Almost immediately, a girl came out of the back, her blonde ponytail swinging. She furrowed her eyebrows, put a slender hand on his shoulder and pointed to something on the screen. The lines in his forehead eased as the splotches on his cheeks became less angry. They smiled at each other, and he stood and left the room.
Enter Beau. He straightened his suit jacket and smoothed his palm over his styled hair. He still needed a haircut, but at least he looked presentable today. Bells chirped against the glass door when he walked in, a jingle to announce him. The girl, no older than eighteen or nineteen, looked up and froze.
“Hi.” Beau forced a smile and leaned an elbow on the counter. “How are you?”
“Fine.” The word barely disturbed her parted lips.
Neither of them spoke a moment. He didn’t get this kind of thing much anymore—the curious, innocent-lust look she was giving him. The women he spent time with had already had their rose-colored glasses removed by someone. He glanced at the monitor and back at her.
“Oh.” She jumped into action, clasping the computer mouse in her hand. “You need a room?”
“Actually, no,” Beau said, still smiling, still leaning.
She looked up. “No?”
“Well, sort of. I’m hoping you can help me out—what’s your name?”
“Uh.” She checked over her shoulder. “Matilda?”
“Nice to meet you, Matilda. I’m Beau.” He should’ve been an actor. Or a detective. A story was already brewing inside him, a warm stew to go down easy. “My wife is staying here on business.” He declared it—no question about it. Men in bespoke suits did not just wander into motel lobbies and tell lies. “Tonight’s our anniversary. She thought she’d have to spend it alone.”
“That’s strange,” the girl said. “We don’t get a lot of business types out here, not like Springfield or Harrison. Even then, companies usually book at the Best Western in town.” She pointed behind Beau as if he could see from where he stood.
Beau glanced over her head at the backdoor and absentmindedly straightened his tie. “Well, the point is—I drove a long way to see her. To surprise her.”
Matilda beat her palm once against her chest. “Really?” she crooned. “That is so romantic.”
“I know.” Beau kept a smirk from his face. “Here’s the thing, Matilda. I don’t know which room she’s in.”
Her face fell except for one blonde eyebrow, which rose. “Oh?”
Beau could almost taste his anticipation. Within moments, he’d be standing in front of Lola’s door, and she wouldn’t even know it. He’d worried, as he’d driven, that she wouldn’t be there anymore, that she’d only stayed one night. But his doubts were gone now. He could sense her there, nearby, unprotected, unsuspecting. Caught in her own trap. “If you could just get me a key to her room—”
“I can’t give you that.” Terseness clipped Matilda’s words, made her back rod straight. “That’s illegal.”
Illegal? Did this girl think she was in an episode of CSI: Missouri? Beau blinked slowly at her. “Not if she’s my wife.”
“Um, yes, even if she’s your wife. Why can’t you call her cell phone?”
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” Beau sounded almost sulky. He envisioned Lola slipping out the backdoor again, right through his fingers just as he closed them around her. So he was no detective. But a starry-eyed teenage girl was no seasoned negotiator. “All right, the key is a lot to ask. I’ll just take her room number.”
She shook her head.
“What’s your objection?” Beau asked.
“It’s wrong. How do I know she’s actually your wife, and you’re not some stalker?”
“I’ll leave my wallet and ID here with you. I can get it on my way out.”
“You’re leaving tonight?”
“That’s the plan.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Why, if your wife is here?”
“I’m taking her with me.”
“But…she has her work thing—”
Beau’s nostrils flared. His negotiation skills were better suited to businessmen than stubborn, inquisitive teenagers. He’d once had a good laugh with a subordinate whose fifteen-year-old daughter had seen a picture of daddy’s boss and called Beau a ‘total hottie.’ He plastered on a smile and inclined a little further over the counter. “Matilda, let me ask you something—do you have a boyfriend?”
Her mouth opened and closed. “Not anymore.”
“He dumped you.”
“How’d you know?”
“Because I’ve met enough women like you to know how it works. Pretty girls come and go, but it’s the ones who’re smart and pretty who catch shmucks like me off guard.” Beau shrugged. “We’re intimidated by girls like you, so we screw it up.”
She blushed, looking down at the desk. “My dad says that too.”
“He sounds like a smart man
. My wife—she’s one of you.” Beau didn’t have to reach far there. Lola stunned men, and she was sharp in a way most people weren’t, even without logging much time on a college campus or facing a boardroom of Harvard MBAs daily.
But that kind of smart could get you into trouble too. After Beau, Lola should’ve run home and cried onto Johnny’s shoulder like most girls would’ve. Her life with Johnny never would’ve been the same, but it would’ve been safe. Stable.
That wasn’t Lola, though. She’d picked a dangerous path instead, willingly entering the ring with a man who had the means—and now an ironclad motive—to bring her down for good if he chose to.
“I’ve been to hell and back for her,” Beau told the girl. “But every time I see her face, I’m reminded why I do it. Help me out, Matilda. I just want to see the expression on her face when I walk into her room. She’ll light up with pure shock.”
Matilda’s eyes had grown big and watery, her shoulders slumped with longing. Done deal. He held out his palm for the keycard.
She straightened up, though, pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “I legally cannot give you that information.”
Beau dropped his hand on the counter with a slap. This was bullshit. Bragg could’ve hacked her computer two times over by now. Beau had one negotiation tool she didn’t, though, and it was bulletproof. “How much?”
She tilted her head, looking utterly confused. “How much what?”
He hadn’t noticed how quick he was to resort to money until he’d done it to Lola’s mom in exchange for information. It was beginning to bother him a little, like a dull cramp in his side. It had upset Lola too. He knew, even when she didn’t mention it.
The portly man came through the backdoor and waddled over to them. “What’s going on, Matty?”
“Dad, this man is asking for a guest’s room key.”
Beau cleared his throat. What was happening to him that he couldn’t crack a teenage girl? But at least going up against another man put him back in his comfort zone—because man to man, fortune favored the alpha. “Not a guest,” Beau said. “My wife. And I don’t like being kept from her like this. Do yourself a favor and give me her room number. It’ll save you a lot of hassle.”