The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,15

had left ten minutes earlier with the promise of seeing me bright and early to manage setup. I shut down my computer, stuffed everything I would need for tomorrow in my bag, and then stepped out into the hallway. I half-expected Sam not to be there and that I’d imagined the bizarre emails we’d sent back and forth that morning.

But no. He was there, waiting for me.

I forced my eyes to remain on his face and not examine the gorgeous body wrapped in a suit that fit him like a glove. The Sam I’d known never even owned a suit. He’d come straight off three years of construction work with his father and joined Woodhouse’s campaign to try to find purpose before applying for law schools. He wore blue jeans and flannel button-ups. His hair was always a little too long, falling into his eyes. He drove this ancient pickup truck that I swore was going to fall apart at any moment. I’d insisted we drive the Subaru I’d convinced my parents was a low-key alternative for Wisconsin winters.

Somewhere underneath the new facade was the same old country boy who had tried and failed to hide his Southern drawl. Who had carved me a lark with his own two hands and given it to me as a present when he found out my birthday was coming up. I still didn’t know where he’d found the time.

I wished that I could reconcile that thoughtful and endearing man with the one who had left me…and the one standing in front of me.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said with a half-smile.

I have.

I shook it off. “Burgers?”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Have you been to Buns before?”

“Yeah. Once or twice,” I said, falling into step beside him as we exited the office. “The best part of the city is that everything is open late. There’s always something to eat on the campaign schedule.”

“I’ve noticed that. Not like Madison, where we essentially had three choices.”

“Three excellent choices though.”

“True enough. I still have dreams about Pel’meni’s dumplings.”

I groaned. “Me too. You’d think I could find Russian dumplings that compared. But nothing is like Paul’s.”

“At least it’s not just me.”

We crossed the street and headed north toward Buns. Sam held the door open for me, and I stepped into the brightly lit burger joint. I ordered my burger. No mustard indeed. I was quick to grab a water and pay for mine before sinking into a booth in the corner.

Sam dropped down across from me with his own water, and our burgers appeared a few minutes later.

I would have thought after all the back and forth between us, this wouldn’t be comfortable. That somehow, it would be awkward. He’d ditched me at the club. And then I’d tried to blow him off today in our emails. But this actually felt exactly right. We’d done just this every night for nearly a year in Madison. Some activities were just ingrained with certain people.

I polished off my burger in record speed. “God, I just realized I haven’t eaten in, like, twelve hours.”

“You? I’m shocked.”

“I sometimes just forget food when I’m this intensely focused.”

He frowned and nodded. “I remember.”

Silence stretched between us for the first time. Sam seemed to be stalling. I didn’t know what he needed to tell me. But I wanted him to just say it.

“So…you wanted to talk to me?” I nudged him.

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

He glanced up and met my gaze. And it was then that I knew something was wrong. Seriously wrong.

“Just tell me.” My stomach churned.

“I have a girlfriend,” he said in a rush.

My stomach dropped entirely out of my body. “What?”

“I was trying to keep my professional and personal life separate.”

“You failed,” I spat.

A flush suffused my features. I knew my freckles were making it all the worse. I was angry and ashamed and humiliated.

No wonder he’d run out on me at the club.

We’d almost kissed. We were inches away. He’d expected a guys’ night out, and he’d gotten me instead.

And still…he hadn’t told me then about the mysterious girlfriend. How convenient.

Sam nodded with a deep frown. He dug through his bag and pulled out the paperwork that Aspen had handed out this morning to everyone who would be working at the fundraising banquet. He flipped to the second page and pointed at a name—New York City Symphony Orchestra.

“She’s in this orchestra,” Sam said with a pained expression. “She’s going to be at the banquet