Chapter Four – Lola
CHAPTER FOUR
LOLA
“Get up.”
Someone kicks the bottom of my shoe where I’m lying on the floor atop a flat mattress. Jerry told me not to take it off the bed, but I noticed something that looked awfully disgusting on the wall, and I refused to lay my head close to it.
Jerry will just have to get over it.
“Excuse me,” I mumble sleepily. “You can go around.” There’s enough room in this cell to maneuver without having to kick me and demand I get up.
That’s just rude.
“I won’t ask you again, Lola. Get up.”
My body tenses at the sound of Cole’s voice.
Of all the people to bail me out of jail, it had to be him. Of course, it did. Because apparently, the universe loves irony, and kicking me while I’m down is its favorite pastime. I did also use my phone call to ask him for help, didn’t I? Ugh, what in the world was I thinking?
“What in the fresh hell are you doing here?” I demand, pushing myself up to a sitting position and glaring at him. Even in the dim light of the holding cell, he looks infuriatingly perfect —his hair artfully tousled, his jaw freshly shaved, and that stupid smirk playing on his lips like he’s won some grand prize.
Newsflash, Lawson: you haven’t.
I can feel his annoyance rolling off him in waves. I’m sure he’d rather be anywhere but here. That makes two of us.
“I’m taking you home,” he says, his voice flat, clipped, the same way it always is when he’s trying to control his temper.
“Like hell you are,” I retort, pushing myself to my feet, my head spinning slightly from the sudden movement. I’d rather spend another night in this concrete box than be beholden to Cole freakin’ Lawson.
“Lola,” he warns, taking a step closer. His presence suddenly fills the small space, making me acutely aware of the stale air, the grime clinging to my skin, and the way my heart is hammering against my ribs like a hummingbird trapped in a cage. “I don’t have time for your theatrics today.”
Theatrics? This isn’t theatrics. This is my life. A chaotic, messy, spectacularly disastrous life.
“Go back to your fancy cars and your supermodel girlfriends,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest in a futile attempt to shield myself from his infuriating presence. “I’m sure they’re missing you.”
“They can wait,” he says, his gaze holding mine, a flicker of something I can’t decipher in those stormy whiskey-colored eyes. “You, however, don’t have that option.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “Don’t start with me. I might not have a shank on me, but I’m sure Bad Betty won’t mind if I borrow hers.”
“Aww, are you threatening me?” His voice is soft now, dangerously so, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Because I’m not like your boyfriend. I won’t give you the satisfaction of running.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I retort, hating the way my voice wobbles, betraying the fear and humiliation churning in my gut. “But you’re right. It was satisfying to see that pussy run scared.”
His lips twitch, a ghost of a smile threatening to break through his carefully controlled fa?ade. Damn him. He always did find my brand of crazy… amusing. Seems he still does.
“Of course, it was,” he agrees, his voice dry. “I’d expect nothing less from you. Now, can we go, or would you like to stay in this cell?”
I hesitate, pride warring with the exhaustion that’s settled deep in my bones. The only reason I’m still in here is because Brian got a call, and instead of letting me out, he thought it would do me good to sit a little longer until he got back—both keeping me out of trouble and giving me time to think about what I’d done, which resulted in my desperate phone call to the devil standing in front of me.
“Fine,” I mutter, my defiance crumbling like a stale cookie. “But just so you know, I’m totally fine sitting here longer. Bad Betty is great company.”
He glances back at Bad Betty, who is now passed out on the bench. “She seems delightful.”
He makes this swirling motion with his finger for Jerry to unlock the door like he’s the one in charge here. “At least Chad was man enough not to press charges,” he mumbles as Jerry fumbles with the keys.
“I wouldn’t have cared if he did.” It would have been worth it.
Cole’s sleek vintage Mustang purrs like a contented cat as we pull up outside my brother’s apartment building. The sight of the rundown complex, with its peeling paint and overflowing dumpsters, is a stark contrast to the world of luxury Cole lives in these days. I can practically feel the disapproval radiating off him in waves.
“I see Brian got a nice raise since becoming sheriff.”
I roll my eyes. “We can’t all live like royalty, King Dipshit.” Opening the car door, I grab my purse from the floorboard and give him the finger. “Don’t act like you’re better than us. I’ve seen you pee sitting down.”
His mouth falls open. “It was leg day! It hurt to move.”
I shrug. “Uh-huh. Sure, it was.”
See if the little shit makes fun of my brother’s apartment again. Just because he makes millions now, doesn’t mean he didn’t come from humble beginnings just like the rest of us. We did grow up together, after all.
I fumble with my keys as a wave of exhaustion washes over me. I need a hot shower, a change of clothes, and a week-long nap, in that order. But something tells me, with Cole Lawson lurking behind me, a peaceful sleep isn’t happening anytime soon. I predict his second attempt to make this stupid fake dating idea a real thing is coming up next.
I push open the apartment door, bracing myself for the usual chaos that is my brother’s apartment. The scent of stale pizza, old socks, and something vaguely resembling wet dog hits me in the face like a wall.
“I will cut you if you say one word,” I threaten, turning around to face Cole. I’m in no mood to hear any more remarks from him. My brother is a forever bachelor. Like me, he doesn’t try to impress people, but that doesn’t mean I want anyone looking down on him just because he’s not the greatest housekeeper.
Cole makes a zipping motion across his lips, and it annoys the shit out of me. “Why are you even here?” I ask. “Thank you for the ride and all, but like I already told you on the phone, I’m not interested in your ridiculous deal.”
Before he can answer, the sound of crunching comes from the living room.
“Don’t tell me he has rats,” I mutter, tossing my bag onto the floor as I head toward the source of the noise. I prepare for the worst, but what I see stops me in my tracks.
Brutus, my brother’s crusty, drool-happy mutt, lies sprawled on the living room floor, gnawing on something that looks suspiciously like… my favorite pair of Italian leather boots.
“Brutus! No!” I lunge for the dog, but it’s too late. The boot, once a symbol of my hard-earned success, is now a mangled heap of leather and slobber.
“Seriously, Brian?” I yell, my voice echoing in the empty apartment. “Why can’t you like cats?”
I turn to Cole, who is still in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he surveys the scene with a mixture of amusement and thinly veiled disgust.
“Charming,” he drawls, his gaze lingering on the destroyed boot before shifting to me with a glint of something predatory in his eyes. “Maybe this is a sign you should reconsider my offer.”
“Don’t push your luck, Lawson,” I warn, my patience wearing thin, but a tiny seed of doubt begins to sprout in my mind. Maybe his offer isn’t so crazy after all... I mean, I’ve done crazier things. You know…like trying to mow down my cheating ex with my car.
I storm past him, heading toward my temporary bedroom to… I don’t know. Get away? Hope he’ll leave if I don’t return? I don’t understand all the thoughts running through my head at the moment.
But as I push open the bedroom door, a wave of nausea hits me. The sight, or should I say smell, that greets me is worse, far worse, than a mangled boot.
My bed, the one sanctuary in this chaotic apartment, is soaked. And not just damp, but drenched in a pungent, unmistakable liquid.
“Brutus, you furry little bastard!” I wail, collapsing onto the floor, my carefully constructed defenses crumbling faster than a gingerbread house in a hurricane.
This is it. This is my breaking point. I thought I hit rock bottom when I tried to run over Chad, but boy, was I wrong.
Cole appears in the doorway, his amusement fading as he takes in the scene.
I look up at him, my eyes stinging with tears of frustration, defeat, and the pungent aroma of dog pee. “Fine,” I concede, my voice trembling. “Deal. Fake girlfriend. Job. Whatever you want. Just get me out of this hellhole.”
His grin returns, smug and infuriatingly attractive. “That’s my girl,” he says, extending a hand to help me up. “Welcome to Team Hahn.”
I take his hand, hating that I’m grateful, hating that he was right, hating that I am already in way over my head.