Page 83 of Whatever Lola Wants

“Listen, dick brain.” Michael’s eyebrows shot up, both at the insult—Axe had been known to reduce grown men to jittering fear with just a look—and the snarl with which it was delivered. “You either let me in to find who I need to find, or you get your Mr. O’Riley down here.”

Michael saw Axe’s arm shift as he reached out. “Ma’am, I’ve already called him. But you need to wait outside?—”

“If you lay a finger on me, Conan, I’ll smash your balls into your throat.”

Michael winced as his own balls gave a sympathetic twinge, and stepped forward.

“Ma’am, I’m not going to—” Axe cut himself off as Michael laid a hand on his shoulder, his face going slack with relief.

“What seems to be the trouble here, Axe?”

“That,” Axe said in a flat tone, and gestured to the woman in front of him.

“Indeed,” Michael said.

The woman would’ve been a show stopper under any circumstances, he thought, but right now—with eyes blazing blue fire, cheeks glowing with color, and her breath coming fast and hard, she was magnificent.

He took in the details at a glance. About five feet, six inches tall, she was a rose-skinned, fair-haired, blue-eyed dream. She was curvy, her lush body displayed in a light blue dress. Her legs were long, narrow feet tucked into summer sandals that showed off toes painted pale pink. Her honey blonde hair was short and shaggy, framing a spectacular face and leaving the elegant length of her neck bare. The dress had a square bodice that displayed a generous amount of cleavage and left her arms bare. She had a straw and leather purse slung over her right shoulder that complimented the breezy summer look of the dress and sandals. Over the other shoulder she had another purse, this one a bright red, and at her feet sat a leather weekend bag.

Interesting.

Michael offered a calming smile. “I’m Michael O’Riley, Miss…?”

She ignored the prompt, instead treating him to the same once over he’d given her. “Good,” was all she said. “I need to find Simon Hastings. Can you go get him?”

Michael frowned. Simon had said nothing about a new woman, much less one unhinged enough to track him down at the club. “I’m afraid I don’t know any Simon Hastings,” he said. Odyssey offered its members complete privacy and anonymity—both he and his staff would refuse to even acknowledge they knew a member’s name.

Her blue eyes narrowed. “Bullshit. I know you’ve heard of him and I know he’s here. Go. Get. Him.”

Michael felt his temper strain. “Miss, I don’t know who you are, but I assure you, there’s no one here by that name, and?—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she exploded. “I’m not some deranged bitch trying to track a random fuck, asshole. I’m Lola’s friend.”

“Lola?”

“Yeah, and Anna? You know her, too,” the blonde said. “Lola asked me to find Simon. He’s not answering his cell phone, and she said he’d be here, but the number listed for Odyssey just goes to voicemail, and I hauled my ass all the way over here when I should be at the hospital, and I’m not leaving until I talk to him.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Axe,” he said without taking his eyes off the blonde, “would you call into the bar and ask Skip to have Simon join us?”

Relief sparkled in her blue eyes as Axe picked up the phone, and she drew a shuddering breath. “Thank you.”

Michael nodded, frowning at the way her hands were shaking. “Can I get you anything? Some water?”

“No, I’m okay.” Now that she wasn’t yelling at him, he could see the signs of her distress. Her hands were twisting the strap of the red leather purse, her breath coming in uneven jerks.

The door opened behind her and a group of members came in, laughing and talking. Michael laid a hand on her elbow, intending to draw her aside, but she flinched so hard at the touch of his hand that he immediately dropped it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice calm. “But you’re blocking the entrance.”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him, bemusement taking the place of fury in her remarkable eyes. “Sorry. It’s been an eventful night.”

“It’s quite all right.” He gestured with one hand, pleased when she stepped in the direction he indicated. “Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“No, but thank you.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry about all the yelling.”

Polite, apologetic, and follows direction. Well, well. He let his smile warm, and noted the corresponding widening of her eyes. “Perhaps you’ll tell me what precipitated ‘all the yelling’” he began, then broke off when the lobby doors opened and Simon walked through.

“Michael?” Simon was frowning. “Skip said you needed…” his gaze flicked to the blonde, and Michael saw the jolt of recognition. “Ginger?”

She sagged with relief. “Oh, thank God.”

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