Page 102 of Whatever Lola Wants

She could hardly blame him for doing something he’d made no secret of wanting to do. They’d never had a conversation about what they expected from the arrangement they had, and for that, she was kicking herself. Perhaps if they’d had that talk, she’d have realized much sooner that he was still committed to the idea of finding his ideal submissive, and she could’ve ended it before falling in love with the lying asshole.

“Okay, asshole might be a bit harsh,” she muttered. But he had definitely lied to her.

And she was definitely in love with him.

She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes and willed them back. She didn’t want to cry--she couldn’t do this if she cried. She needed to be calm, rational, reasonable.

And when it was over, if he left—then she’d cry.

The knock on the front door echoed through the room.

She rose from her perch on the sofa and walked over to answer it.

He was smiling, golden eyes glowing. Happy to see her.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He leaned in to brush her lips with hers. “Ready to go?” he asked, then frowned as he took in her appearance. Threadbare jeans, a ripped and stained UC Berkeley sweatshirt. Her bare toes poked out from under the frayed hem of the jeans, and her face was free of makeup. “Are you feeling okay?”

She nodded. “I’m fine. Come in.”

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him as his eyes scanned her attire. “I know you usually dress at the club, but this is pretty casual.”

She nodded and headed for the sofa, acutely aware of him right behind her. “I wanted to talk.”

She started to sit, then realized she couldn’t. She drew a deep breath and turned to face him.

The naked worry on his face nearly broke her. “What’s wrong?”

“Why did you lie to me about your lunch plans yesterday?”

He blinked, and his eyes went carefully blank. “What?”

“When I called you yesterday and asked if we could have lunch, you said you had a client crisis to deal with. You didn’t.”

“Are you checking up on me now, Lola?”

She nearly smiled at the defensive tone, at the no doubt instinctive attempt to deflect. But her heart was breaking, and smiling was beyond her capabilities at the moment.

“No.” Her voice was calm, her gaze steady. “Anna mentioned it. She thought I already knew.”

“Fuck.” His muttered curse seemed to echo in the quiet room. He drew a deep breath. “Yes, I lied.”

She stood quietly, her hands still at her sides as she waited for him to continue.

“Michael asked me to take a friend of his, a woman who just moved here from Boston, out to lunch.”

The first glimmer of anger broke through the heartache. Did he think she was born yesterday? “If that were all it was, you would have told me, straight out. Try again.”

A spark of something—anger? Irritation?—lit his face, and his eyes narrowed. “Fine. She’s a submissive, new in town, and he thought we might hit it off.”

And there it was. She nodded. “Okay.”

He waited a moment before speaking. “Okay? That’s it?”

“No, that’s not it. Not by a long shot.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “It didn’t work out. She’s not right for me.”

She nodded again. “But you’re going to keep looking for a submissive who is.”

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