He jumped out of bed and headed to the bathroom, thinking about the conditions of the inheritance.
Could Alexander have planned to give the property to Lola all along? That could explain why he’d had to hire her sight unseen as his nightly entertainment.
Her spirit and beauty definitely entertained him.
As he brushed his teeth, he had a moment of clarity. Lola had been dating Jon since she’d started singing at the restaurant. Jon also owned a Greek restaurant in the Detroit metro-area. He’d been trying to run Braden out of business for years.
What if Jon had known Lola would inherit the property and manipulated her into selling it to him?
There was only one thing Braden could do.
He’d have to make Lola fall in love with him. It certainly wouldn’t be a hardship to spend time with the sexy siren. He’d often thought about how she’d taste underneath his tongue as he traced the myriad of tattoos on her body. Her lavender scent lingered in the room hours after she departed. He couldn’t walk by a floral display without becoming erect and imagining her naked in his bed.
This would be the perfect opportunity to get her out of his system once and for all.
He dressed for work, ate a quick bowl of oatmeal, and strolled out the door whistling as he decided which of his cars he’d drive today. This would require something to impress her. Something fast. Something shiny. Something red.
His Lamborghini.
He hopped in and drove straight to work without his morning Starbucks. After all, it was half-past nine and he’d told Lola to get to the restaurant by eight. He couldn’t wait to see her eyes flash with anger at his tardiness. She probably didn’t wake up earlier than noon most days.
But when he walked through the front door of Acropolis, she didn’t even bother to look up at him. She sat on a stool on the stage, a pencil in her mouth and her guitar on her lap with a yellow Post-it notepad stuck to it. Her pink hair was pulled back in a ponytail, she hadn’t bothered with makeup, and she wore tortoise-shell glasses. The ache in his groin returned despite having taken care of it before he’d gotten out of bed.
“How’s it going?” he asked, mesmerized by how different she looked.
Her head shot up and her gaze lasered in on him. She spit the pencil into her hand. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I noticed. You seemed lost in thought. Anything good?”
“I’m working on a new song for Rand Baker. I know George seemed strangely confident in your ability to write lyrics, but since you’re not a musician, I thought I’d make it easier on you. He’ll never know who wrote the words to the songs anyway, right? So, you’re off the pole.”
“Off the pole?”
“Pole. Hook. You know. When you go fishing.”
And she thought she should write the lyrics?
He moved further into the room, pulled a chair out from a table and sat. “Let’s hear what you’ve got so far and maybe I can help.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed and the sides of her mouth twitched. “Sure. It starts out with this guitar intro.”
The tune was beautiful, reminding him of some of the Greek folk music his grandparents used to play. Her fingers worked their magic on the strings, plucking and sliding, creating a song he felt deep in his soul. Then she opened her mouth.
Screw the man, the establishment sucks
We don’t have the right amount of bucks
Too bad as underdogs we’re out of luck
Good thing we don’t give a f—
“I think you can stop.” Braden held up his hand. “I get the general idea.”
She smirked and her leg bounced. “Good, right? The contrast between the melody and the lyrics is different, isn’t it?”
He nodded while thinking of how to break it to her gently. He wanted her to fall in love with him, not hate him. “Yes. It’s definitely different.”
“It’s got a whole punk rock, indie thing going on.”
Is that what they were calling bad music these days? She looked so hopeful he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Then he thought about the woman in front of him and how she lived her life with reckless abandon. What would she do?
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
He blurted it out before he could feel guilty. “It sucked.”
“What do you know?” The hope dissolved from her face and disdain replaced it. She got up and leaned her guitar against the wall, her back to him.
“I have a degree in English.” He stood and moved to the stage. Pulling himself up, he walked to stand behind her.