Page 11 of Whatever Lola Wants

She tossed in her bag, then turned in the open door. “Grant, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Can you contact Michael at Odyssey for me?”

Surprise flared briefly in his eyes, followed by curiosity. “Sure. What am I contacting him for?”

“I’m thinking of joining, but I have some questions first.”

Grant tucked his hands in his pockets. “You know you can just come with us as a guest, right?”

“I know, and I appreciate the offer. But I have some questions, and I’d rather ask them in private.”

“About being a switch, or liking sharp, stabby things?”

Her lips twitched. “Both. You’ll give him a call?”

“Sure. I?—”

“Hey lady, are you getting in or not?”

Lola rolled her eyes at the cabbie’s ill-tempered grumble. “Keep your pants on, I’m coming.”

She turned back to Grant. “I better go. You can give Michael my number. Thanks, Grant.”

“Anytime,” he told her as the cab door closed.

She settled into the seat, and the driver put the car in gear. “Where we headed, sister?”

She gave him her address and sat back, a hand pressed to her stomach. It didn’t calm the butterflies, but then, she didn’t expect it to. After so many years away, it was reasonable to be nervous and a little uncomfortable at the idea of dipping her toes back in the scene. But that was okay.

In her book, comfort was overrated.

Two hours later, Lola was curled up on her sofa in yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt, twenty pages into a partnership agreement drawn up by one of her firm’s new associates. It was a piece of crap, so full of holes it could have passed for Swiss cheese, so her irritation was at a high point when her cell phone rang.

“What?” she answered and drew a big fat red line through another clause.

“Lola Wright?”

She frowned, pen poised above the page. “Yes?”

“This is Michael O’Riley. Grant Snow asked me to call you.”

She winced. Shit. “Michael, yes. I’m sorry, I was in the middle of something.”

“Is this a bad time?”

She glanced at the pages in her lap, dripping red ink, then tossed them on the coffee table. “No, it’s fine. Thank you for calling.”

“Grant mentioned you have an interest in becoming a member of Odyssey.”

“Yes.” She hesitated for a moment, then decided to just lay it out. “Can I speak frankly, Michael?”

“Please,” he murmured, and she thought she heard a hint of amusement in his voice.

Well, that was fine. “It’s been several years since I’ve been active in the scene, and I’d like to return. But I have some concerns.”

“You were active here in Chicago?”

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