Possession: Explicitly Yours, #1

Lola ate everything put in front of her—oysters on the half shell, beef tenderloin, roasted vegetables, berry soufflé tart .

Beau looked as satisfied as she felt full. “Ready for our next stop?” he asked as she finished off her last bite.

She wiped her mouth with the napkin in her lap. She didn’t answer—the question was rhetorical. Whether or not she was ready didn’t matter.

Beau scooted his chair out and stood. His smile was inauthentic, but Lola doubted anyone else noticed. Except for Churchill, they seemed more interested in perfecting their own imitations at happiness. Lola was the only woman at the table who hadn’t pulled out a compact at some point to check her lipstick. Maybe she should have, but she didn’t own one. The men were the same with their cell phones. Beau hadn’t so much as glanced at his phone once that she’d noticed, and that surprised her. A man like him had to be busy all times of the day.

“Thank you for such great company tonight,” Beau told the table, “but you’ll have to excuse us. Lola and I have pressing plans.”

Glenn came around to shake Beau’s hand. “Olivier, how come we’ve never had that meeting?”

“You’re an important man, sir.”

The mayor teased Beau by winking at Lola. “Let’s get one on the books,” he said to Beau. “Have your secretary call mine.”

“Consider it done.”

Glenn smiled and nodded over at Lola. “Word of advice? Don’t screw this up. I like this one. She’s good for you.”

Lola thanked the mayor and let him hug her before they left.

Out front, Beau went to the valet stand while Lola waited at the curb.

“That went well with Churchill,” he said, his hands in his pockets as he returned to her. “All I needed was a meeting. The rest will take care of itself.”

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, but you can be very convincing,” Lola said.

“But these things aren’t about business. They’re about networking and relationships. Churchill liked you. That’s the only reason he gave me the time of the day.”

“I think that was a compliment,” she said. “So thank you.”

He turned all the way to her. “No, this is a compliment. You’re not just beautiful, but smart too. Churchill saw that. I see it.”

“You can drop the act,” she said. “I don’t think the valets need to hear it.”

He took her chin and pulled her mouth an inch from his. “I have to be a certain person in my professional life. I try not to be that in my personal. I may not always be forthcoming or virtuous, but when it comes to you, I don’t act.” He kissed her softly without lingering. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You may have just earned me a great deal of money.”

Lola twisted her face away at the mention of money. “I’m so glad.”

“You should be. Nothing puts me in a better mood than making money.”

Lola stepped back a little. She couldn’t fall under his spell. Once, she’d been unimpressed with Beau’s past because attaining his level of success often meant screwing someone over.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“This meeting I helped you get…it isn’t anything illegal or corrupt, is it?”

“He’s the mayor, Lola.”

She pursed her lips. “And elected officials are always angels.”

“You have nothing to worry about it. It’s all legit.”

“Well, what’s it about?”

“You really want to know?”

Why did she care? Beau’s business was just that—his business. It had nothing to do with her. She’d convinced herself coming into this that spending the night with Beau would be easiest if he were just a stranger. But to say she wasn’t curious about him would’ve been lying to herself. She nodded. “Sure.”

“The meeting’s about tax breaks and incentives for angel investors—those of us putting a lot of money into early-stage startups. Los Angeles has access to so much talent with USC and UCLA, plus the arts and entertainment industry—we need to work on keeping that talent here. But it’ll follow the money if it goes to a city with more benefits.”

“Why wouldn’t he want to do that?”

“It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he’s just not very tech forward. I’m sure he has people telling him different things, but I want to lay it out for him from the perspective of someone who has a vested interest in this city. Unfortunately, he thinks my businessman’s heart has bad intentions.”

Lola lifted an eyebrow. “Does it?”

“Tax credits are good for me, no doubt. The more money I save, the more I can invest, and that’s potential to earn. Local talent would also help me. If a startup is headquartered in Los Angeles or does significant business here, they’re on my radar.”

“How come?”

“Because it’s good for our economy. Los Angeles is my home, and I want it to stay competitive with places like San Francisco and New York.”

Lola could understand that—she’d never lived anywhere else, so she was particularly fond of L.A. Still, Beau would always be a man with a bottom line. “I can see why Churchill is skeptical,” she said. “It’s hard to believe you don’t have an ulterior motive.”

“I’ll be upfront about how I benefit in the short and long term. I just want Los Angeles to benefit equally.”

It wasn’t until a silver sports car pulled up that Lola remembered Warner. “What about the limo?”

“We’re finished with that portion of the night,” Beau said. “I’ll be driving to our next destination.”

“Your hotel,” Lola said.

“Not yet.”

The valet hopped out of the car, beaming. “This is why I love working these events. The Lamborghini’s no joke, dude. I mean sir. That was my first time driving the Aventador Roadster.”

“How was it?” Beau asked.

“Fucking awesome. I had to restrain myself from finding out the zero-to-sixty.”

“It’s about three seconds,” Beau said.

The valet looked Lola up and down. “Lucky bastard.”

Beau laughed as he took out his wallet. “I won’t argue with that.”

The boy’s eyes bugged wide when he accepted his tip. “And I won’t argue with that! Thank you, sir.”

Beau waved him off to let Lola in the car himself. The three-quarter doors rose up like wings. Inside, only the dashboard lights glowed in the dark.

Once Beau was behind the wheel, Lola found the button on the console that lowered their windows. “It’s such a nice night,” she said.

“I’m not really a wind-in-my-hair type of guy,” he protested.

“Can’t you fake it for a night?”

He shook his head at her teasing smile. “I suppose one night won’t kill me.”

Before he pulled into the street, he reached over and undid Lola’s hair with one hand.

“It’ll get messy,” she said when it fell around her shoulders.

He looked at her, winked and stepped on the gas. “It already is.”

Soon, they were speeding down Sunset Boulevard. “Beau,” Lola called over the engine. Her hands wrapped around her neck and hair. “We’re going fast.”

“What other way is there?” he asked, grinning ear to ear. “Relax. Enjoy the ride.”

She forced her fingers to loosen. The road seemed to open just for them. Beau navigated swiftly through traffic, swerving between cars, racing yellow lights, leaving no room for error so her heart raced with them. Neon lights blurred together as they passed bars, souvenir shops, comedy clubs. Black palm trees silhouetted against the billboards. She released her hair, put her head back and closed her eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, Lola,” Beau said. “The most breathtaking thing.”

It was beautiful. She’d never felt so unattached to everything, even her body. She opened her eyes. Nature and commercialism and Beau were all around her. She loved the car and the new way it allowed her to experience the boulevard she thought she’d seen from every angle.

But she shot up from the headrest when she noticed where they were. “Beau, you’re not taking me to—”

“Hey Joe?” he interrupted. “No. Not even I’m that cruel.”

They passed the bar and stopped several blocks down. She knew the building they parked in front of since she used to walk by it frequently on her way to see Johnny at Hey Joe. “What are we doing?” she asked as he rolled up the windows.

“A nightcap.”

“Does it have to be here? Can’t we do it at the hotel or something?”

“It has to be here.” He got out of the car and then opened her door for her. He placed his large hand at the nape of her neck, guiding her down an alley until they were almost in a parking lot.

“What is this?” Lola asked. “I’ve never been here.”

Beau knocked once on large side door. “Used to be a speakeasy.”

The bouncer leaned out, then stepped aside to let them in.

“You must come here often,” Lola said over her shoulder.

“I like their oysters.”

“Is oyster a euphemism for something else?”

He laughed. “Would that bother you?”

“No.” She looked forward again. “Euphemisms don’t bother me at all.”

They passed through a corridor. The fur articles in the coat check were almost too much for her—it was only the beginning of fall, and it was Los Angeles for heaven’s sake. She parted heavy gold velvet curtains to enter a dimly lit room. To her right, a man in a suit clinked tulip glasses with a woman in pearls.

Despite being a few blocks from Hey Joe, Lola didn’t worry about running into anyone she knew. These were Beau’s people, not hers. She started to tell him she didn’t like it but stopped. Underneath and behind the pretentiousness were gritty brick walls and aged-leather booths the color of whiskey. An impressive backlit wall of liquor glowed bronze. In the center of the room sat a grand piano, and the pianist played “Heart-Shaped Box.”

“By the look on your face, I guess you’re a Nirvana fan,” Beau said.

“I don’t think I could’ve dreamed up a stranger song for this place.”

Beau ordered from the bartender while she watched the pianist play.

“The first time I heard Nirvana was on the radio the day Kurt Cobain died,” she said.

“I remember that day,” Beau said. “I was a teenager, so you must’ve been…”

“Pretty young. I fell in love, though. Johnny hates grunge. He’s rock ’n’ roll straight through.” She took the drink Beau offered her without looking away. “How about you?”

“I’m with Johnny on this one.”

“Really?” She glanced at him.

“Don’t look so surprised. Pink Floyd got me through a lot of late nights at the office.”

Lola stopped bobbing her head and took a sip of her drink. She looked down into the glass.

“Do you like it?” Beau asked. “It’s bourbon.”

“Bourbon isn’t really my thing, but this isn’t bad.” She drank a little more. “It’s smooth. Sweet.”

“Fruity.” He smelled his glass. “Pappy Van Winkle, barrel-aged twenty-three years. Rare, partly because it takes so long to age and there just isn’t enough. Take your time—something like this should be savored.”

“In other words, it’s expensive.”

“It depends on what you mean by expensive. Money is not the same thing as worth, and drinking a glass of this with you is worth a lot to me.”

Lola made a noise of appreciation, and not just for the drink. The sweet alcohol burn, the leathery smell of the bar, the dim lights, Beau’s deep voice—it was a heady combination.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Relaxed.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

“You, relaxed? I bet that’s as rare as this drink.” The two martinis she’d had at the gala had done nothing for her, but drinking this bourbon was like falling into a warm embrace.

“That would be a safe bet,” he said.

“How much do you work? Be honest.”

“Right now, I work a lot. Back when I was trying to create something from nothing, though, I barely stopped to eat.”

“Your family was okay with that?”

“I did it for them as much as for myself.”

“What about your friends? Girlfriends?”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “I’m something of a loner if you haven’t noticed.”

“Even now?”

He hesitated. “A man with money trusts his enemies more than his friends.”

She tried to picture her life without Johnny and Vero and the people she saw at the bar almost nightly. While she was there, Beau was at events with eager reporters in his face and people who were often trying to get something from him. She put her hand on his arm. “That must be hard.”

Beau took a moment to respond. “When you’re nice to me, it makes me want to kiss you,” he warned.

“What about when I’m mean?” She allowed herself a playful smile.

He palmed her lower back and drew her close to his side. “It makes me want to be mean back.” He slid his hand over the curve of her backside but stopped.

“Your patience is admirable,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice her slight gasp between words.

“My patience is thin.”

“You’re the one carting me from place to place.”

His eyes gleamed. “You’re ready for the hotel?”

Her gaze dropped to his lips, his bowtie and jumped back up. He curled his fingers into her dress.

“I’ll take your inability to answer as a yes,” he said.

He took her hand and walked her out of the lounge. Coming out of the alley, she turned left, but he pulled her back. “This way.”

“But the car—”

“This wasn’t our stop,” he said, leading her in the opposite direction. “I’d just heard about a shipment of that bourbon and I wanted you to try it.”

“Then where are we going?”

He dropped her hand and didn’t answer. Her heart began to pound as they walked west. He glanced over at her with that impatient look he’d gotten right before he’d kissed her on the red carpet.

“Here?” she asked when he stopped walking. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

“What’s funny?” he asked, his eyebrows lowering.

“I’m not going in there. I can’t.”

“You can,” he said, “and you will.”

She looked behind Beau. On the brick wall a pink neon sign flashed the word Girls at her over and over. She dried her palms on her dress. After spending an evening with Los Angeles’s elite, Cat Shoppe seemed like a cruel joke.

It wasn’t. Any teasing, gleaming or admiration in Beau’s eyes was gone. “You aren’t too good for a strip club?”

They must’ve looked that way on the outside—she made up in a gown, he strangled by his bowtie.

She was far from too good for it. She’d once been a part of it. A lifetime ago, Lola had spent her nights dancing at Cat Shoppe, getting caught up in the money and the partying and forming bonds with girls she no longer spoke to. When people found out she’d been a stripper, they always wanted to know why.

“Why are you doing this?” her mom asked from across a Formica table. Pleaded.

“For the money.” Lola’s tone was dry. “Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

Dina shook her head. “You’re only eighteen. This isn’t how I raised you.”

Lola smiled thinly. “You think because I lived under your roof, you raised me? Come on, Mom. I raised myself. Nobody ever looked out for me but me.”

Dina suddenly and visibly shook with anger. “How can you say that? I worked here day after day to put food in your mouth.” She slammed both fists on the tabletop. “I did that for you! I sacrificed my life for a child I didn’t even want.”

Lola barely flinched. That Dina hadn’t wanted her was no secret. “Think what you like,” Lola said, standing. “I’m not quitting.”

“Then don’t come back home when it blows up in your face. I won’t watch you do this to yourself.”

Lola left without looking back.

She’d said she’d done it for money, but it’d been more than that. Lola had not only loved to dance, she’d loved how it’d made her feel, how men had looked at her, how the money had put her in charge of her life. It gave her control, especially over men, something her dad had taken from her by walking out one morning and never coming home.

Beau watched her intently. She wasn’t willing to share that part of her life with him, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. She walked right by him, by the bouncer and into the club.

The music hit Lola before anything. On the main stage of the dark club was a half-naked woman who looked in her early forties. On her palms and knees, she snaked toward an outstretched, dollar-waving hand.

Across the room, Beau talked to a bartender. Even though it’d been eight years since she’d left, Lola turned away in case anyone she knew still worked there.

A few moments later, Beau closed in on her back. “It’s not top-dollar bourbon,” he said, reaching around to hold the glass in front of her, “but it’ll do.”

She stared at the drink but didn’t take it.

“What do you think of her?” he asked about the woman on the main stage. “Personally, she’s not my type. She wouldn’t get any of my dollars. Not like you.”

Lola turned her head from the woman. “It doesn’t do anything for me,” Lola said. “I think we should go.”

Beau took her chin with his other hand and forced her to look back at the stage. “We’re not going anywhere. Does this make you hot?”

She wrestled her face away. “No.”

“It will,” he said. “Come with me.”