The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,103
I’ve had a really long night, and I would like to get this over with.”
“Can we do this some other time?” he asked as he pulled the pillow back over his head.
“Does it look like I’m fucking around?”
He peered back up at me. I don’t know what he saw. What degree of not-taking-your-shit was on my face, but he nodded. “Fine.”
I hustled back out of his bedroom, trying to clear the vision of that muscular ass from my mind. I knew he’d take his sweet time. So, I brewed a pot of coffee. Because what I really needed was more caffeine in my system.
He came out fifteen minutes later in a pair of black joggers. He pulled a white T-shirt on over his head as he walked into the living room. His six-pack still visible for the few seconds before the material fell over his stomach.
He tousled his dark hair and quirked a smile at me. “That for me?”
“Here,” I said, handing him a mug of coffee.
“So, what’s this all about?” he asked around a yawn.
I set my empty mug on the counter. “What in the actual fuck were you thinking last night?”
“What do you mean?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You went to an underground gambling ring. The party was raided by the police. You barely made it out in time.”
“Oh…yeah. I mean, I didn’t expect the party to get raided,” he said with a shrug.
“You went to an underground gambling ring!” I cried. “Need I remind you that you were recently arrested with your girlfriend for fraud and grand larceny! That the only reason I was hired was to keep you out of trouble, to show the world a softer side of Court Kensington. So that you don’t ruin your mother’s reelection campaign for mayor of New York?”
“First of all, there were no charges against me. And second, Jane isn’t my girlfriend.”
“She was at the time and literally no one else cares that you weren’t charged. They see you as the trainwreck that doesn’t care about crime. While your mother is tough on crime. If you’d been arrested last night, can you even imagine the consequences?”
Court shrugged. “It would have been fine. You’re blowing the whole thing out of proportion.”
“Am I?” I asked. “I would have lost my job. Lark likely would have lost her job. Your mother would lose the primary run. And you, you’d be right back where you started before you had me. We’d lose all ground.”
“Fine. Whatever. I messed up.” He set the mug down on the coffee table. His blue eyes had shuttered, gone cold. “Can I go back to sleep now?”
“No. You didn’t just fuck up. You royally fucked up. You took the one weekend I was out of town and fucking did this on purpose, Court!”
“I didn’t know…”
“But you didn’t leave either!” I snapped back. “You saw it was illegal and played poker all night. Lark had to drag you out of there and you didn’t even want to leave.”
“Okay. I get it. Fuck, English. I fucked up. Get off of my case.”
“Oh excuse me for being the first person in your life to hold you accountable for your actions,” I ground out.
I knew I was being harsh on him. But he didn’t even fucking care about what it would have done. The problems he could have caused. He was so nonchalant. And I just couldn’t accept his response. It wasn’t enough. There was no change coming from acknowledging he did something wrong. It didn’t fix his behavior.
Court stepped forward. His teeth ground together. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”
“I’m doing my job.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need you to lay into me at eight o’clock in the morning for something that didn’t even happen.” His eyes assessed me as if he could see right through the jet lag and coffee buzz and anger to what was lurking below. “What are you even doing in New York? Aren’t you supposed to be in London with Josh?”
“I came back early.”
“Why?” he demanded. “You were raving about your trip.”
He glanced up and down at me. Judging what was in front of him. Seeing me like I didn’t like anyone to see me.
“Doesn’t fucking matter,” I said, losing some of my edge.
“Why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring?”
“That is none of your business.”
A spark of pity flashed through his cerulean blue irises. “English…”
“Don’t,” I spat. “We’re here to talk about you. And the fucking shit that you pulled while I was gone.