Obsession (Explicitly Yours 4)

“Yeah? Well, cash is a different beast, Olivier. How’m I supposed to find someone who’s gone out of her way not to leave a trail?”

“I don’t know. I hired you to figure that stuff out.” Beau’s mouth was as dry as a cotton ball. Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and the blame was coming down on his shoulders. “Don’t tell me this is impossible, Bragg. I need you on this.”

Bragg sighed. “Someone’s got to talk to the mom. Clock’s ticking.”

The line went dead. Beau had always known exactly where to find Lola if he needed her—Hey Joe, her apartment, the Four Seasons, and then, his own home. It was a luxury he hadn’t realized he’d been afforded. Now, it’d been yanked away.

Lola had disappeared without a trace and left no sign she was coming back. That was what his money had bought her.

* * *

Beau boarded the elevator. He needed to get out of the office and away from the people he saw day in and day out. After Bragg’s useless phone call, he only had more questions. When he’d sold his first company and found himself unsure of which way to turn next, he’d gone to the Grand Canyon. But he had a meeting in forty-five minutes he couldn’t miss, so he’d have to find another way to get some perspective.

He stopped at the coffee stand in the lobby. Bolt Ventures had moved into the top two floors of this downtown Los Angeles skyscraper nearly ten years ago, yet he couldn’t recall ever having ordered anything from the little shop near the building’s entrance. His assistant always had a pot waiting when he arrived for the day.

“Black coffee,” he told the girl behind the counter.

She entered his order into the register. “Two seventy-five.”

“For a small?”

“There’s only one size.”

Beau raised both eyebrows at her before peeling some ones from his wallet. Three dollars for coffee was painful. He took no issue with splurging on certain things—a glass of Glenlivet or a bespoke suit—but those tastes had taken time to cultivate. He’d been raised frugal. A three-hundred-something-percent markup didn’t sit right with him.

Beau took his drink outside to walk around the block—another thing he’d only done a handful of times. He didn’t recognize half the shops. The sidewalk seemed more crowded than the last time he’d been out there in the middle of the day without a car.

He’d spared no expense for Lola. She was the smooth and supple whisky, the Merino wool with price tags he hadn’t batted an eyelash at. His bank account was considerably lighter for having known her—mostly from what he’d spent for two nights with her—but there was the extended hotel stay, gifts, room service, shopping that’d come with it. He didn’t mind. He’d rather have spent his money on her than himself. Though there were days he’d wanted to leave work early to be with her, he’d reminded himself that his success was dependent on the time he put in each day. It belonged to her too, his success. Or, it had. Now, he questioned all those hours he’d been at the office instead of home with her. Would it have changed anything?

Beau’d been walking blindly, ignoring his surroundings, until a dark-haired woman twenty feet in front of him caught his eye. Despite it being a weekday, and a cool one at that, she wore a gold, floor-length gown that elongated a tan, smooth back. Just like the tan, smooth back he’d recently worshipped. Just like the gold, shimmering dress he’d ruined their second night together.

Beau tossed his coffee in the nearest trash and picked up his pace. Lola was playing a game with him. She could show up just as suddenly as she’d disappeared. Was she so brave to come to his office? Nobody just picked up and left the way she had—without a plan, without anything but a bunch of cash.

He flexed his hand with the urge to grab her elbow, yank her through the nearest door and take her up against a wall before she could even explain herself. She’d wreaked havoc on his life. She’d used sex as a weapon to keep him distracted. Anger and need surged through him.

She turned a corner. He broke into a jog, weaving through the crowd of tourists and businesspeople. He rounded the block and stopped short to avoid stumbling over a large orange cone.

A short man in a headset stepped into his path. “You have to go around. Street’s closed for a photo shoot.”

The woman stood in the center of an empty, blocked-off road, surrounded by a team of people dressed in black. She turned and caught Beau staring at her. Her midnight-colored hair shone in the sun, and she shimmered in liquid gold. She wasn’t Lola.

“Hello?” The man waved his clipboard. “You can’t get through here.”

Beau backed away, keeping his eyes on her. A man in a tuxedo joined her in the street.

“Put your arms around her,” a photographer said, his camera aimed at them.

The male model took her by the waist, and she lifted her face to his.

“Don’t let him kiss you. Make him work for it.”

She put her palm on his chest, and he leaned in, but she stayed just outside his reach. The camera snapped over and over. Right before Beau turned away, the woman glanced over at him and, he could’ve sworn—smirked.

4

Lola strained to see out the passenger’s side window. Nothing could’ve prepared her for the grandeur of the Golden Gate Bridge or the view it gave her of San Francisco. She’d spent the evening before walking around the city without seeing the same thing twice—and now, for these few seconds, she could see the entire place all at once.

She took her camera from her purse, snapped a one-handed picture out the window and put it away. She put San Francisco away—it was time to move on after only one

night. Beau would be looking for her by now, and she couldn’t stay anywhere too long.

Once she was on the freeway, she checked her rearview mirror and then the speedometer. The needle hovered at seventy miles per hour. It was a crime to finally be in possession of a car like the Lotus and not be able to take flight. But Beau didn’t know how she was traveling, and she wanted to keep it that way. Information was just one of the things his money bought him, and she couldn’t afford a ticket on her record.

Lola left California behind and crossed the border to Nevada, the only other state she’d been. She passed right though and stopped at a motel in Salt Lake City in the late evening. There were few other people around. Just like she had in San Francisco, she paid the clerk in cash, bolted the door and shoved as much cash as would fit into the safe. With a bag of Doritos and a Coke from the vending machine, Lola sat on the bed and turned on the TV. She scarfed chips and flipped through every channel twice before shutting it off. The digital clock read 9:58 P.M.

On a whim, she changed into a bathing suit, took a threadbare towel and went to the pool. Having closed at ten, it was quiet and dark, so she hopped the short fence and got in the hot tub.

The door to her room was within her view. Always in the back of her mind was the cash. In the safe. In the car. Under the mattress. Stuffed into her jean pockets.

The night was cool, but the water was warm. She didn’t turn on the bubbles, afraid they’d draw attention. For the second day in a row, she’d only spoken to motel clerks and gas station attendants. Even with them, she was cautious.

She set her head back against the edge, letting the heat soothe the stiffness in her neck. The drive from San Francisco had been long, but the road ahead of her was open, proof she was free. If she decided to go south instead of north, west instead of east, right instead of left—it didn’t matter as long as she kept moving. She’d never believed in fate or destiny. There was always a master. Every choice, every decision she made put her on a new path. She wouldn’t give anyone else power over her again.