She took a deep breath and fluffed up her spiky, purple-dyed hair. "Big deal. So I'm a few minutes late."

"Forty-five minutes. Late."

"So? What's forty-five minutes to an old goat like you?"

"I believe it is still forty-five minutes."

Was that a glint of humor in his eyes? She chafed at the thought of being considered amusing. She was tough, dammit. And he should have been insulted that she'd called him an old goat. Connor Buchanan didn't look a day over thirty. She would have considered him very handsome if he hadn't fussed at her so much over the years.

She adjusted the black, braided whip she wore around her waist. "Look. I'm a businesswoman now. I'm late because I had to open the club and run some errands. And I need to get back to work soon." She had a meeting scheduled at eleven-thirty with all the male dancers so she could give them their new costumes for the month of August.

Connor looked unimpressed. "Roman is still yer Coven Master, and when he requests yer presence, ye're expected to arrive on time."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm quaking in my little boots."

Connor pivoted toward a table, causing his red and green plaid kilt to swing around his knees. "I'll need to search yer handbag."

She winced inwardly. "Do we really have time for this? I'm already late."

"I check every bag coming in."

He'd always been a stickler for the rules. How many times had he reprimanded her for flirting with the guards at Roman's townhouse? Well, just one guard. A mortal day guard who worked for MacKay Security & Investigation. A deliciously handsome day guard.