“Yes, sir.” Warner leaned over Brigitte to get the door for her.
She touched his cheek, smiling. “Merci, mon chéri.”
Warner simply nodded, but there was no mistaking the red tint of his face.
Beau waited until Warner’d returned to the front of the car to look back at Brigitte. “I don’t care that you’re a merciless flirt, but does it have to be with my employee?”
She took a deep drag of her cigarette and waved him off. “You’re grumpy.”
Beau took it out of her hand and tossed it on the ground. “You’ll smell like smoke all night,” he said, mashing it with his shoe.
“Everyone smokes in Europe.”
Beau got into the car, grumbling, “We aren’t in Europe.”
She followed him into the backseat. “I looked up the guest list for tonight’s event, and it’s primarily Europeans. There’re potential investors around every corner. You know that.”
“I see. And the smoking is so you’ll fit in?”
“I don’t need to tell you people’s wallets loosen when they’re more comfortable.”
“All right. Do what you like.” Beau turned to the window. The woman on the elevator had jolted him. It was a split-second glimpse, but he’d been sure. He didn’t trust his gut with Lola, though, not after the last few weeks, not when he was this tired. She had no reason to come back to him and no business on the eleventh floor.
He’d been trying not to think of her, but her name had been phantom-like on his mind all day, like a number he was trying to remember for later. She’d disappeared, clean and quick. There one second, gone the next. According to plan. There’d be no stuff of breakups—late night calls, pleas to reconsider, checking in on someone you cared about.
/> Beau sat forward, the leather creaking. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t drop by Hey Joe or her apartment or even call her. She wouldn’t be there. Her purse had been stolen—credit cards, phone and all.
“Beau.”
Startled by Brigitte’s sharp tone, he turned back to her. “What?”
“What happened last night? You’re completely out of it.”
Fatigue was setting in. Beau wasn’t in his twenties anymore, and while he wouldn’t have taken back any of his time with Lola, pulling two all-nighters in the same month was taking its toll. “I could give a shit about these parties. We went to a fundraiser on Monday. I have a gala to attend tomorrow night. Why?”
She put her hand over his. “You know this comes with the territory. It’s never bothered you before.”
He set an elbow on the armrest, massaged the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it has, and I just never told you.”
“Nonsense. We’re a team. We’ve been at this for years, networking. Don’t tell me it doesn’t pay off.”
Beau wanted his hand back to check his phone. He normally took time in the backseat to catch up on work, but if Brigitte lost any of his attention, she would only work harder to get it back.
“Sometimes it’s too much,” he said.
She sucked in her cheeks just a little, tightening her grip on his hand. “What’s too much?”
People were always trying to get to Beau. With wealth, things fell in his lap—opportunities for him to get in at the ground level, to make a killing, to fuck up. The carousel never ended. It was supposed to be a good thing, but Beau was rarely cavalier with anything, and everything required research. It could get exhausting. Brigitte wasn’t the only one vying for his attention. There was no way to put it into words without sounding ungrateful, so he shook his head. “Never mind.”
Brigitte was quiet a moment, and he was thankful for the reprieve. Her fingers were still curled tightly around his hand. “You didn’t go through with it.”
He stared out the window. “Yes, I did.”
“I don’t believe you. You didn’t break things off, and that’s why you don’t want to go tonight. You’re just waiting to get back to her. Where is she? In the room?”
“I told you, it’s done.”
“Then why are you acting like this? We’re supposed to be celebrating our victory, not sulking.”
He looked back at her. “Our victory?”
Brigitte reeled away. “I’ve been there every step of the way, haven’t I? You were my rock when our parents died, and you make it so hard for me to repay you for that.”
“Nobody’s keeping score. You don’t owe me anything.”
“I do it because I want to. I never would’ve gotten through my mom’s death alone. When someone hurts you, they hurt me too. I lived your pain when she undid all your hard work and ruined everything. Last night was redemption for both of us.”
“You didn’t do any of the dirty work, though. You didn’t see her face.” Beau could. He could see it right then—her mouth, normally hard, had finally become delicate with him. She’d hated him that first night, and he’d gotten her to love him by the end. Her hard-won delicate mouth, mangled with disgust when he’d told her the truth. The immediate reversal of everything he’d worked for. The way she’d flinched, recoiled, when he’d tried to touch her. He’d thought, if he could just get her in his arms, he could make her see.
“Describe it to me,” Brigitte said. “I want to know it all.”
He blinked at her. “Did you mean for her to see that text?”
Brigitte loosened her fingers, tapped them giddily over his knuckles. “You mean this morning? Why? Did she?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s all over—me and her, her and Johnny.”