The Lying Season

by K. A. Linde

  My eyes widened. Court had given a million dollars? Holy shit. English must have really talked him into this. I didn’t think he’d ever donated before in his life.

  Court stepped forward, looking every inch the golden boy that English wanted him to be. “Thank you so much, Linda.” He touched her shoulder and gave her the charming smile that won over every woman he came in contact with. “It’s my pleasure to be here today. As many of you know, I played lacrosse, growing up, and even played collegiate lacrosse for Harvard. It’s a sport that I love and believe in. And I don’t think that it should be reserved for the privileged few when it could be enjoyed by all.” He smiled dazzlingly. “That’s why I’m pleased to be here today with Caleb and Jessi to donate to improve these programs. And if you’re so inclined, I suggest you donate today as well. Thank you.”

  The crowd applauded for him. Even I did. It was a good speech. I bet English had written it. She certainly looked pleased with herself.

  Court shook hands and took pictures before striding offstage toward English. They exchanged a few tense words before Court brushed past her in what appeared to be frustration. A determined look crossed her face. I’d seen that before. She used it with other celebrities when she needed to whip them into shape. And she was trying so hard with Court.

  “That was quite a speech,” Sam muttered. “I can’t believe he can just donate a million dollars like that.”

  “What’s a million dollars to someone with a nine-digit trust fund?” I muttered, my mind still following Court and English’s interaction.

  “I can’t imagine that either.”

  I laughed it off. “I don’t think many people can.”

  “You’re so different than you were five years ago.”

  “Yes, I am. But not because of the money. Money doesn’t buy happiness. In fact, most of the people I know who have it are pretty miserable. And I was the happiest on campaign when I was pretending to have next to nothing. So, I don’t think trust funds make a damn difference, except that they can cover up fuckups like Court.”

  “It wasn’t a complaint,” he said evenly.

  I noticed English coming toward me out of the corner of my eye. I knew what that meant. “Oh god.”

  “What?” he asked, seeing where I was looking.

  “English is like…a used car salesman tonight.”

  “Have you ever been in a used car lot?”

  I frowned. “Well, no, but it’s an expression.”

  He laughed softly at my dismay. “I see.”

  “Save me,” I pleaded.

  Our eyes met. I begged him for his help in that look. I knew that I had agreed to go along with English’s plan…sort of. But now, I was tired. I did small talk all day at work. And though I’d had a good time with Danny, I was more curious about what Court had said about Sam. If it was true and what it meant and whether or not I should ever think about it again.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  Finally, he nodded. “Act drunk.”

  I obliged, finishing off my drink and stumbling a little into him with a giggle. “Sorry.”

  He put a hand out to steady me with an amused look on his face. “Looks like someone has had one too many.”

  “Lark, hey,” English said when she approached us. “Oh my god, did you get wasted?”

  I fluttered my eyelashes at her. “I think…Danny might have given me one too many drinks. I lost count.”

  She sighed. “Well, shit.”

  “Yeah, but…I’m fine,” I insisted.

  “You’re not fine. We should probably get you home and sober. But I have to stay here with Court for a little longer.” She bit her lip.

  “I can get her home,” Sam told her.

  “Oh no…”

  “It’s not a problem. We have work tomorrow anyway. I should probably get going or else I’ll be dead in the morning.”

  “Are you sure?” English clearly disapproved but couldn’t say what she was really feeling in front of Sam.

  “Completely.”

  “All right,” she said on a sigh. “Thanks. I’ll owe you one.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said as he slipped his hand around my elbow and directed me toward the exit.

  “Bye, English,” I called out to her.

  She waved with another pointed shake of her head.

  Once we exited the main ballroom, I straightened up with a laugh. “Worked like a charm.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t know if you wanted to leave, but we really do have to get to work in the morning.”

  “This is fine with me,” I told him honestly.

  We hailed a cab to drive us back to my apartment. We were strangely silent on the drive. Not uncomfortable, but just…silent. As if whatever was said next would cause a ripple, and neither of us was willing to be the first one to dip our toe in the water.

  Finally, we stopped outside of my place. I paid the cab, and Sam followed me out.

  “Oh, you can take this one if you want,” I told him.

  He shrugged. “Nah. I’ll just take the subway.”

  “Are you sure? In that suit?” I reached forward and ran a hand down the front of the tuxedo. It was perfection.

  “Oh yeah. I guess I didn’t think about that,” he said with a laugh. He didn’t pull back from my hand. “Not used to clothes this nice. I can grab an Uber or something.”

  “All right.” I hesitated on the threshold to my apartment building. I’d had just enough to drink to feel bold. My hand was still on his suit. I should pull it back. I should walk away. I didn’t. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Were you jealous tonight?” I whispered, looking up at him with a flush on my pale cheeks.

  He froze at the words. And I thought I’d pushed him too far. Asked the wrong question in the middle of our fine evening. But I couldn’t get Court’s words out of my head.

  “Yes,” he said in surrender.

  “Because I was talking to other guys?”

  He nodded once. My fingers curled in on his suit. I shouldn’t. Bad Lark would. She would drag him inside right then and there. But I couldn’t. I had to resist.

  “Why?” I asked, forcing my fingers to release his suit and fall back to my side.

  “You know why.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that I do.”

  He opened his mouth to answer and then closed it. I didn’t think he’d answer at all. He’d just turn around and walk away. But he didn’t.

  Instead, his hands came to my hips. Those long, callous dug into the silk of my dress. A peep escaped me at the feel of him touching me. Really touching me. Like he hadn’t done in so, so long.

  I could barely think, let alone speak, as he walked me two steps backward. My back hit the brick wall of my building. My chest heaved as I glanced up into those depthless eyes. And I saw my mirror in them. Our bodies were pressed tight together. The scrape of the brick against my back was the only thing that reminded me that this wasn’t a dream.

  “Sam,” I breathed. Not sure if I was telling him to stop or not.

  But he didn’t say a word. Not one. As his lips crashed down onto mine.

  I gasped in shock and want and desperation. So much need. My lips parted. His tongue devoured. And every movement, every touch, said, Yes, yes, yes. He tasted like whiskey and smelled like leather and new books and fresh soap. He was pure eroticism to my starved body.

  My hands buried into his dark hair, dragging him closer, kissing him harder. Tasting him, wanting him, needing him. Our bodies knew this dance. We’d performed it many, many times back in Madison. It was like remembered choreography, achingly familiar and full of passion.

  Then, the world crashed back down on me.

  I brought my hands down to his chest and pushed him back from me. Just an inch. Just enough to breathe.

  “I can’t,” I gasped out. “I can’t. It’s not…it’s not fair.”

  Sam dropped his head backward. A sigh escape
d his lips, and he closed his eyes as if he was in pain. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah,” I breathed.

  Then he looked at me again. And there was something else there. “Claire and I broke up.”

  I froze. “Excuse me? When…when did this happen?”

  “You remember when I passed you in the elevator, going to Court’s place?”

  My mind reeled before it caught up. “That was weeks ago!”

  “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded. “Is this why you’ve been acting so strangely at work?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t in a great place after it happened. She went on tour in Europe for twelve weeks and broke up with me the night before she left.”

  “Fuck,” I said. “Harsh.”

  “Yeah. And then…I don’t know. I didn’t…want you to be a rebound. And then it sounded insane and presumptuous in my head that you’d want to be with me. Then we were friends after Buns the other day. I didn’t want to ruin that or the event. So, I promised I’d tell you after the event.”

  “Wait…that’s why you invited me to burgers?”

  “Yeah. I was going to tell you. And then you were so happy and animated. And…I just couldn’t.”

  I stepped away from the wall and held my hand up. There was something like fury coursing through my veins. If he’d come to me when it first happened, I would have been there as a friend. I wouldn’t have expected anything. But this…this was duplicitous. He’d held it back on purpose. He’d made me suffer those weeks, wondering what the hell had happened with us. And he was only telling me now because he had to.

  “Lark,” he muttered.

  “I think you still need time to figure this all out.”

  “That’s not what—”

  “No,” I said, cutting him off. “I don’t want to be used by you to figure out your problems. I won’t ever be that girl. And you shouldn’t treat me that way.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s how it feels.”

  Then I took a deep breath and walked away.

  It wasn’t easy. I wanted Sam to tell me how he was wrong, how he should have told me, and how we could fix this. But I didn’t want to hear it. Not tonight. Not after being made to feel like I was the crazy one the last couple of weeks. Or that I was the bad guy, somehow making him jealous when he was perfectly single and couldn’t even let me know.

  I was done playing games.

  21

  Lark

  I was still mad the next day.

  And the day after that.

  And the day after that.

  Anyone who knew me could probably see that I wasn’t myself. I was just as dedicated, just as on top of things. But there was a fury to my pace. A lack of calm that I’d always exuded, even when I was at my highest anxiety point.

  Demi nodded in front of me. “Got it. I will get right on that.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  “Hey, Lark, is everything all right?”

  “Peachy,” I said with no enthusiasm as I continued to type away on my computer.

  “You seem a little…intense.”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  “Well, yeah. And I mean, you have an crazy job. I just wanted to check on you.”

  I managed a smile that was a bit more like baring my teeth. “I’m fine. Thanks, Demi.”

  It was a dismissal, and I saw her take it with a worried expression on her face. I continued my assault on my keyboard before finally finishing off the memo I needed to send out. I sighed heavily and leaned back in my chair. What the hell was wrong with me? I needed to figure out how to let this go. At least, to let it go at work.

  The problem was…I hadn’t even told English.

  She was living with me, seeing my anxiety-ridden madness, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell her she was right. She’d been right all along. Sam was a bad idea. And if I kept this up, then he’d break my heart like he had the first time.

  “Lark,” Aspen said on the intercom. “Call for you on line one.”

  “Did they say who it was?”

  “Danny Park? Does that sound familiar?”

  In fact, it did.

  I’d completely forgotten that I’d given him my number. I’d been a bit preoccupied with what had happened after I left the party.

  “I got it,” I told Aspen and then pressed the button for line one. “Lark St. Vincent speaking.”

  “Lark,” Danny said with his cool, crisp voice. “It’s Danny…from the party last weekend.”

  “Right. It’s good to hear from you.” Is it?

  “I tried to get your cell, but it kept going to voicemail, and then the voicemail was full.”

  I hit myself in the forehead. I’d forgotten about that. I avoided telemarketer calls like the plague and never answered a number I didn’t recognize. I’d been telling myself that they’d leave a voicemail if it was important. Except…he hadn’t been able to.

  “Sorry about that. How did you track down my office number?”

  “You mentioned that you worked for the mayoral campaign. So, I just called and asked for you. They redirected me to your office.”

  Oh. Obviously.

  “Makes sense. I hate to cut this short, but I am actually heading into a meeting.”

  “Oh, yeah. No problem. How about I call you tonight, and we can talk?”

  “Sure.”

  I could practically feel his smile through the phone. “Great! Well, if you get a call from a 212 number, that’s me.”

  “Got it. I’ll make sure to answer this time,” I said with a breathy laugh.

  “Looking forward to it.”

  We said our good-byes, and then I hung up.

  Except…I had no pressing meeting. I’d just been flushed and flustered that he’d managed to track me down after I didn’t answer. I pulled out my cell and scrolled through the list of missed calls. There did in fact seem to be a handful of missed calls from the same 212 number. I quickly cleared out my voicemail and made a mental note to talk to English about this later. I had a feeling I knew what she’d say. But I needed to lay it all out there.

  By the time eight rolled around, I was exhausted and ready to head out. Aspen had left two hours ago on some kind of errand. I stepped out of my office and almost made it out of the building when I saw him.

  “Hey,” Sam said, appearing out of the shadows.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “Hi.”

  “Can we talk?”

  “I really don’t want to talk right now.”

  “We can’t just avoid this.”

  I shuffled the papers under my arm and hiked up my purse. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

  He winced. Good. “I deserve that. But if we could just talk…”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not ready to talk. And you can wait until I’m ready.”

  “Do you know when that will be?”

  “Nope. I don’t.”

  I took a step away from him. Part of me wanted to fling myself into his arms. The other part was too conflicted to even know what it wanted. It was great that Sam was single. It was not great that he hadn’t been honest with me. Not exactly a foundation to start a relationship on.

  “I just need time,” I told him honestly.

  Then with a pang in my chest, I pushed through the open door and walked out into the windy New York city street beyond.

  “Oh my god, stop! Josh, stop! I can’t,” English called into the phone as I entered my apartment.

  A giant smile was on her face, and she was using her biggest, girliest voice. The one that said she was so disgustingly in love that she was going to burst at the seams.

  Any other day, it would be music to my ears. Right now, it was grating. And I dodged into my room as fast as possible.

  English and Josh were a fucking icon. The most adorable couple in Hollywood. It had to be hard for her to be away from him for this long. For both of them.

  I yawned
and stretched my arms over head and then frowned. “What the fuck?”

  There was a stack of Bergdorf Goodman bags in the corner of my room.

  “Where the hell did you come from?”

  I headed over to the stack and found a purple card resting on top.

  Lark, darling, you looked so good in that Badgley Mischka dress that I took the liberty of purchasing you a few new things for the season. In particular, the Elizabeth Cunningham dress will be perfect for the St. Vincent’s company dinner over Fourth of July weekend.

  * * *

  —HSV

  My mother. I swear.

  I needed to find a way to steal my key back from her. Because I was not cool with her just barging in whenever she wanted and depositing clothes in my fucking room. It was an invasion of privacy. Not to mention another way she was attempting to control me. The gifts she let were only an excuse to get me to a company dinner. I had no plans to run the company. And anyway, I would be working that weekend.

  I just shook my head and shoved the bags into a corner before stripping out of my work clothes. I threw on a black nightgown that was perfect for this heat since it was more of a slip than anything. I tossed my hair up a topknot and then walked back out into the living room.

  English had blessedly finished her call. Though she was still in the afterglow of the conversation.

  She frowned when she saw my expression. “Bad day?”

  “Emergency ice cream,” I told her as I yanked open the freezer and removed a container of chocolate chip cookie dough.

  “Oh dear.”

  I grabbed a spoon and settled on the couch.

  She followed, tucking her legs up underneath her, prepared to hear me out. “So, I’m finally going to find out why you’ve been walking around the apartment like a hurricane.”

  “Sam and I kissed.”

  English’s mouth popped open. “Lark!”

  “Yep. And then he told me that he and Claire had broken up.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Yep. And then he gave all these bullshit excuses for why he hadn’t told me they’d broken up weeks ago. That day when we went to Court’s for the trial run.”