Page 83 of Going Deep
“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to say it like a weirdo.”
“I love both you weirdos,” Ginger said, “and I’m happy for all of us.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Anna declared. “Or I would, if I had a drink. Be right back.”
“Hang on.” Lola snagged Anna’s arm before she could take off for the bar. “I want to know if she’s told Michael about the job yet.”
Ginger grimaced. “Not yet. He asked how the interview went, and I just told him that I thought it went well, but I hadn’t heard yet.”
“And he hasn’t fessed up to his Killingsworth connection?”
Ginger shook her head. “Neither of us is budging.”
“You need to tell him,” Anna urged. “It’s not like you can hide it, and if you do it first, you’ll have the moral high ground.”
“How do you figure that?” Lola wondered.
“Well, more like the moral middle ground,” Anna amended. “He’s the one who tried to buy her a job.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Ginger reminded her.
“We do know you’re both liars,” Lola said, “though you’re lying about more.”
“I am not,” Ginger protested.
“You’re lying about knowing he’s a Killingsworth, and about having a new job. He’s only lying about being a Killingsworth. That’s two of your lies to his one.”
“He’s also lying about being the one who wrangled her the job interview,” Anna pointed out.
“Yeah, but I think that falls under the umbrella of the original lie,” Lola mused.
“The hell it does,” Ginger said heatedly, then broke off when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. “Shit, here come the Doms.”
“We’ll pick this up later,” Lola decided. “Our men look like they have plans.”
“I sure hope so,” Anna said. “Grant’s been working so much lately I forgot what a flogger feels like.”
“You should tell him that,” Lola suggested.
Anna snorted. “What am I, new?”
Ginger ignored them, all her focus on Michael. He was looking right at her as he approached the table, and something about the gleam in his eye had the hair on the back of her neck standing up. It was so intense that she almost looked away, and nearly did, but something—pride, maybe, or a need to prove something to herself—kept her gaze locked on his.
Simon was the first to break ranks, circling around to stand behind Lola, who tipped her head to offer him a smile. “You’re late.”
Golden eyes gleaming with amusement, Simon bent to kiss her, then wrapped his arm around her. “Blame Grant. He was yelling at one of the new guys and lost track of time.”
“Blame Simon,” Grant replied, coming to a stop beside Anna and sliding a proprietary hand around the back of her neck. “He hired the new guy.”
“That sounds like a fun story,” Lola said, but Ginger barely heard her. Michael had rounded the table to stand behind her, and though he wasn’t touching her, he was so close she could all but feel him.
“Forget it,” Simon told her and pulled her to her feet. “We have a date in the wrestling room.”
She arched one elegant eyebrow. “Do we?”
“We do,” he said firmly. “My bag’s already up there.”
“Mine isn’t,” she pointed out, but allowed herself to be tugged along.
