She wasn’t a liar at heart. With Beau, she’d been dealing words like cards from a deck, checking them close to her chest before setting them down. But this story? She didn’t need to edit or tweak it. It was all true.
“A handsome stranger comes in to my shit job and demands to have me all to himself. We flirt. I brush against his leg on purpose, even though we could both get in trouble for that kind of thing.” Lola leaned in and nuzzled his Sandalwood-aftershave-scented neck. “While we talk, I think to myself—this is the first time in here I’ve ever wished a man was just a man. Not a customer. I wonder how I can even bring up the idea of leaving with him without it sounding bad.”
He looked down at her. “Is any of that true, or are you just trying to get me to agree to go?”
“Are you agreeing?”
“I had no idea you felt that way.”
He would’ve if he’d asked, but he hadn’t. She dropped her hand from his chest. “I did. I liked you. But I know that night was awful for you, and that’s why I want to replace it with this one. That’s your gift.”
“I don’t want to replace that night. I loved everything about it right up until you turned me down.” Beau put his knuckle under her chin and ghosted his thumb across her bottom lip. “And we wouldn’t be here right now if it hadn’t happened.”
Lola almost moved away from him—it never got easier, hearing him say the things she deserved to hear. But Beau was nothing if not observant when it came to her. One misstep, and he’d suspect something was wrong.
He turned first, opening the Lamborghini’s passenger-side door for her. “Coming?”
She stood in place a moment, collecting herself. His spell was strong tonight—or maybe she was getting nostalgic. She could call everything off, and he’d be none the wiser. Go home, give in to the love she’d been fighting, let him take from her what he wanted. And take, take, take, always without consequence.
She got in the
car. On their way to Cat Shoppe, he took her hand in his as he sometimes did when he drove. She doubted he even realized it. Like the time he’d found her in the Four Seasons lounge and wrapped her jaw in his hand. By his firm grip and unforgiving tone, he’d meant to be threatening, but he’d gently rubbed his thumb against her skin. As Beau’s guard lowered, his body language became easier to read every day.
Lola glanced over at him. And every day he somehow got more handsome. Once or twice, at night, when he’d assumed she was asleep, she’d peeked at him poring over his laptop, sheets of paper all over the comforter. He’d said bringing his work to bed was a new thing for him, but either he did it there next to her or alone in his study. It was a sweet threesome—her, him and his mistress, the Bolt Ventures quarterly report.
Then, in the morning, they’d wake up together, even if she wasn’t getting out of bed. Without fail, he’d lean over and whisper hotly in her ear, “Shower with me.” Lola knew better than that, though. She’d been strong so far, but she wasn’t made of steel.
“What’s wrong?” Beau asked.
Lola blinked several times, clearing the haze of her thoughts. “What?”
He looked at her from the driver’s side. “You’ve been staring at me.”
“Oh.” She sat back in her seat. “I was just thinking about how this is our last night like this.”
“Like what?”
Out the windshield, Hollywood’s bright lights blurred, stars pinholed the dark sky. She’d given so much thought to the details of their date that she hadn’t had time to consider the next morning. What would he do?
“Never mind,” she said. “In case I forget, I did laundry today, but I didn’t get a chance to fold it. It’s in the dryer.” She picked at her fingernail. “And I moved the glasses and bowls back into their own cabinet.”
“But you like them with their matching dishes.”
“No, you were right. It makes more sense to sort them by type. It’s your kitchen, after all.”
Beau laughed harmoniously, squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips. “Relax.” He pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Don’t be nervous. You already know how this goes.”
She tilted her head in his direction. “Do I?”
“I’ll do the work. I already know every single thing I’m going to do to you tonight. You just get to enjoy the ride.”
He looked back at the road, but she studied his profile. Once in a while, it took all her strength to remember how she’d gotten here. It’d been a dewy Friday morning before most of the city had been awake. He’d crushed her without mercy. He’d ripped away something she’d finally let herself have—hopes and dreams for an extraordinary future with him. He was beautiful, and she loved him, but the only thing that would ease the constant throb of her broken heart was his suffering.
Lola was closing in on him. At the dinner table, she’d sensed he’d been about to tell her he loved her. It was the validation she’d been hoping for, but she’d interrupted him, suddenly terrified that if he said it, she wouldn’t be able to go through with tonight.
She didn’t need to hear it anyway. She already knew he loved her—she just wanted him to know it too. If he didn’t, he would soon.
“Enjoy the ride?” she whispered to herself. “I think I will.”
* * *
Typical for a Friday night, Sunset Boulevard was clogged with traffic. It was a small detail that hadn’t crossed Lola’s mind, but as they crept down the street toward Cat Shoppe, then passed it, her spine lengthened.
“What’re you doing?” she asked Beau.
He flipped on his blinker, waiting for the cars in front of them to move. “Parking around back. There weren’t any spots on the street, and I don’t have the patience to wait for one.”
Her throat went dry. The first time he’d brought her here, he’d slid into a front spot. That was how she’d envisioned this going, and it could pose a problem later. She craned her neck, praying for an open spot. “You don’t want to leave your car in back.”
“Why not?”