by K. A. Linde
“Sure.” I ran a hand back through my unruly red hair, trying to tame it into a ponytail. “Well, if you change your mind, text me.”
“Okay. Have fun.” But he didn’t look up when he said it.
And I was pretty sure he wasn’t leaving.
“You ready?” Demi asked as I left Sam’s office behind.
“Yeah,” I said, trying for cheer.
“Great. Let’s go, girlfriend.”
Then I followed them out, trying to wrap my head around what had just happened in Sam’s office.
It was another week later before I ventured back into Sam’s office. The announcement had just come through. Ronald Reyes, the owner of one of the biggest tech conglomerates, had just announced that he was going to challenge Leslie in the mayoral primary.
I was sick about it. Even though we’d guessed that it was coming, it was harder to hear it. Even harder to know that he looked like a favorable candidate. He had a fortune to rival the Kensington name. He was a rather attractive Hispanic man in his early fifties and still happily married to his wife of almost thirty years. As far as we knew, he didn’t have any scandals or children who were going to try to ruin his campaign.
But if he did, we’d find it. We had opposition researchers for a reason.
I had one hand on my aching stomach when I knocked on Sam’s door. I’d felt sick all day once the news broke. I’d taken medicine, and nothing helped. The stress was gnawing at me.
“Come in,” Sam called.
I stepped into the office. I knew I was pale and shaky. I was determined that we’d still win this, but the first wave of anxiety never suited me.
He glanced up at me and then frowned. “Hey, are you all right?”
“Uh, you know, just the announcement about Reyes.”
“Yeah. That’s shitty. But we’ll get through it.”
I nodded, trying to find relief in his words. It was the first thing we’d said to each other that wasn’t stilted in weeks.
“You’re probably right. I think I just need to get out of the office. English said she’d meet me for lunch. Any interest?”
He opened his mouth as if he was going to say yes and then shook his head. As if his brain and body were out of alignment.
“I think I’m needed here,” he said. “Plus, I brought a lunch.”
“Oh.”
Another rejection. Even worse than when he hadn’t wanted to go out for drinks last week. I’d thought we were friends. Friends did these sorts of things. We had normal conversations. We got lunch together. Had something changed?
“Next time,” he assured me.
But I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think he had any intention of going out with me again.
“Okay…yeah, next time.”
I waved good-bye and then left the office, meeting English at a seafood place that boasted the best scallops in the city.
“No Sam?” she asked as we were seated against the window looking out onto the New York City street.
“Nope. He wanted to stay and work.”
“So…do you think he’s purposely brushing you off? Do you think this has something to do with Claire?”
“Could be. Maybe she found out we’d dated in the past?” I suggested. “I mean…I don’t know how she’d find out unless he told her. And it didn’t seem like he was interested in letting her know about that.”
“Yeah. If he wasn’t up-front with her about it before the banquet, then I can’t see him bringing it up now.”
I shrugged, at a loss. “Maybe all that stuff about being friends was bullshit. He could have decided I wasn’t worth the hassle.”
English rolled her eyes. “What I think is that you need to get over Sam. Get over him, Lark.” She said it as if it were that easy. “Who are you bringing to Court’s charity event? It’s coming up, and you need a date.”
I frowned. “I wasn’t planning on bringing a date. I thought we were just all going together to support Court and his donation.”
“Katherine and Camden have both confirmed they’re coming.”
“Which is strange since they’re not even living together right now,” I grumbled. “I can’t believe that douche made her move out.”
English sighed. “Yeah. That’s…out of my wheel house. I fix people who want—or at least, desperately need—to be fixed. They’re so far gone. I don’t know what will put them together.”
“Yeah. It’s sad.”
“It is. But they’ll be there. I guess they’re trying to keep up appearances. Whitley said she’s bringing a plus-one but hasn’t narrowed it down between her three choices yet.”
“Typical.”
“Gavin said he’s bringing a date.” She pulled her phone up and scrolled through a list of names. “Charlotte Warren. Why does that sound familiar?”
I guffawed. “You remember my friend Lewis? He’s part of my high school crew?”
English nodded. “Sure. I’ve met him before. Tall, super-hot, black guy? Impeccable taste in suits?”
“That’s him,” I said with a laugh. “Well, Charlotte is his much younger sister. She’s a model for Elizabeth Cunningham and a junior at Harvard. She must be back for the summer.”
“Is she…a problem?”
“No, she’s actually wonderful. Though I hear she plays the field.”
English shrugged, unconcerned. “That’s fine. As long as she can handle herself.”
“Oh, she can,” I assured her.
“Great. So, you need a date.” English switched to another list and passed it toward me. “I’m not saying that I made a list of eligible bachelors in the city, but…”
I snatched the phone up and scrolled through the list of guys she’d put together for me. It wasn’t just names either. It included photos, current job, hobbies, and even, in some cases…net worth.
“How the hell did you get this information?”
She winked at me. “It’s part of my job. Now, look at this guy…”
“No way. I already went through this with my parents. I don’t want to date a guy that someone else picks out for me. I don’t want to blind-date anyone. I want no part of it. I am too busy to take anyone serious right now. It would just end so poorly.”
“I thought you might say that. So, I took the liberty of inviting them all. That way, you can mingle and meet them as you go. And then you can decide if you like any of them!”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “You’re as bad as my mother. You know that, right?”
“Honey, Hope St. Vincent has got nothing on me.”
I snorted and then raised my hand for a waiter, done with this conversation. Having a bunch of eligible bachelors waiting to meet me sounded like a dream. Except that it was really a nightmare. One I already wanted to wake up from.
18
Sam
I hadn’t seen Lark since she invited me to lunch. Almost as if…she was purposely avoiding me. Well, I’d been avoiding her. So, maybe it was Karma.
The problem was, I didn’t know how to tell her about Claire.
Not just her. Anyone.
I’d told Court. And that was only because I’d been desperate and pissed off and needed someone with no judgments to get shit-faced with me. It had worked until I’d walked into work the next day, hungover as fuck and irritable.
But I hadn’t told anyone else.
Not my parents, who loved Claire but hated that she’d moved me eight hours north.
Not my new friends at work.
Certainly not Lark.
At first, I hadn’t wanted it to be true. I’d moved for Claire. I’d sacrificed for her. I’d wanted it to work. Just not enough to propose when she wanted me to.
Then I’d stupidly tried to convince myself that maybe it was just a break. She really did just need space. Which meant…we were still together. We were still dating but without having to talk all the time. She’d come back in twelve weeks, and we’d work it out. Things might not be fine now, but they’d get there.
>
Denial.
Straight into anger.
Anger at Claire mostly. For leaving me like that. For waiting until the last possible second to tell me how she had been feeling. For moving me here and then leaving.
It didn’t matter that she had been right. That I hadn’t been into it…us…her. That a certain redhead had started taking up residence in my brain again. That I’d wanted to be at work instead of with Claire at home. That I loved New York City and my new job despite all its problems.
And now…I was pushing Lark away.
There were a million reasons to do it. But none of them felt sufficient when I saw her disappointed face as I brushed her off for lunch…again.
Fuck, I was going to have to tell her.
We were friends. Or we had at least been working toward that before I completely cut her and everyone but Court out of my life. And friends…shared information about their relationships. They explained why they had been acting like a douche for three weeks.
I was not looking forward to this.
Not a bit.
But I drafted the email anyway.
Lark,
I didn’t bring my lunch today. Any interest in going to Buns? I’d kill for a burger right now.
Best,
Sam
I hovered over the Send button. What could go wrong? Aside from everything?
I pressed Enter.
I didn’t know why I expected an immediate answer. When we’d previously had email conversations, she had been almost instantaneous in her responses. But a half hour passed and then another, and still, I heard nothing.
I was halfway out of my chair to go to her damn office and demand an answer when it finally came.
Sam,
A burger sounds nice. Meet in twenty?
—Lark
Good. That was easier than demanding she go to lunch with me. Even if I knew that her hesitancy held weighted meaning.
Twenty minutes later, almost exactly on the dot, Lark was waiting at the front of the office. She stared down at her cell phone, ignoring me and the rest of the world. I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she had likely almost talked herself out of coming.
“Hey,” I said, striding toward her.
She glanced up from her phone. “Oh good. Are you ready to go?”
“Sure. You still want Buns?”
She typed away on her phone, pressed a button, and then shoved it in her bag. “Yeah. I’m always game for burgers.”
“Great. Me too.”
We stepped out of the office and into the busy New York afternoon. She brushed her long red hair off of her shoulders and cursed as she dug around in her bag.
“Ugh, I don’t think I have a hair tie. Why is it so hot already?”
“Because it’s the beginning of June.”
She sighed. “Yeah. And it’s just the start of this.” She fidgeted as we crossed the street. “If I wasn’t on campaign, I’d be lounging at the Hamptons right now.”
“Such a hard life.”
“I chose the hard life.”
“Why did you do it?” I asked curiously. “I know you said you didn’t like working for your parents, but you don’t even need to work, right? Definitely not a hundred-plus-hour weeks. When we were in Madison, you said you did it because you wanted to try to be someone else. But you’re not here. You’re still Larkin St. Vincent while working the campaign job.”
“You can’t escape who you are,” she told me. “But you shouldn’t ignore who you want to become either.”
“Insightful.”
She smiled hesitantly up at me. “After what happened with us…and the person I was at the end of our relationship, I decided I didn’t want to be that person anymore.” She laughed softly. “I gave her a name actually—Bad Lark.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Bad Lark? Really?”
She nodded. “She’s the person I was before I gave up the Upper East Side persona. When I decided that I couldn’t be the person I was if I wanted to be the person I was meant to become.”
“Well, I guess I’m glad to meet Good Lark. Is that what you call yourself?”
She shook her head and nudged me. “No. Don’t be silly. Bad Lark is who I was before. Now, I’m just Lark. So, while I might like to be in the Hamptons, relaxing with a drink in hand—who wouldn’t, right?—I want to elect Leslie more.”
I held the door open for Lark as we entered Buns and put in our order. I thought about all she’d said and how it aligned with what I’d seen of her the last couple of weeks that we’d been working together. I’d spent so long blaming her for what she’d done in the past that I hadn’t seen until just then how much she’d changed. Purposely changed to get beyond the person she’d been at the time. The person I’d thought she’d been with me all along. But now, she wasn’t pretending. There was nothing nefarious about our interactions. She was just…Lark.
I grabbed my burger and sank into our booth in the back corner. She grabbed the seat across from me and dug into her fries.
“God, these are so good,” she groaned. “Greasy and delicious.”
“The best.”
“You know, I’m surprised that you wanted to get lunch,” she said, peering up into my eyes. “I thought you were avoiding me.”
“Oh. I mean, I wasn’t avoiding you.” Lie. “I’ve just been busy.”
“I’m the queen of busy, but things have been weird. I thought we were friends, then we weren’t and now, we are?” she asked tentatively, hopefully.
“Yes,” I said automatically. “We’re friends.”
“And you’re going to stop avoiding me? Because it’s kind of awkward at the office.”
“I am,” I agreed.
I had to tell her. Jesus, I needed to tell her.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “And you’re coming to Court’s charity thing, right?”
“Yes. He told me to get a tuxedo, and so I’m renting one.”
“Wait,” she asked with wide eyes, “you’re renting a tuxedo.”
I shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do?”
She shook her head. “I’ll figure it out. You’ll probably have to go get measured this afternoon if we’re going to get it in time.”
“Are you making me Upper East Side?” I asked with an arched eyebrow.
“You’re going to one of our events. I wouldn’t do this if it was a work thing. But you’ll want to blend in.”
“Is it really that different for guys?”
Her eyes widened again. “If you have to ask that question, then you’ll definitely need my help.”
I laughed and conceded. “Fine. Tell me where to go, and I’ll get measured for a tux.”
“Great. English can thank me later. Oh, also, are you coming in the limo?”
“Court mentioned something about a limo. I didn’t ask questions.”
She rolled her eyes. “Guys. Okay, look, just meet at my place, and you can get the pick-up with me.” She froze as the words left her mouth. “I mean…unless you want to go to Court’s place. Or if you’re…bringing someone.”
She didn’t say Claire’s name. But we both knew that was what she meant.
It was my opening. It was the moment that I should say something.
But what could I even say? Claire and I broke up, and I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to be a rebound? Was that presumptuous? What if she didn’t even want that to happen?
Fuck. I’d thought this would be difficult…but not impossible.
Especially with her gorgeous green eyes staring up at me with questions dancing in her irises. If I told her now, it would make the whole event awkward. We were just finally on solid ground in our friendship. Just finally putting the past behind us at work. Able to have a nice, normal lunch together like colleagues.
And if I told her, I’d ruin this all in some way. If wanting more…would ruin everything. I didn’t even know if it was arrogant to think she even wanted something back.
Fuck.
“Uh…no, no one is coming with me.”
“Oh. Okay,” she said.
“And meeting at your place sounds great.”
“Great. I’ll get you directions for the suit and find out what time the limo will show up.”
“That sounds good.”
She smiled up at me, and I released the tension from my shoulders. I’d tell her after the event. No matter what, I’d tell her. I couldn’t keep it secret forever. And I didn’t even want to. But just not yet. When I knew whether or not this was even something she was interested in again…then I’d tell her.
19
Lark
There was a knock on the door.
I froze from my pacing, checked my reflection in the mirror one more time, and then hastened to open it. I reminded myself for the hundredth time today that this wasn’t a date. There was no risk to my heart. It was just friends getting together to support another friend.
Then I opened the door.
And saw Sam standing in the doorframe in a tailored tuxedo. My mouth went suddenly dry. Cognizant thought fled my brain. I just stared at him.
There was a reason designer clothing was so expensive. It just molded to the body in a way nothing else could. It was the details. The hand-sewn glossy buttons, the shape of those broad shoulders, the silk bow tie. It was everything and nothing. It was the suit that looked so spectacular on him. And also…just Sam. The swipe of his dark hair and easy smile. Something in his eyes that said he’d eat me for dinner and again for breakfast if I was lucky.
“Wow,” he breathed, seemingly unconscious of my blatant ogle.
“Wow is right,” I agreed softly.
“You look beautiful.”
“Oh.” He must have been doing the same thing to me. “Thank you.”
I adjusted the fit of my dark blue silk ballgown. I’d been eating like shit at work, and the gown was just a touch tight on the hips. But it fit like a glove otherwise and made me look like I actually had cleavage. Which was…a total deception.