"Can you set up a meeting for me with this man?" Irving asked.
"I can. Let me give him a call and see when." Robin dialed Micky's phone and they held a brief conversation, with Robin telling Micky that Mr. Irving would like to meet him. Covering the phone for a moment, he said, "Mr. Palmer is at a bar on East Eighteenth at the moment, if you'd like to do this now."
Irving looked thoughtful, then nodded. Robin relayed the information to Micky, telling him Irving was willing and would be there in—he glanced at Irving, who mouthed "Half an hour". Finishing the conversation, Robin hung up then described Micky. "He said he'll be seated at the bar."
"Excellent," Irving replied. "Now I'd better go tell my friends I have to leave. Thank you, Robin." He winked, adding, "If you ever decide to part with Mackenzie, look me up. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement of some sort that would work to our mutual benefits."
"I'll remember that," Robin told him, almost laughing when Irving hurried away. Now it's up to you, Micky.
Robin went back to the bar, intending to get his jacket and leave.
"Where have you been?" Mackenzie growled, wrapping his arm tightly around Robin's waist. "You didn't come home last night."
"I was sick. Food poisoning, I think. I went back to my apartment and spent the next few hours puking my guts out," Robin replied, trying to sound contrite and apologetic.
"I do hope you're feeling better tonight because you and I are going home—now—so I can show you how much I missed the pleasure of your company last night."
"Yes, Sir," Robin replied, instantly falling into the submissive role he knew Mackenzie expected of him.
Keeping his arm tightly around Robin's waist, Mackenzie marched him swiftly out of the club to his limousine.
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