Page 82 of Whatever Lola Wants

Not too late. But it was after ten, and while they hadn’t set a specific time, nine-thirty was when the club opened for the evening’s entertainment. So he thought it had been understood.

But since it was possible that he hadn’t made that clear, he was willing to give her a break.

He glanced up as the doors to the club opened, frowning when the person who walked through wasn’t Lola.

“Simon. If you’re going to glare at everyone as they walk in, perhaps you’d like to take over the security duties from Axe tonight?”

Simon smothered the urge to roll his eyes and turned. “Michael. How are you?”

The amusement on his friend’s face said he wasn’t fooled in the slightest. “Very well. And you? How are you finding your submissive hunt these days?”

Simon frowned. He’d been too busy having fun with Lola to give much thought to his goal of finding a relationship with a submissive. “Fine.”

“Mmm.” Michael’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “Can I buy you a drink, or are you planning to play tonight?”

“I’m planning to play.” If my girl ever shows up. Wait—his girl? When had that happened?

“Well, then.” Michael settled on a bar stool and signaled to Skip. “I’m looking forward to Grant and Anna’s wedding in a couple of weeks. I assume the plans there are moving right along?”

“Anna has it handled,” Simon replied. “And she’s had Lola to help.”

Michael nodded his thanks when the bartender delivered his drink. “And how is the lovely Lola?”

Simon kept his voice neutral with effort. “She’s fine.”

“I must admit, I was hoping to see her tonight.”

“Oh?” Simon swallowed the snarl that wanted to leap out of his throat. Mine. Stay away.

“Yes.” Michael sipped his drink, eyes dancing over the rim of the glass. “I’ve had a lot of interest in her needle demonstration. I’m hoping to talk her into doing one on Friday night as well as on Saturday.”

Clever asshole. “I’m sure she’d be willing to accommodate you.”

“She is flexible, isn’t she?” Michael’s voice was mild. “A wonderful and somewhat underrated trait in a woman.”

Simon was opening his mouth—to say what, he had no idea—when the bartender suddenly appeared.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Skip nodded at Simon before turning to Michael. “Axe just called. There’s some woman making a huge scene at the front door. She’s not a member or an invited guest, but she’s insisting on coming in. He can’t get rid of her.”

A flicker of irritation passed over Michael’s face. “Tell him I’m on my way.” He set his drink down and rose to his feet. “Simon, if you see Lola before I do, please let her know I’d like to speak with her?”

“Of course,” Simon said, relieved Michael had been called away before the conversation could get any more uncomfortable. “Good luck.”

Michael’s face was set when he turned toward the door, and Simon chuckled. Maybe he should wish that luck on the unknown woman at the front door; she’d probably need it.

He glanced at the clock again. Nearly ten-thirty.

Where was she?

Michael’s face was grim as he strode to the entrance of the club. He’d been enjoying his conversation with Simon—and, he felt sure, getting through his friend’s thick skull—and this commotion at the door was an irritant. Axe should have been able to handle it on his own; the man could practically bench press a Buick, for God’s sake, and had worked for the Secret Service. He couldn’t handle one woman?

He pushed through the inner doors that blocked the entrance from the rest of the club and stepped into chaos.

He could only see Axe’s broad shoulders and heavily muscled back; the security guard’s impressive bulk completely hid whoever he was talking to. But while he couldn’t see her, he could certainly hear her.

“I don’t give a rat’s skinny ass if it’s a private club. I told you, it’s an emergency.”

“And I told you,” came Axe’s rumbling baritone, “no exceptions without Mr. O’Riley’s say so.”

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