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“We should go,” he said, turning away from their raised eyebrows and craned necks.
Warner went by Brigitte’s apartment first and walked her to the door. Beau watched them interact without a third party. When Warner leaned in to kiss her, she almost shied away. Warner wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Beau doubted he and Warner suffered from the same kind of sweat, though. Beau looked out the other window to give them privacy.
“You never give up on anything worth saving.”
“Stop acting like her opponent, and start thinking like her partner.”
Beau asked himself when he’d ever not fought for anything in his life. Everything he owned, he had because he’d fought for it. He’d even fought himself countless times. He was tired. Thirty-seven years he’d been fighting without a break and carrying at least one person on his back. He looked at his watch, wondering how much longer he’d have to wait for a drink.
* * *
Warner glanced at Beau in the rearview mirror for the third time in ten minutes. Beau’d insisted he’d take a taxi so Warner could stay with Brigitte, but Warner wouldn’t have it. He pulled up to the curb in front of Beau’s house and left the car idling.
Warner had been with Beau ten years. Their relationship had worked itself into a groove long ago. Beau took a stab at what was bothering Warner. “Should we discuss our new arrangement?”
“No need, sir. I’ll start looking for a new employer in the morning.”
Beau studied him. He seemed to have no problem making such a drastic change. Apparently, everyone around Beau was moving on, working toward becoming better people. “Let me do it,” Beau said. “I only want you working for the best.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You don’t need to call me sir anymore.”
>
Warner nodded once. “All right.”
Beau hesitated. “About Brigitte. Do you think the counseling will help?”
“Yes. She’s tried before, but this time, she actually wants things to change.”
Beau hoped that was true. She certainly had never sought help on her own without Beau pushing her. “Good.” Beau reached for the handle.
“It may be selfish,” Warner continued, “but I hope she doesn’t change much. I want her to get better and somehow stay the same. Does that make sense?” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “She’s a handful, but she grows on you.”
Beau released the door and sat back in his seat. He smiled a little. “Just be careful what you wish for. Brigitte might mellow a bit, but her fire never burns out. No matter how many times I’ve wished it would.”
“Better or worse, that fire’s what I love about her,” Warner said.
Beau looked at the floor. Fire. He missed Lola’s fire most of all. The way she screamed at him, fought him, submitted to him, came for him, challenged him. Fuck. He needed a drink immediately before he lost it.
“Sir?” Warner asked. “Beau?”
Beau looked up. “Yes?”
Warner turned in his seat to look at him, went to speak. He shut his mouth, looking thoughtful. “I’ve been there from the beginning. That first night you picked Lola up at her house. I see how you are about her. I just—well, I know it hasn’t been…if you need to talk—”
Beau held up his hand. “Not now. Definitely not now. Go home, Warner.”
“Yes, sir.”
Beau got out of the car, went inside and veered directly for his study. He poured himself a drink and took a sip. The burn was a poor substitute for Lola, but it was as close as he could get.
Brigitte wanted Beau to put himself in Lola’s shoes. He was already in them, though, whether he wanted to be or not. He now knew the pain he’d caused her and understood how it’d driven her away. The question was why she was coming home. She had the money and motive to stay hidden. Maybe she thought Beau had given up on her. Or maybe she wasn’t returning to Los Angeles at all.
Beau, a man who lived life on the top floor of whatever building he was in, had never felt smaller or more insignificant. Without Lola by his side, he was nothing. She’d left a hole in her place that’d grown into a canyon each day she was missing. Had she felt the same that morning she’d left his hotel room? Was she still lost and confused, or had she found her way?
It’d been years since Beau had encountered a problem he couldn’t buy his way out of. Once she was back in California, he could spend every dollar he had to track her down. He could fill her space with flowers or show up in a helicopter and take her to Paris for a night. He could build her a place to dance to her heart’s content. Money was the only way he knew how to prove how much he loved her, but it wasn’t right. Lola didn’t deserve to be bought—he knew that better than anyone. He should’ve known that from the start.
She deserved a man who would fight for her. Lay down his life for her. Who would earn her love, no matter what it took, because he couldn’t survive another day without it. A man who could give her the things money couldn’t buy. Finally, Beau understood—he was that man. And he knew where she was headed.
