“You forgot the part about how we’re a million dollars richer afterward.”
“We’re already halfway there,” he said.
Lola had that fight or flight feeling she always got before a big change in her life. The night she’d started at Hey Joe, she’d begged Johnny to let her go back to her old job and her old friends. At the time, that life had seemed easier than starting over. But even though it was because of Johnny’s ultimatum, she’d made the decision to leave all that behind. Still, that hadn’t meant it was easy.
She looked up at Johnny without pulling away an inch. “We could be in Vegas by midnight. We already have five hundred grand. Start over.”
He smiled. “We could take that fake road trip we planned last year. With nowhere to be, it wouldn’t matter how long it took. Break out the camping gear—”
A knock on the door interrupted him. Lola squeezed Johnny closer. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You will?”
He shook his head. “No, but it’s only a night, right? Work will be kind of busy since it’s Friday. It’ll keep me distracted.”
The knock came again.
“Will you check in with Mitch? He can’t make any decisions until he hears our offer.”
“He’ll wait.” He pushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed her, lingering against her lips. “Lola,” he whispered. “Don’t kiss him like this. Promise me.”
She let him clutch her another moment. She was about to step into a world where she had no jurisdiction over her own body. No matter how badly she wanted to, she couldn’t make Johnny that promise. “I’ll try.”
He tensed when there was more rapping on the door. “Love you too,” he said.
Lola was just going to slip out, but Johnny opened the door all the way. On their welcome mat stood a suited man who wasn’t Beau, but who didn’t look much older than him. He gestured behind him. “Good evening, Miss Winters. I’m Mr. Olivier’s driver. He’s waiting in the car.”
Lola shielded her eyes and followed the man without looking back. At the curb, a limousine idled. As they approached it, the sun disappeared behind the apartment building across the street.
The back window rolled down. Beau’s hair was styled in a wave tonight—smoother and darker from product and away from his face. It made his green eyes clearer. He was perfectly put together except for a noticeable layer of stubble. The contrast only made him more attractive.
“Last chance, Lola,” he said, looking up at her. He was being playful. “You can still turn around.”
She stared, unblinking, unflinching and showed him the papers clutched in her hand. “The tests you requested.”
He took them through the window, read them over and smiled. “He’s thorough, isn’t he?”
“Very.” After her tense afternoon with Beau and Johnny in the conference room, Beau’s doctor had been kind a
nd gentle with her. He’d even insisted on giving her a check-up.
“Warner, please get the door for Miss Winters.”
“Certainly, sir.” He stepped past Lola to let her in.
The limo had champagne and other spirits, but champagne was the only thing she could stomach. She sipped it to calm her nerves after reviewing Beau’s test results.
“I admire your effort,” Beau said, “but it isn’t working.”
She moved the glass from her mouth. “I’m sorry?”
“Are those Johnny’s jeans?”
She looked down at the faded, oversized pants. “Johnny’s jeans wouldn’t fit me,” she said, offended. “They’re from Goodwill. It’s this place where—”
“I’m familiar with Goodwill, thank you.”
She rolled her lips together, pleased she’d hit a nerve. She covered her smile by taking another sip of her drink.
“I’m not buying the act,” Beau said. “I know you’re intentionally trying to make yourself unattractive.”
“Do you always call your dates ugly right off the bat?”
“I’m saying the opposite, actually. Old jeans and no makeup can’t detract from your beauty.” He studied her. “But my guess is you already knew that.”
Whether she’d known it or not, she couldn’t help feeling flattered—even as she reminded herself that in the short time she’d known him, he’d never lacked the ability to charm.
“The only thing I won’t let fly is your hair like that,” he said.
It was a mild request. She didn’t argue. She undid her ponytail, and her hair fell all at once around her shoulders.
“Better,” he said.
She looked out the window since the divider had been rolled up, blocking her view of the road. “Are we going to your place?”
“No.”
She turned to him. “A hotel?”
“We have a room for the night, yes.”
A hotel was good—it meant there’d be people around. “Where is it?”
“Beverly Hills.” He paused. “Is that all right with you?”
She’d never stayed in a hotel in Los Angeles since she had no reason to. She’d certainly never stayed anywhere as upscale as Beverly Hills. “Is your house under renovation or something?”