Stirring Up Trouble(34)
He saw the pulse in her neck fluttering and wanted to scrape his teeth over it then suck on the fleshy groove between her neck and shoulder. “Come home with me. Right now. Let Jenny close the restaurant tonight and tell your band you’re done for the night.”
She stilled, not even taking a breath. He read the indecision in her eyes. “I—” she started.
The office door flew open and Lola jumped away from him. Jon strolled in as if he owned the place. When he looked at the two of them, his jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed into slits. “Lola, are you okay?”
“Jon, what are you doing here?” she asked, turning her back to Braden.
Jon put on a wide smile. “I’ve missed you, so I thought I’d come hear you sing.”
What a crock. He was here to dig up information to use to close Acropolis down. Why couldn’t Lola see it?
“That’s so sweet. I missed you, too,” she purred in her fake sweet voice.
Braden wanted to smash his fist into the guy’s face. As far as he knew, Jon hadn’t ever come to hear Lola sing in the past. She’d blown him off these last couple of weeks to spend time with Braden. It must be killing Jon to know she preferred his competitor.
“Are you going back on stage to finish your set?” Jon asked.
“Nope, I’m all done for the night.” She slid a nervous glance over her shoulder. “Braden was kind enough to let us go home early but pay us for both sets.”
Braden opened his mouth to argue with her, but when she wrapped her arms around Jon’s neck and looked up at him with a smile, all the words clogged in his throat.
She continued, “Let’s go out the back way. My family is out there and I don’t want to speak with them right now.” Turning toward Braden, she had the decency to look guilty. “Goodnight, Braden. See you tomorrow.” She and Jon held hands as they walked out the back door.
Tomorrow. She wasn’t coming home tonight.
He’d lost her for good.
CHAPTER 12
Yet come again, for though perhaps mayst move
that hear, which now abhors, to like his love.
William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, act 3, scene 1
Braden followed Lola and Jon out of his office and watched the back door of the restaurant slam shut behind them. He punched the wall, startling the chefs who stared at each other probably wondering what had gotten into their boss. The men took in Christopher’s stern face and continued plating dinners as if their boss hadn’t just cracked the wall with his fist. Braden nodded to his head chef in thanks.
Although his staff needed him in the dining room, he required a moment to cool down before facing his customers. He shook off the pain in his knuckles and stalked through the kitchen to his office, where he slammed his door then kicked it for good measure. Why’d he have to keep his office so neat and orderly? There wasn’t a damn thing to sweep off his desk and crash to the floor.
He fell into his chair and stared at the phone, willing it to ring, hoping Lola would call and tell him she changed her mind and would meet him at home, ready to take their relationship to the next level. Relationship. He shook his head and chuckled. Who’d ever have thought that word would cross his mind?
His plan to make her fall in love with him had not only backfired, it had exploded in his face like a live grenade. Hearing the sweet way she spoke to Jon just about ripped him to shreds. Without meaning to, he’d pushed her straight into his competitor’s bed. She’d maintained they were just friends, but how else would she categorize Jon? She didn’t believe in relationships or love. After everything that had occurred between them, she’d probably still call Braden her “friend.” And they’d moved well past the friend stage—despite the fact they hadn’t slept together yet.
But seeing her tonight . . . his heart sank. At the end of the month, she’d leave for California and sell the property to Jon. Braden would lose everything he’d worked for.
No matter what happened with Lola, he couldn’t forget that Acropolis was what mattered most.
He got to his feet and stormed out of his office. Everything was quiet in the kitchen and he didn’t hear any shouting coming from the dining room. With renewed purpose, he barreled through the swinging doors. As he predicted, consuming the chocolate fondue had calmed the patrons. Instead of fighting, they were feeding each other pieces of cake and fruit dipped in the creamy topping.
He walked behind the bar, grabbed a full bottle of tequila and a shot glass, and headed for the other side, ignoring the inquisitive look of the bartender. He dropped on a stool, poured himself a drink then knocked it back, enjoying the burn in his throat and the warmth spreading in his chest. No salt or lime for him tonight. This tequila wasn’t for enjoyment. He intended to eradicate every single solitary thought, feeling, and memory of Lola Dubrovsky. He deserved one night of sleep without dreaming of her, and tequila was just the thing to help him accomplish that. He drank another shot before remembering he owned this place and this bottle of tequila. Might as well drink straight from the bottle.