Cruel Truth

by K. A. Linde

  The sirens were getting louder. I glanced over my shoulder once, just once, and saw the cars zooming toward us. I wanted to pick up my pace but worried it’d look suspicious. They were coming for the party, not us.

  Camden finally stopped. “This is far enough.”

  He gestured at a brightly lit diner with a sign that simply read Waffles. The inside looked like a typical sixties-era diner with red booths along the walls, a diner bar at the back, and cheap tables along the middle. A jukebox played music. I could see a collection of framed photos declaring them the best waffles in the city for the last three years. I wondered who had actually voted in that.

  Katherine wrinkled her nose. “You expect me to go in there?”

  “This is as good of a place to wait until I can get my driver out of that mess to pick us up,” Camden said. He yanked the door open and held it for her.

  To my surprise, Katherine just walked right inside. I’d never seen her in a diner before. She didn’t do food with calories very often.

  Whitley barreled after her. “I could go for some fucking hash browns. I’ve never met a potato that I didn’t like.”

  Court grinned down at me. Not at all concerned that we’d just had to escape a police raid. “Fuck, I want a waffle.”

  I shook my head at him as he ambled drunkenly into Waffles and joined Katherine and Whitley at a red plastic booth against the wall.

  “Thank you,” I finally said to Camden now that I was coming down…a little at least from what had just happened.

  He shrugged. “Don’t want any of my people to get caught there.”

  “What about Fiona?” I asked, realizing for the first time he’d just abandoned her.

  His eyes flicked to Katherine. “Like I said, my people.”

  Then he walked inside. A small smile touched my features. Maybe Katherine wouldn’t realize what had happened until later, but I bet she would put it all together. That he’d immediately ditched Fiona. That Katherine was his people. His to take care of.

  I wished that I could join them. Sit down in that seedy little diner and overdose on carbs with my friends after escaping something horrible. But my job wasn’t over. Other people needed to know about this.

  I sighed and then pulled my phone out. I paused for a heartbeat, waiting for that text message from Sam. The one he’d promised hours ago. The one he’d never delivered.

  It wasn’t there.

  I ground my teeth as I pulled up English’s number and dialed. It’d be super fucking early in London. Like, six in the morning. But she was used to living weird hours as a celebrity publicist. She didn’t sleep like a normal human being. It wasn’t out of the norm to see her doing tai chi in the living room at four in the morning. Her brain was just wired differently.

  The phone rang once and then went straight to voicemail. What the hell? I tried again. Same thing. Her phone must have been off. It was the only explanation. Except that English never turned her phone off. It was her job to have her phone on at all times. You never knew when you’d have to be ready to deal with something.

  I glared at my phone. I needed English. She’d know what to do and how to handle this. But she wasn’t answering.

  Then another thought hit me, and my stomach turned. What if Sam showed up at the party? Admittedly, it’d be weird for him to do so without first calling me. But maybe he’d forgotten about the invitation.

  I knew that I was grasping at straws for reasons to call him. To find out what the fuck he was doing. But I didn’t want him to show up there. And if he was already in a cab, as unlikely as that seemed, then I’d rather him just head here.

  Maybe I was rationalizing, but I sighed heavily and called him anyway. Damn the consequences.

  34

  Sam

  I tapped my index finger against the side of my phone as the taxi veered precipitously through traffic. I was still trying to craft the text to Lark. What the hell should I say? It was one in the morning. She’d left hours ago. I should just say fuck it. It’d be easier to explain to her when I saw her. But still, I stared at my screen, wondering how not to sound like a total dick.

  Then to my surprise, my phone started buzzing in my hand.

  I answered on the first ring, “Lark?”

  “Sam”—she sounded all business—“where are you?”

  “I’m sorry about before.”

  “I don’t care about that right now. Where are you? Are you still in Brooklyn?”

  I frowned. She sounded super pissed. Understandably so after I’d sent her away and then disappeared. I just needed to get through to her.

  “No, I’m almost to the poker party. I know that this wasn’t how I wanted our night to go.”

  She sighed. “The party is already over. It was busted up by a police raid.”

  “What?” I gasped. The cab driver looked back at me through the rearview mirror with disdain. “Are you okay? Is everyone okay? Did anyone get arrested? Do you need my help? Should I call someone?”

  “We got out. Camden got a tip from a detective or someone he knew. So, we’re at a local diner called Waffles, waiting it out. You shouldn’t go to the party.”

  “Right. Of course. I’m glad you’re safe and you got out. I’ll come to you. The place is Waffles?”

  “Yes.”

  I pulled the phone away for a moment. “Change of plans. Can you take me to Waffles? I think it’s nearby.”

  “Sure thing,” the cab driver said, taking the next left.

  “Sam, are you still there?” Lark asked.

  “Yes. Sorry. Giving the cab driver directions. I’ll be there in ten, maybe fifteen minutes, depending on traffic.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly.

  “Lark…I’m sorry.”

  “I can’t right now,” she said softly. “I’ll see you when you show up.”

  “Okay.”

  Then she hung up.

  I threw my head back into the headrest with a muttered curse. Oh, she was pissed off. A hundred percent. This was going to suck so bad.

  It was a solid fifteen before the cab came to a stop in front of Waffles. It looked like some kind of seedy diner, which probably meant that it had the best food in the world. On any other night, I would have loved to discover this kind of place with Lark. A new adventure and good food. This wasn’t how I wanted to find it. Not tonight.

  I paid the cab driver and asked him to wait.

  “I’ll have to charge you for the wait time.”

  I waved my hand at him. I didn’t care. There was only one thing that mattered right now, and her shock of red hair appeared at the entrance to the diner.

  “Hey,” I said with a worried smile. “How are you doing?”

  She shrugged. “Everyone is a little shaken up and hiding it with greasy food.”

  “I think…we need to talk,” I said.

  But then she straightened, and there was something different about her. This was business Lark. The woman who ran a campaign without breaking a sweat. I could see it come over her. And I didn’t like what that meant for us.

  “What I need is for you to take Court home,” she said.

  “Uh…okay.”

  “He’s drunk and eating waffles. And if his mother finds out what happened here tonight…” She trailed off with a shake of her head. “Fuck, what could have happened.”

  “Yeah. If you all had been arrested.”

  “I really don’t want to think about it,” she said with a shudder. “I just want this nightmare to be over.”

  And when she finally met my stare, I didn’t know if she meant this night or us.

  “I can deal with Court. That’s no problem. But Lark, what happened tonight…it’s not what you think.”

  She arched an eyebrow as if she didn’t believe me. “Please don’t. Not tonight.”

  “Come on,” I said, reaching for her.

  But she pulled back.

  “No, You got to choose when we talked after Claire left. And…and I get to choose now
that she’s home. Which is not right now. I waited at the party with radio silence from you for hours, and I just escaped a police raid at what was an illegal, underground gambling ring. I’m in no mood.”

  End of discussion.

  That was written all over her as she turned and walked back into Waffles.

  She was only gone a minute before she was all but dragging a drunk Court out toward me. “Here. Please just take him home.”

  “Lark, please. If you’d just let me explain…”

  Court stepped forward and put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey bro, even I know that’s not something you should ever say to a woman.”

  Lark raised her eyebrows as if to say to listen to him. “I’m sure you have your reasons. And they all sound perfectly valid to you. But I assure you, anything that you say to me tonight won’t sound valid to me. All it feels like is history repeating itself. Nothing you say will change my mind about that. So…just deal with Court. Do that for me, and we’ll just…figure it out later.”

  Figure it out later sounded like a death sentence. Like the end. And this couldn’t be the end.

  As she slipped back into Waffles, I stepped forward to go after her. As if apologizing again would fix it. Tell her what had happened and how wrong she was. That it wasn’t what she thought. This wasn’t Melissa again.

  But Court stopped me. “I’d let the lady be. It only gets worse from here.”

  “It can’t get any worse than this,” I told him, feeling myself fall into a bottomless black pit as Lark walked away from me.

  Court sighed. “Here’s some Kensington wisdom: it can always get worse.”

  And I feared he was right.

  35

  Lark

  Camden’s limo was finally able to extract itself from the onslaught and whisk us all back uptown. I stumbled upstairs to my empty apartment, prepared to sleep away the nightmare of this weekend. But sleep never came.

  All I did was toss and turn and replay Claire throwing herself at Sam. The way she’d cried so prettily and how he had taken care of her as he did. Nausea swept over me, and nothing dispelled it.

  At some point, I must have fallen into some kind of comatose sleep on the couch because I was abruptly ripped from it when the front door opened.

  “Sam?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  But it wasn’t Sam.

  My vision cleared. “English?”

  She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Hey, Lark.”

  I sat up with my fuzzy, sleep-deprived brain. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in London for another week.”

  She swallowed hard, pushed her carry-on into the living room, and closed the door. “Yeah, I was.”

  “What happened?”

  Then English burst into tears. I jumped to my feet, forgetting all my woes of the night before and pulled my friend into a hug.

  “Shh,” I whispered against her hair.

  I maneuvered her back to the couch. She plopped down next to me, completely inconsolable.

  It was several minutes before she could even speak.

  “I went to the set to see Josh. At first, it was all great. And then…and then I overheard some members of the cast talking about how Josh and his coworker Celeste—you know, the, like, Bond girl of the film—were together. How they weren’t even good at hiding it. How they…they felt bad for me.”

  “No!” I gasped. “But Josh is…he’s head over heels for you!”

  She shrugged helplessly. “I thought so too. We talk every day. He bought me that apartment. He was so supportive of this job. He was even going to move here before he went on his promotional tour.”

  “Did you confront him?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, I did. He denied it. So, I told him that I’d ask Celeste. Get her take on it. Then it all spilled out of him. He said that he didn’t care for her. He didn’t love her. It was just a”—she choked on the next words—“publicity stunt.”

  “He did not say that to you. To you of all people.”

  She nodded, tears flowing freely down her cheeks again. “He did. The bastard. He said it was to sell the last movie. He actually had the audacity to say that it worked for Mr. & Mrs. Smith.”

  “No fucking way!” I cried. “That’s…I have no words.”

  “Yeah. I didn’t either.”

  “Oh god.”

  “I couldn’t stay another second. I packed all my shit up, bought the most expensive first-class ticket on his credit card, and came right back.”

  “No wonder you weren’t answering your phone last night. You were over the Atlantic.”

  “Answer my phone? Why were you calling me last night?” she asked, scrubbing at her cheeks.

  I took a deep breath. “There was a raid on the party last night.”

  “What?” she gasped, sitting up perfectly straight with wide eyes. “Were you arrested? Was Court arrested? Fuck!”

  “No, no one was arrested. Well, not our friends. Camden knew someone, and they tipped us off. We got out ahead of the police. I don’t know what happened to everyone else.”

  English sank back. “Thank fuck. I couldn’t imagine. I’d lose my fucking job over that.”

  “I know. I had the same thought.”

  “But why was there a raid on a poker game? It was just for fun. Nothing to try to crack down on with a police raid.”

  I sighed. “It wasn’t what we’d thought it was. It was a built establishment. At least a dozen poker tables. Plus, blackjack, craps, roulette, and slots. There were platforms for dancers and everything. This place had been in operation for a while.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “None of us knew it was going to be like that. It was a nightmare.”

  “I’d hate to be the publicist for whoever has to deal with the fallout,” English said.

  “That person doesn’t need a publicist. They need an attorney.”

  “You’d be shocked at how often those two things go hand in hand.”

  I managed a laugh. “And…something else happened last night.”

  English arched an eyebrow.

  “Claire came back and declared her love for Sam.”

  “Oh shit. What did he do? Tell her to fuck off?”

  I shook my head. “No, she was blubbering about how much she’d messed up. He…decided to talk to her. Told me to go to the party. He’d text me and meet me there. But he didn’t…he never texted, and he only showed up two hours later after the party was raided. I made him take Court home and told him I’d talk to him tomorrow. Well, now, today.”

  “Fuck that shit! Two hours later!” English seethed. “What is with men? Why are they all so awful? I just…I thought Sam was good for you. I was the one who convinced you to see this through. Now, look at the bullshit he pulled. Look at the bullshit Josh pulled,” she finished in a whisper as her anger died down to grief.

  “When I saw Claire, I wanted to break her into pieces. But I don’t know what to think about Sam.”

  English laughed. “Bad Lark came out to play.”

  “More or less. And I don’t want to be that person. I just want to be me and also not get stepped all over. Like, how hard is it to send a text message?”

  English shrugged. “How hard is it not to fuck someone else?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. And this isn’t your fault either. I’m anti-men right now. So, I’m all cut off his balls and feed them to him.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t think that’s an option.”

  “It could be!” she proclaimed. “But maybe just talk to him? Pray it doesn’t go as poorly as my talk with Josh?”

  “Oh yeah, that’s really promising.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  I bit my lip. “He decides to get back together with Claire, just like he did with Melissa the last time around.”

  “And what would you do if that were the case?”

  “I don’t k
now,” I whispered, bracing myself. “Cry? Eat ice cream?”

  “Survive,” English said softly. “Just like me. Talk to him.”

  I sighed heavily, but I knew she was right. I was just putting off the inevitable because I was afraid that during those two hours, he’d decided he’d made a mistake. That he wanted Claire after all. That they hadn’t even been broken up and I was the other woman in all of this. A million worst-case scenarios ran through my head, but the only way to know was to talk to him.

  “All right. I have to head to work anyway. Are you going to be okay?” I asked as I stood up.

  She gave me a noncommittal half-shrug, half-wave. “I know what I have to do next. And that’s go to talk to fucking Court Kensington.”

  “That sounds…pleasant in your state.”

  She rose to her feet. “I have had a very bad weekend. My husband cheated on me, I flew back and forth across the Atlantic in the span of two days, and now, I get here and find out he jeopardized everything. Again. Yeah, I think he deserves a piece of my mind.”

  “Go easy on him.”

  “Oh no, everyone goes easy on Court. That is not my job. My job is to whip his ass into shape and craft him into something the public can love—or at least, fucking sympathize with. Nothing in that says that I have to be nice. And nothing in that says that he should be in a position to almost get arrested again!”

  “Okay, okay. Give the boy some tough love. I’ll be at work, trying not to die and waiting for the rug pull.”

  “I love you,” English said. “Thanks for being here for me.”

  “Always.”

  “Good luck with Sam. Text me when you talk to him.”

  “Will do.”

  Even though I was really fucking dreading what was about to happen.

  I made it to work only a handful of minutes late after my conversation with English. I’d desperately needed a shower to clear my head and nearly fallen asleep under the stream. Today was going to suck. No buts about it.