Page 23 of Wicked Takeover
“Yeah.” Dante waved the kid on his way. “Have a good one.”
Van Gogh muttered something else and left.
Dante exchanged a glance with Jasmina. “He have a bad shift? More than usual, I mean.”
“Kinda sorta.” She turned her hand back and forth. “One of the bikers tipped him ten bucks. He was hoping for twenty.”
Dante kept his voice low. “You see Lauren around?”
Jasmina regarded him closely and brought her phone to her ear. “Hey, you still there?” She listened and smiled. “I’m taking off in a few secs, okay? Hang tight. I’ll be there.” She ended the call and eyed Dante with anticipation. “Why do you want to know?”
He hadn’t expected her question or seeming interest. “Just wondering where she might be.”
“Uh-huh.”
He hadn’t a clue what that was supposed to mean. Knowing women talked, he went for broke. “Do you have any idea what’s going on with her?”
“In what way?”
She would ask for particulars. “Her mood. If she’s happy or sad or anything.”
“I swear I don’t know.” Jasmina crossed her heart, winked, and grinned as someone might who knew every-fucking-thing. “Lauren’s in her office. Have a very nice night.”
Dante made a face.
Jasmina trotted past him to the front entrance and out into the night.
Lauren’s office door was closed.
Dante locked down the parlor but left on the music. A romantic instrumental with Spanish guitars. Edgy from anticipation and desire, he strode to her office and grabbed the knob but didn’t turn it. If she was in her corporate mood, she might not appreciate his intrusion.
Being a good boy, for the moment, he knocked.
She didn’t respond.
He pounded harder.
Nothing.
He hoped she wasn’t asleep in there because she’d lost her home, wherever it was, and had camped out here. He backed away and then advanced, worry nagging him. If she got pissed at him for barging in because he was concerned about her, too fucking bad. He was a big boy and could take her annoyance.
He opened the door.
The room was empty. Even her perfume had faded.
He couldn’t believe she’d left before the others had.
His anticipation fizzled. His rod grew harder, wanting its due. A warm, snug home within her. Not this evening, though.
Maybe not anytime in the future, either.
What in the hell was the matter with Lauren, taking off without saying good night? It was the team’s fucking routine. Even Van Gogh managed a grunt or two, no matter his crappy mood or day. She’d been here long enough to know protocol.
Frowning, Dante closed the door, turned, and flinched.
Lauren blinked.
“Christ, you surprised me.” He tried to slow his galloping heart. “I thought you were in the office.”
