It took all of Lola's self control not to whip out her pistol and shoot King in the heart at his insinuation that Jackson had killed the Sherriff.  Lola was, if anything, more protective of the cowboy than she was of her girls, despite the fact that he could well and truly look after himself.  But, that wasn't something that she wanted Desmond King to know.  It was bad enough that he had framed Jackson for murder - she didn't want to give King a reason to think that he could use her loyalty to Jackson against her. Or vice versa.<br/><br/>Somehow, she managed to bring her focus back to what King was saying just in time to hear him call<em>Lola's</em>a whorehouse.  Again, she had to fight an almost uncontrollable urge to throttle the man with her bare hands.  The idea of watching the light slowly die in his dark, evil eyes was very attractive in that moment, and if it hadn't been for Eve piping up at just the right time, Lola may have just launched herself across the desk at him.<br/><br/>The opportunity to take a few deep, calming breaths while Evie asked her question was enough to steady Lola's voice.  Before King could answer, she added her own thoughts to the discussion.<br/><br/>"I'm afraid you've completely got the wrong idea about my establishment, Mister King.<em>Lola's</em>does not...I repeat, does not," she placed extra emphasis on the reiterated phrase, "uniformly prostitute out the girls.  If...and it is an if...they choose to take a man to their beds, that's entirely their business .  And what goes on behind closed doors makes no nevermind to me."  Lola smiled her sweetest smile across the desk.  "So, you see...there is no 'action' to be taking a cut of.  I'm sorry to be disappointing you...."<br/><br/>The simulated apology hung, unfinished, in the air. There could be no doubt that she was not sorry. Not one little bit.  But again, the words were said so sweetly that it was nigh on impossible to take offense to them.  Fondling the grip of her pistol through her skirts, Lola watched King's face intently.  Would he have any sort of tell that would give her an idea of what was really going on around here?  Or was he more cunning than that?  It seemed that only time would tell.