Page 97 of Whatever Lola Wants

“Oh, fine,” she said. “Really, I’ll eat anything.”

“Okay, then. How about twelve-thirty, at Mama Lucia’s? I can send you the address.”

“Oh.” She paused. “You’re not going to pick me up?”

He blinked, surprised. “I assumed you’d feel safer meeting me at the restaurant.”

“Yes, of course. That would be better.”

“Will twelve-thirty work?”

“Perfectly. How will I know you, Simon?”

I’m wearing a grey suit, white shirt, no tie. I’ll uh, have a rose in my lapel,” he said, remembering the roses on his receptionist’s desk this morning. He could convince Glynis to spare him one. “A yellow one.”

“All right. I’ll see you at twelve-thirty.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he told her, and disconnected.

Okay, then. He reached for the phone to ask his secretary to make lunch reservations, but before he could buzz her, she buzzed him. “Yes, Carol?”

“Ms. Wright on line one,” came his secretary’s voice, and he winced. Great timing.

“Thanks, Carol.” He hit the button to connect the call. “Hey, there.”

“Hey, yourself.” Lola’s voice was slightly husky, rich. Not soft or giggly at all. “I hear you cleaned up at Fragile Male Ego Poker last night.”

He choked on the laugh. “Fragile Male Ego Poker?”

“That’s Anna’s phrase, not mine,” she explained. “She was calling it Penis Poker, but Ginger pointed out that was trans exclusionary. Fragile Male Ego lacks alliteration, but it’s important to evolve. Plus, calling y’all fragile for excluding her made her happy.”

“Hey, she’s the one who declared it ‘girl time, no dudes allowed’. We had to find something to do.”

“Doesn’t bother me.” He could hear the shrug—and the smile—in her voice. “We ate Thai food and painted each other’s toes and talked about the fragile male egos and penises in our lives. It was way better than poker.”

He grinned at the thought. “I hope you were kind.”

“Oh, I was more than kind,” she assured him. “And with Ginger there to back me up, your reputation is set. You’re a legend in your pants, Sir, and everyone knows it.”

A legend in his pants? He laughed out loud. God, this woman.

“Since I didn’t get to see you last night,” she went on, “and I won't see you tonight, I thought I could bring you some lunch. We can have a picnic in your office. Maybe you can show me the legend, just to make sure I got it right.”

He felt himself harden at the prospect and opened his mouth to agree when he remembered the phone call he’d just made. “Shit. I’d love to, but I have a lunch planned already.”

“Oh.” Now he could hear the disappointment—and the pout. “I don’t mean to sound like a needy girlfriend or anything, but is it something you can get out of?”

“Ah…No.” He winced. “I’ve got a problem client that I need to deal with. Believe me, I’d rather be discussing legends with you.”

“Well, as long as you’ll be suffering,” she said, and he knew she was only half kidding. “Are we still on for the club tomorrow night?”

“Absolutely,” he told her, relieved that she wasn’t going to push it. “I’m going to want to make up for some lost time.”

“I think that can be arranged,” she said with a purr in her voice. “I’m supposed to meet with Neil to schedule some lesson time, but other than that, I’m all yours.”

“Lessons? For what?”

“Oh, he’s going to teach me how to use a single tail.”

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