by K. A. Linde
I leaned forward as something clicked in my brain. “I know someone who is a fixer—Anna English. She’s a celebrity publicist in LA with Poise PR. She already knows Court and has some understanding of the Upper East Side. She’s the best in the business.”
Leslie arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Well, bring Anna out. We’ll interview her for the position.”
My smile broadened. This was perfect. English had just been complaining about her job. This might be the break she needed to get away from the less pleasant aspects.
“I’ll do that.”
“All right,” Leslie said, standing to her considerable height. “You all have your assignments. I can’t stay much longer. Still have a city to run. Let’s look at this as a small setback and not a death sentence. It will be fine. It’s far enough away from the election that we can manage this. We can still win. So, let’s go out there and do it.”
Everyone sat up a little straighter as she spoke. She had that effect. Like her words were almost a glamour. The force of her charisma pushing into us. It was one of the things that I loved about her.
We all stood up and stretched our aching muscles as Leslie walked out of the room. Back to City Hall to deal with her mayoral duties. Leaving us to try to pick up the mess of her son’s debacle.
I headed out of the conference room with my legal pad tucked up under my arm. I needed coffee. I’d barely gotten any sleep last night, and it was already catching up with me. I couldn’t pop over to Coffee Grounds with the media camped out front. So, I’d have to make do with the shitty break-room coffee.
The room was already full of everyone else who had decided on the same thing. There was a line ten people deep, and man, I could not deal with that today. I whirled around to head back to my office and die from exhaustion in peace. But when I got there, I found Aspen missing and Sam leaning against her desk instead.
“Hey,” I said in surprise. “What’s up? And where’s my assistant?”
“I told her to go grab her lunch. That I’d watch her desk.”
My eyes widened. “Oh god.”
He laughed. “It’s only been a few minutes.” He picked up a Coffee Grounds cup from the desk. “I brought you coffee in. She was going to take it to you in the meeting. But hey, now, you’re here.”
I looked at the coffee like a lifeline. “I don’t even want to know how you got in and out of here to bring this to me. I’d die for that coffee right now.”
“I can’t give away all my secrets.” He passed it over to me with a satisfied smile. “I figured after last night…you might need it.”
“You figured correctly.”
“So, what’s the scoop?” he asked, sitting back and sipping his own coffee.
I shrugged. “Court is under house arrest. We’re bringing Jay Neville on for consulting. I’m going to try to hire English to babysit Court. And otherwise, we’re kind of fucked right now.”
“Wait, Court is under house arrest?” he asked. “That doesn’t make sense. He didn’t even do anything.”
“Well, not official house arrest. But he was arrested, and it’s a fucking media circus out there. He can’t leave without making this all worse. So, we’re trying to find someone to deal with him before that happens.”
“Huh. That seems unfair to Court.”
I gave him a I’ve been up for way too long to pity Court look. “He’s fucking the entire campaign right now. If he has to sit in his multimillion-dollar penthouse for a few days, is he really suffering?”
Sam laughed softly. “I suppose not.”
“I appreciate this,” I said, nodding to the drink. “But I should probably get back to work. The world is ending. Didn’t you hear?”
He stood up from Aspen’s desk and nodded. “Ah, well, I think it’ll blow over. Just hang in there.” He headed back toward his own office before saying, “And get some sleep.”
I waved him off with a secret smile and then headed into my office. I would not overanalyze that conversation. I would not think obsessively about him bringing me coffee. I would not think about any of it.
Not even a little.
Okay. Maybe just a little.
13
Sam
Ever since the conversation with Lark, I’d been thinking about how Court Kensington had ended up on an unofficial house arrest. And how ridiculous it was that it was happening. That no one seemed to care that he was a grown-ass man and should deal with his own consequences or not.
But no, everyone was so focused on the campaign. No one was thinking about Court at all. It was their job to think about Leslie and how this would impact her. I seemed to be the only one wondering how Court was holding up.
Which was how I ended up inside an actual fucking elevator that took me up to his literal penthouse overlooking Central Park.
I knew in some abstract way how the uber wealthy lived. Lark had been different when in Madison—living in a one-bedroom apartment, driving a Subaru, and wearing regular brands. So, I hadn’t seen it close up.
Not until today…right this minute.
The elevator dinged on the top floor and slid open to a foyer. It felt pretty surreal to be in an apartment that was nicer than any house I’d ever been in.
“Court?” I called as I stepped out of the elevator.
But no one responded. I crept forward until I found the living room. It was a kind of perfect mix of interior designer meets bachelor pad. Everything was muted and nearly spotless.
Court rounded the corner. He was dressed in dark-wash jeans and a plain gray T-shirt, holding a bottle of bourbon in his hand. “Oh, hey. You made it past the assholes outside.”
“Yeah. I came in the back way, like you suggested.”
“Cool. Drink?”
He didn’t wait for my reply before striding back into what appeared to be the kitchen with a full wet bar. He poured out way more than a knuckle’s worth of bourbon into each glass. Then he held one out for me to take.
“Uh, thanks,” I said. I took a sip of the drink. It was smooth as hell. Maybe the best bourbon I’d ever had. “Holy shit. This is…great.”
“Yeah. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion,” he said with a shrug. “Guess getting completely fucked over by your girlfriend of two years is a special occasion.”
“Have you been drinking since you got back here?”
He didn’t look sober. But he wasn’t completely gone either. As if he was trying to stay perfectly, comfortably numb.
“Why are you asking?” he demanded, finally meeting my gaze. His eyes were this fierce blue like they might reach out and drown you. “For you or for my mother?”
My own eyes rounded. “What do you mean? I’m not here for the campaign.”
“Yeah, well, you were at the police station last night. Did my mother call you for that too? Did she try to make you become my friend to keep an eye on me? I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Uh, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I came to the police station last night because Lark was freaked out and called me. I thought I might need to help get you out of there. But your mother had that handled.”
Court snorted and took another long drink. “Yeah, as always.”
“I’m here because I found out you were under house arrest, and I thought it was shitty. Just thought…I’d check in on you. That’s what I do for friends.”
Court narrowed his eyes. He seemed to be searching for something. Something that I wasn’t giving him. “Seriously?”
“Uh…yeah.”
“You just came over to see if I was doing all right?” He seemed unable to comprehend it.
“Yes,” I assured him anyway.
“Shit,” Court groaned. He walked over to the couch and sank into the cushions. “Don’t tell anyone that you’re this nice.”
I laughed and took a seat on the chair adjacent to him. “What do you mean?”
“Especially Camden. He’ll eat you alive if he thinks you’re a nice guy. Be a total jacka
ss around him, and he’ll respect you.”
“Why do you like him if he’s like that?”
Court took another long drink and then set it down on the coffee table. He threw his arms behind his head and leaned further back. “Camden and I go way back. He’s the only person who has always been there for me. My best friend disappeared in college. My dad overdosed. You’ve seen my mother. Penn and I have always been on rocky ground. And now…Jane.” He ground his teeth after saying her name. “Camden is a jackass. I know that. But he doesn’t judge me. I don’t judge him. We don’t have to fucking pretend with each other. We’re way past that.”
“That makes sense,” I admitted.
“Anyway, he’s not all bad. He just doesn’t show anyone else another side of him.” Court cleared his throat. “But that’s not what you’re here to talk about. You want to know about Jane?”
I shook my head. “Nah. You probably don’t want to talk about it. I don’t need to know what happened.”
Court nodded his head once, but he seemed startled. “You…really aren’t here for my mother.”
“I’m really not.”
“Huh,” Court said. “Full of surprises.”
“I guess.”
“So, since I don’t want to talk, tell me about you and Lark.”
I should have seen it coming. But for some reason, I hadn’t. Instead of loathing the idea of talking about it, I actually felt okay. Not okay about what had happened in the past, but I hadn’t ever had anyone to talk about it with.
“Well, we met on the Woodhouse campaign in Madison. I didn’t know who she was. She wasn’t going by Larkin St. Vincent at the time. Just Lark Vincent. If I’d known her real name, I think even I might have put two and two together. My ex’s parents always vacationed at St. Vincent’s Resorts. I’m pretty sure I’d heard of the purses. But she was trying to be someone else. To fit in.”
“Ah, classic,” Court said as if everyone on the Upper East Side had tried that trick. “But it didn’t stick.”
“No. We got close and then started dating. I knew she was hiding something, but she wouldn’t admit it. It came out, who she was, and I think she thought I’d care.”
“You cared,” Court said. “Everyone cares.”
“I cared that she’d hidden who she was. But I understood why. I don’t know if I would have treated her differently. Her fear was likely warranted.” I shrugged. “It didn’t matter. We dated for about a year. We had a falling-out. She came back to the city, and I went home to North Carolina.”
Court sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees. “But what’s the whole story? Why’d it end?”
I laughed softly. Not a laugh filled with humor, but old anger laced with regret. I could tell him. He’d probably understand. But I just shook my head. “Dude, I don’t think you could get me drunk enough to tell the whole thing.”
Court leaned back in defeat. “One day, I will.”
“Maybe.”
“What about your girlfriend? She’s chill with you seeing Lark every day like this?” he asked, downing the remainder of his drink.
“Well…” I winced.
Then he started laughing. “Ah, there it is. Claire doesn’t know.”
“Not…exactly. She knows that I dated a girl on campaign, and it didn’t work out. She knows that I worked with Lark on campaign and that I’m working with her now. She just doesn’t know those are the same people.”
“Sneaky. Maybe you are one of us after all,” Court said as he headed back into the kitchen to pour himself another drink.
It was sneaky. But it felt necessary. I knew I should tell Claire. But…there was nothing going on with Lark and me. We’d decided to be friends. Of sorts. Plus, she was technically my boss. Telling Claire would bring undue complications in my already-complicated relationship.
“So, your ray-of-sunshine girlfriend, it’s all good there? She’s not potentially hiding a secret identity or stealing millions of dollars from overseas banks and her not-suspicious boyfriend, is she?”
I winced. Fucking Jane.
“She is not,” I told him. “Actually, she’s going on tour with her ensemble next week.”
“Is she? Where?”
“Europe,” I said with a sigh. “For twelve weeks.”
I hadn’t told anyone this. Not even my parents, who I checked in with every week. I didn’t know how to tell them that I’d moved to New York City, and now, Claire was leaving to go on tour.
Court’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling. “Whoa. She’s going to be gone for three months, and you’re going to be here with Lark every day?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?”
I shrugged and downed the rest of my own drink in one big gulp. Because…Court wasn’t wrong.
“Lark doesn’t have to know that Claire is gone.”
Court tipped his head back. “That’s going to go over well.”
“Honestly, I’ve been trying not to think about it.”
“I like your style,” Court said. “Ignore, avoid, and if worst comes to worst…deny, deny, deny.”
“That is not…”
“Hey, I am not judging. Look at the fucked up situation I’m in. I should have seen what Jane was doing. I should have known that it was wrong to give her all the money I did to help her with her stupid fucking nightclub. But she…she got me, you know?” Court sighed and looked up again. He looked like the kind of person who had just been forced to look directly at the sun after wearing sunglasses for so long. “I thought I loved her.”
“And now, it feels like a lie?”
He nodded once. “It was a lie. Everything she did and said and felt was a lie. Because Jane Devney doesn’t even exist. Did you see? Her real name is Janine Lehmann. German-French dual citizen. She’s nothing and no one. And she fooled me completely.”
I had seen. The news made it clear how much Court Kensington had been duped. Though…they all thought he had been in on it. I didn’t see what the benefit was to him, but no one was asking the real questions. They were too interested in the scandal.
“We’re all fools for love,” I told him.
But I wasn’t thinking about Jane or Claire when I said it.
My mind conjured a pair of green eyes and dark red hair.
I’d always been a fool for her.
14
Lark
“I cannot even believe you convinced me to fly out here,” English said three days later as she dropped her suitcase in my living room and pulled me into a hug. “You’re insane.”
I laughed and hugged her back. “I know, but I couldn’t imagine anyone else in the world taking on Court Kensington.”
“This isn’t even the kind of work I do.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, nudging her.
“Okay, it is. But I’m used to Hollywood. The Upper East Side and politics are their own craziness.”
“Which you already know about because you have me.”
“Knowing and living it is different,” English said. “But…yeah, I mean, I think I could do it.”
“I don’t just think that you could do it. I know you can. That you’d be kick-ass at it. Plus, you were just complaining about your job. How tired you were of all the same stuff. This would be different. More.”
“I complained in a bar while I was kind of drunk. You can’t use that against me.” But she was smiling when she said it.
She wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t actually interested in the job. I’d known she would be. She also had a JD from Columbia, and though she might be the best in the business in LA, I’d known her long enough to know that she wouldn’t turn down a better option.
“Before you say anything else, I’m starving,” English said. “I texted Whitley on the way in. She said she’d be game for dinner. You think Katherine would be in?”
I frowned. I didn’t think Katherine would. I’d called and texted her a few times since she’d run out of the party Saturday night. She’d be
en her normal, abrasive self. Claiming that she was fine. But everyone knew fine didn’t actually mean fine.
“She had a falling-out with Camden,” I confessed. “She hasn’t talked to me since it happened.”
A crease formed between her eyebrows. “Why would she be upset about that? I didn’t think she even liked her husband.”
I bit my lip. “I think…she does. Though don’t say anything to her about it. She didn’t seem to even want to admit it. And then, I don’t know…she was seen with Penn, and Camden said he was going to go back to his side piece. I think it’s pretty fucked up.”
English rolled her eyes. “Jesus, they’re a train wreck.”
“Yeah. I’ll text her, but it seems unlikely.”
“All right. Well, I’m changing out of these airport clothes, and then we can go.”
I nodded as I jotted out a text to Katherine.
Fifteen minutes later, when English was ready to go, I still hadn’t heard from her. I didn’t like that at all. She must be even more messed up than I thought.
A bomb had erupted at the center of my crew, and everything felt off-kilter. Katherine was MIA. Penn had jetted off to Paris. I hadn’t heard from Lewis or Rowe at all. I was glad that English was here because, otherwise, I’d be pretty alone.
A short while later, we were settled into a small table at the back of my favorite pizza place on the Upper East. Whitley had complained about how we should have met in the middle, but as soon as she took the first bite, she relented.
“Okay, this is phenomenal,” Whitley said.
I nodded. “Yep. I know. They brought the brick ovens over from Italy. Been in the family forever.”
“The Family,” Whitley asked with a conspiratorial grin. “Like capital F? Italian Mafia?”
“You are such a conspiracy theorist,” English said.
“I am not! The Mafia is real.”
“I don’t think they’re in the Mafia,” I said with an eye roll.
“Are you sure?” Whitley asked. “Because this could all be a front.”
“Well, if they are the Mafia, I’ll be sure to sell your virginity to save the Family,” I told her.