15. Lola
15
LOLA
“ Y ou’re kidding, right?” I straighten my back and try my best to remain professional as the red chairs for the hotel bedrooms are delivered and Gretchen stands with one hand on her hip with her judgmental bitchy face staring at Hayden.
“Do I ever kid?”
Hayden’s voice is stern, and I fight a smile when Gretchen’s mouth turns from scowl to pout.
“It’s too bold, Hayden. It will turn guests off.”
“It’s fucking red. A dark, classic red.” Hayden’s eyes don’t meet mine, instead they stay on Gretchen. “It was a good call. Otherwise the rooms would be all gloom and doom.”
I feel a sense of pride but don’t say a word, which is not my style as Gretchen huffs and brushes by me, her shoulder making quick contact with mine as she throws her hissy fit.
Hayden and I are left alone in one of the suites. His eyes stay trained on the red chair in the corner.
“Do you actually like it?” I move to stand next to him, enjoying his expensive cologne far too much. “Or do you just like riling Gretchen up?”
He turns to face me, his lips pulled in the slightest grin. “Both.”
I smile. It’s been two weeks since our candid discussion in this same hotel, and we’ve both been all business since. Although, we haven’t spent much time alone. Most of our conversations have been through emails.
“It looks good.”
“The rooms are nearly complete.”
He nods approvingly. “Restaurants are next.”
“I’m ready.”
He smiles and my eyes subconsciously move to the scar on his hand I can’t stop thinking about.
“Lola.” His voice is deep and commanding as my eyes lift.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to take you somewhere tonight. Are you free?”
I think my brain just short circuited, and I can’t seem to form words. Free? Is he asking me out? Like on a date? God, I'm so awkward.
“It’s for business reasons. I promise.”
Oh. I nod my head, my throat still dry, and I find it hard to speak, clearing my throat. “Yes. Of course.”
He looks at his phone. “Do you need to go home first, or are you ready now?”
I look at my own phone and see it’s nearly six in the evening. Wow, today went fast. “No, I don’t need to go home.”
“Good.” I follow him as we pass Gretchen in the lobby, her death glare stays trained on me as Hayden addresses her. “Put in the final orders I sent to your email and then go home for the day.”
She looks panicked. “You’re leaving with her?”
Hayden’s back straightens as his shoulders square. It’s clear he’s losing patience. “We have more work to do.”
Her eyes move to mine with a silent, hateful warning, and I can’t stop my eyes from rolling. I won’t be intimidated by anyone.
Hayden turns to me. “I’ll drive. I’ll bring you back to your car later.”
I don’t argue, I just want to be far away from Gretchen and her icy gaze. I follow him and climb into his passenger seat before he takes off.
“So where are we going?”
“One of my favorite restaurants.”
“Dinner?”
His shoulders shrugs as he clutches the wheel with one hand. “We have to eat, don’t we?”
“I suppose.” I look at the cars in front of us as we creep along the road. “So, are we stealing ideas from this restaurant?”
“No. Although, I wish it could work.”
I’m confused. “What?”
“I don’t think it would fit with the guests we’ll be accommodating, but it’s by far my favorite restaurant here.”
“What was your favorite restaurant in Kansas City?”
Now he smiles, and I could stare at him smiling all day long. “Gates.”
That brings a smile to my face. He really is from Kansas City. Everyone there knows Gates Barbecue. “I’m more of a Jack Stack sort of girl.”
He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Of course you are.”
“Some sort of rich girl jab?”
“Yup.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t remove the smile. “So, if we aren’t learning from this adventure, then we are just two people having dinner at your favorite place?”
“And talking business.”
“Right.”
My eyes move back to the scar on his hand, the one gripping the steering wheel, and he sighs loudly. “I’m sorry I froze when you asked me about it.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“I didn’t have a great childhood or really one at all. And it’s not a time I like to talk about.”
I nod solemnly. “I understand.” He gives me a side-eye, and I quickly try to explain by adding. “Penelope didn’t have the best start, and she’s told me some things over the years.”
I notice his body visibly stiffen, his jaw ticking with an anger I don’t understand. “How bad was it?”
I study him, trying to understand his obsession with Penelope. Or is it maybe any child who has a bad background like he does? “She was in foster care. And they weren’t all good to her. The final straw was when Linc found out her foster father had hit her.”
I see his hands tighten their grip on the steering wheel and see him swallow hard as if the lump in his throat is a ball of rage he can’t get rid of. “Hit her?”
I nod. “Yes. She had a black eye. It was awful.”
“Did anything else happen to her?”
“Do you know her? Is that what this is?” He parks the car in a restaurant parking lot and turns to me as I study him. “Were you in foster care with her?”
It’s plausible. Even if he’s older than her. "No. You were there the first time I met Penelope.”
“Then why do you seem so angry?”
“Because they hurt her.”
He drops his hands to his sides, and my hand brushes over the back of his scarred hand. “They hurt you.”
I watch his throat bob and see the agony under the surface. “My father did this. My own blood, not a foster parent.”
I stare at him in horror. My father is an asshole, but he never physically hurt me. “Why?”
His laugh is bitter and cold. “I was breathing too fucking loud probably. I don’t know. I was six.”
I want to cry for him. “Six?”
He nods. “He was a mean drunk.”
“I’m so sorry.” It’s a quiet whisper as my hand rests on top of his.
“I’m fine. It healed a long time ago, but it left an ugly fucking scar.” His face moves closer to mine, and I can feel his heat radiating toward me. “I have a lot of them.”
My eyes drift over his clothed torso and then back to his eyes. “Please tell me he was punished.”
“I don’t know.”
My brows furrow in confusion. “You don’t know?”
“He left right after the thing with my hand. Probably afraid my teacher would report it, which is exactly what she fucking did. He was already long gone, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“What about your mother?”
Please tell me his mother is at least halfway decent. “Worthless. Fucking headcase.”
“Who are you, Hayden West?”
The question escapes my mouth before I can stop it, leaving me slightly embarrassed. But it doesn’t faze him. His hand grips my chin as he forces me not to look away but instead right into his eyes. “Right now? I’m a starving guy who doesn’t want to talk anymore.”
I stare into his beautiful eyes and feel hunger like I've never known.
Only it’s not food I want.