Page 43 of Whatever Lola Wants (Odyssey #2)

S imon was having the week from hell.

It turned out Everybody’s Favorite Client actually was being stalked, which meant he and Grant had to coordinate extra protection not only for Howard’s stay in Chicago , but for his return to L.A .

as well. With most of his people out on other assignments, Simon had had to take on some of the personal protection duties until they could make other arrangements, which meant he spent most of his week standing outside a hotel room, holding car doors, and scouting locations that couldn’t possibly be made safe.

That the client was an entitled jerk was icing on the cake.

But at least it kept him busy. Because when he relaxed, all he could think about was how he’d fucked up.

By Thursday night, Howard was back in L.A ., Simon had arranged for the extra protection detail necessary to keep the client happy, and the rest of the small fires that had cropped up during the week had been successfully put out.

Exhausted, he poured himself a drink, stretched out on the sofa in his office, and closed his eyes.

“Brother, you look like shit.”

Simon raised his glass without bothering to open his eyes. “ It’s been a fucker of a week.”

“Tell me about it.” Simon heard the clink of crystal, then Grant’s gusty sigh as he settled into a chair. “ That was it, right? That was the last of it?”

“That was it.” Simon shifted just enough to sip his drink without spilling it down the front of his shirt.

Grant’s boots hit the coffee table with a thump. “ Thank Christ .”

Simon drained his glass, feeling the burn of the whiskey as it slid down his throat to warm his belly. He pushed to his feet, ignoring Grant’s knowing gaze, and walked over to the bar to pour another.

The second went down so smoothly, he reached for a third. He’d been so busy all week that getting drunk hadn’t been an option. Right now, it sounded like a damn fine idea.

“You planning to get wasted?” Grant demanded.

Simon picked up the bottle and carried it back to the sofa with him. “ You got a problem with that?”

Grant raised a brow. “ Not as long as you’re sober, upright, and not puking by the time the ceremony rolls around on Saturday .”

“Plenty of time,” Simon decided and poured himself another shot.

Grant watched him toss it back. “ Howard must have been a serious pain in the ass.”

Simon shook his head. “ No more so than usual.”

“This is about Lola , then.”

Simon paused, his hand over the bottle. Grant shot him a smirk. “ What , you didn’t think I knew about that? Shit , son. Women talk to each other.”

Simon grabbed the bottle and poured another shot. “ So ?”

“So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

Simon shrugged. “ She ended it.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

Simon glowered at him and tossed back the drink. He wasn’t feeling the burn anymore, but he was a long way from numb. “ Are we really going to do this? Sit around and talk about our feelings like a couple of…people who talk about their feelings?”

“Yep.” Unoffended , Grant smiled. “ Anna says you lied to Lola about the submissive Michael set you up with.”

Simon set his glass down with a clink. “ I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

Simon’s glare was sulfuric. “ It would’ve been fine if you hadn’t told your woman, and she hadn’t told Lola .”

Grant raised an eyebrow. “ If I’d known it was a secret, I wouldn’t have. Why was it a secret?”

Simon pressed his heels to his eyes. “ Fuck .”

“Lola’s a big girl,” Grant said mildly. He twirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes on Simon . “ Seems to me if you two had an arrangement that included seeing other people, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “ We didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t have an arrangement that included seeing other people.”

“Ah.” Grant sipped his whiskey slowly, his pale gaze locked on Simon . And waited.

Simon gritted his teeth. “ I was up front with her about wanting to find a submissive partner. It shouldn’t have been a surprise.”

Grant nodded. “ You told her, straight out, that while you were seeing her—playing with her, fucking her, sleeping in her bed six days out of seven—you’d also be looking for the perfect submissive.

And when you found her, she’d just have to step aside.

And she had the nerve to get mad.” Grant shook his head. “ Women .”

Simon scowled. “ You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m rubber and you’re glue.”

The childish taunt was the final straw. “ You want to hear me say I fucked up? Fine . I fucked up. I hurt her feelings, screwed up our friendship, and I’m pretty sure your bride is going to stab me at some point this weekend.”

“Actually, I think she borrowed Ginger’s stun gun.” Grant grinned at Simon’s narrow-eyed look. “ Yeah , I heard about that, and at some point in the future, I’m going to give you a whole lot of shit over it. But not right now, since it’d feel like kicking a wounded puppy, and I want to enjoy it.”

Simon winced. “ I must be pitiful if you’re holding back on that.”

“Oh, you’re more than pitiful, son. You’re pathetic.” Grant gestured with his glass. “ You tossed away a woman who not only fucked your brains out, but made you laugh. So , she wasn’t submissive. The play obviously worked, right?”

“She let me punish her,” Simon suddenly remembered.

“She’s likes play punishment?”

Simon shook his head. “ She fucked up in a scene—forgot to eat before, crashed hard—and when I told her I’d paddle her ass for it if she were my submissive, she told me to do it.”

“Seriously?” A whisper of a grin flitted over Grant’s face. “ She gave you permission to punish her?”

“I thought she was joking, but she said even though we didn’t have a D /s relationship, she’d still fucked up. She felt a physical consequence would be the best way to move past both her guilt and my anger.”

“Was she right?”

He remembered how angry he’d been at her, how the punishment had allowed him to put it aside. And how, even though her eyes had been full of tears, she’d looked at him with relief when it was done. “ Yeah .”

Grant shook his head in wonder. “ That’s a hell of a woman you threw away. Can I ask you a question?”

Simon sat back, weary to the bone. “ Go ahead.”

“What exactly have you been doing with Lola for the last month?”

Simon frowned. “ I don't know what you mean.”

“I mean, if you knew you didn’t want her—and that’s what you’re saying, right? She’s not what you want?”

Simon nodded, ignoring the hollow feeling in his gut.

“Then what was it all for? You spent a month together, not just playing and fucking, but dating. You took her to baseball games, cooked her breakfast. You took care of her after the accident, and not like a pal or a fuck buddy, but like a lover. A partner. You did all that for a woman who was what? A place holder, someone to fill the void until the real thing came along?”

“She’s not a fucking place holder,” Simon growled.

“No, she’s not,” Grant said quietly. “ So , what was she?”

“Fuck.” Simon slumped against the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

“You know, Anna and Ginger spent some time with Lola last Sunday , and Anna said Ginger had an interesting relationship theory.”

Simon closed his eyes and resigned himself to listening.

Grant went on. “ She said people either get the relationship they want, or the person they want.”

Simon opened his eyes, frowning as Grant continued.

“Now, if you get the relationship you want—in your case, a D /s arrangement with a submissive partner—you may have to settle for a woman who doesn’t fit you as well.

And if you get the person you want—in your case, Lola —you might have to adjust your expectations about how your relationship will look. ”

Grant rose to his feet, set his glass on the coffee table, and strode to the door. Hand on the knob, he paused to look over his shoulder. “ So , the question is, do you want her enough to adjust your expectations?”

Some of Simon’s misery must have been reflected on his face, because Grant’s face softened a fraction. “ She made you happy. Why do you think someone else will make you happier?”

Then he was gone.

And Simon sat for hours, alone in his office, wondering why he couldn’t answer that question.

* * *

He hadn’t come up with an answer by the following afternoon.

He and Grant had landed, Henry in tow, at Sawyer International Airport in Marquette , then rented a car for the drive to his mom’s.

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived.

Grant’s mother, after scolding her son for his tardiness, informed them that the bride and her maid of honor were sequestered in the bride’s room, getting the treat of a manicure and pedicure, and were not to be disturbed.

Simon fought twin reactions of disappointment and relief while Grant scowled. “ I just want to see her for a minute.”

“No.” Grant’s mother was a small woman, all of five foot three with a cherub’s round face and the pale blue eyes her son had inherited.

Hair the same shade as her son’s surrounded her face in a halo of curls, and her lips held a smile.

But despite the amiable expression, she was immoveable as the rock of Gibraltar . “ You can see her at the rehearsal.”

“Mom,” Grant began, and Simon stifled a grin at the tone. He wanted to tell his friend that he didn’t think Dom Voice would work, then decided to let it unfold. He ought to get some amusement out of this weekend.

“Baby boy, you know that tone of voice doesn’t work on me,” Grace Snow scolded her son, and Simon bit back a chuckle. “ And I’ll tell you now, you and Anna are in separate rooms until tomorrow night.”