All Note Long by Annabeth Albert Page A

telling your boy to do his own dirty work next time, for starters. He wants a boyfriend, he can damn well do the asking.” Lucky stalked away from her. He was done with this whole damn situation.
    However, four steps had him running right into Carlos’s barrel chest.
    â€œWell, if it isn’t just the ho I was looking for.” Carlos’s round face was as sweaty and mean as Lucky had ever seen it.
    â€œHey, I’m not the one who called in sick with zero notice.” Lucky glanced over his shoulder but Michelin’s handler was already long gone. Thank god. He didn’t need an audience for this either. Funny, for a guy used to spending his Saturday nights in a Speedo, Lucky was developing a real taste for privacy.
    â€œNo. You’re the reason I’ve had to deal with media, the ABC, and law enforcement all in the last six hours.”
    â€œWhat does Alcohol and Beverage Control want with you? And the cops?”
    â€œOh, I’m sure you’re on their list of people to talk to as well. But suddenly they’re giving more credit to past complaints about the club, and they’re all up in my grill about lewd behavior and dancer regulations and all sorts of shit I don’t have time for.”
    â€œHey, it’s not my fault that those guys last summer were selling something on the side.” Or that Carlos turned a blind eye to a lot of that crap and played very fast and loose with the ABC regulations about lewd behavior. Wasn’t Lucky’s fault that some former employees had made some complaints to both ABC and OSHA, in addition to the dudes who got busted for soliciting. Carlos didn’t exactly run a quality establishment, but Lucky couldn’t deny that the tips were among the best in WeHo.
    â€œNo, but you were certainly vocal enough about it, weren’t you? But now Mr. I’m-not-an-escort has been caught raiding the cookie jar for a little Hollywood cash. And now I’ve got people implying I’m some sort of pimp. At least the other guys had the decency to complete their transactions away from here.”
    â€œIt’s not like I want this attention! And I was not selling!”
    Carlos ignored his protest. “And I’ve got paparazzi trained on the entrance, which is not good for business. Some of our clientele like discretion.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” He wasn’t really, but Carlos looked as mad as Lucky had ever seen him.
    â€œHah.” Carlos snorted. “And doesn’t matter. I already told the authorities I’d can you for the solicitation.”
    â€œI wasn’t soliciting! And you can’t fire me for something I wasn’t doing!” A desperate clang built up in Lucky’s chest, like an old teakettle about to go off.
    â€œYeah? Why did you have him in the employee changing room? Huh? Want to explain those pictures to me in a way that can get the authorities off my ass?”
    â€œI can make this all go away with a convincing story. Trust me.” Gloria’s little spiel rang in his ears. “Neither of you looks great right now.”
    Jobless, out a buttload of cash that he desperately needed for his video, and insisting on telling the truth—or lying to help a guy who thought Lucky was little better than a hooker and who couldn’t even be bothered to return Lucky’s call or come see him himself?
    If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything. Lucky’s high school English teacher had a poster with that Mark Twain quote on it, and he’d seen it every day for two years.
    â€œI was getting him a drink . . .” Lucky trailed off as the fire door behind Carlos opened. He was about to warn Carlos, who wouldn’t have noticed a spaceship landing in the bar unless it was populated with ABC officials. But he regrouped as he recognized the tall figure coming through the door, even though Michelin was wearing another stupid beanie and a too-big