rose. “You want me to dress up for you, then maybe you could make a fucking fuss over me once in a while.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You think I don’t? I brag about you to anyone who’ll listen. My hot-as-shit girlfriend Lola—have you seen her in leather pants? Do you know how smart she is, how many ideas she has? Have you seen those eyes? I love those fucking blue eyes, man.” Johnny leaned his hands against the tiled counter and took a deep breath. “I’m the luckiest son of a fucking bitch.”
Johnny had his moments, but hearing how highly he thought of her was harrowing. It was almost enough for her to confess her attraction to Beau so it would stop feeling like such a secret between them. But she couldn’t bring herself to. She’d already imagined Beau at the curb several times, waiting for her to come to him. It was a secret, and it was dirty.
If she didn’t go now, her mind would fill in the blanks of their night together. Driving somewhere exciting to start the night. Beau, unable to keep his hands off her in public knowing how good it could be.
“We can’t do this,” Johnny said.
Lola jerked her head to him. But she’d made the decision for them both. He’d had his chance. He didn’t get to say no now. Did he? She couldn’t cancel. She didn’t want to.
“We can’t fight,” he continued. “If we don’t go into this together, then you’re going in alone, and that puts us on opposite sides. With him in middle. We can’t let him get between us.”
Divided they were weaker. Beau knew that too, though. Her connection with Johnny stretched thinner the more it was pulled in opposite directions.
“We’ve done this once already, so how do we do it better this time?” He pushed off the counter and paced in front of her. He pulled on his chin. “It’s like this. B—no, not business. Logical. This plus this equals that. Remove the emotional side and look at it logically. I’m not so good at that, babe, but you are. And I can try.”
“Logical?” she asked. There was nothing logical about her and Beau in the same room, but there could be between her and Johnny. She followed him with her eyes.
“You already know what to expect,” he said. “It was, what, less than twelve hours? For a million bucks.” He paused. “He didn’t hurt you. He didn’t force you.”
She shook her head.
“Say something.”
It couldn’t be done. Beau couldn’t be managed. But Lola already felt him. She already tasted him. He was too close for her to walk away now. So she said, “I think you might be right.”
“Two million gets us everything we wanted for the bar plus a new place and a car for you. Wouldn’t that be enough?” he asked.
“Yes. It’ll leave us a decent amount.”
“Good.” He nodded.
“But this is where we draw the line,” she said. “I don’t care if it’s ten million for a week. This is far enough for me.” No matter how tempted she was to spend more time with Beau, he’d bought enough of her. This had to be the last night for them.
Johnny stopped walking and came to stand in front of her. He cupped her face. “It is. This will be enough.” His hands twitched like he was going to let go, but he didn’t. “You know what else this gets us?”
“What?”
“A wedding fund.”
Lola bit her lip. “Johnny.”
“And a college fund.”
It was the worst moment to bring up marriage and kids. It blended her budding desire for those things, her guilt over wanting Beau and her disappointment in Johnny—and herself—into the same pot. She pressed her hand to her chest. “Are you…you’re serious?”
“Thought I was a piece of shit for wanting to bring a kid into the world when I had nothing to give him. But now? Everything’s different. Send him to fucking Harvard if I want.”
Lola hadn’t even known where Harvard was until a few years ago. She couldn’t keep up with what Johnny was saying. While she was selling her body for their future, there was no space in her mind for what that bought her. The picture wouldn’t form.
Everything teetered dangerously close to the edge. She wasn’t sure if the right decision was to reach out and pull it back—or to let it fall.
Chapter Six
When Lola was fourteen, she’d stolen makeup from a nearby drugstore. Some crimes were small. Some were big. Some were never found out—like the makeup—and then, were they really crimes at all? Lola paced in front of the window, pausing every few minutes to see the sun a little lower. She didn
’t even need what she’d taken. For years, she’d walked an extra four blocks to a different drugstore.
Lola stopped her march to watch the building across the street eat the last sliver of sun. Almost right away, a black limo appeared through the complex gate.
By the way her palms sweat and her heart pounded like they had fifteen years ago, Lola knew instinctively—she shouldn’t get in that limo. There was more at stake than Johnny realized. Maybe enough to change them permanently. What kind of crime was it to do it anyway? If nobody knew but her, did it matter?
Beau had sent over a large box earlier that day with a red bow around it. The gift was lavish—a gold, beaded dress that crisscrossed in the back and had one slit all the way to her upper right thigh. Johnny had played it off—Beau had to pay for Lola’s attention, and Johnny got that for free. But Lola had ignored him, running her fingers over the intricate beadwork. She didn’t need to be pampered or spoiled, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t nice once in a while.
Lola had waited to change until Johnny’d left for work. She’d done her makeup, attempting to recreate her look from her first evening with Beau so he’d look at her again the way he had in the reflection of the salon’s mirror. This time, though, she left her hair down.
Lola opened the door before Warner had a chance to knock. “Good evening, Miss Winters. Mr. Olivier is ready for you.”
She locked the apartment behind her. “How long have you worked for Beau?” she asked as they curved around the pool and crossed the courtyard.
Warner kept his eyes forward. “Almost ten years.”
“You must’ve been young when you started.”
“Only a few years older than Mr. Olivier.”
“Have you always wanted to—drive? Do you do other things?”
“I also drive Miss Leroux.”
“Who?”
He leaned forward and opened the limo door. Beau had a pile of papers on his lap and a phone to his ear. He nodded at her and covered the mouthpiece. “Wait there a moment.” He returned to his conversation as Lola stood on the sidewalk. Warner had disappeared.
Beau hung up without even a goodbye. He made a note on the paperwork in his lap, then tossed it on the car floor. He smiled up at her—like he was a king who’d just returned from a long day ruling his kingdom and had found her waiting for him. He got out of the car.
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