The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,19

a celebratory drink. You interested?”

I winced. “I would, but I am so beat. I still have to see my parents, which is always super fun.” I rolled my eyes. “I think I’ll have to pass on this one. But have fun.”

“We will. But we’ll miss you,” Demi said, nudging me.

“Next time,” I assured her before stepping back out to go deal with the inevitable.

My parents.

They donated considerable money to Leslie through the company and tried to come to her bigger events. They’d been doing that before I joined the campaign, back when Leslie had been a state senator and a close friend. It would look bad if I didn’t say something. Even though I would rather send Shawn over.

I brushed my hands down the sides of my little black dress and then headed out into the mostly empty ballroom. My mother, Hope St. Vincent, was easy to spot in her floor-length red dress that formed to her curves and the black fur coat draped across her shoulders. My father stood next to her in a sharp, custom-designed, handmade black suit. He worked with a handful of designers each year and had his collection redone to perfection. It made him look effortlessly powerful. They said Alexander St. Vincent was not to be underestimated.

My mother noticed me first. “Larkin, darling!”

“Hello, Mother,” I said, seeing how she very carefully didn’t hug me. She wasn’t affectionate like that. Never had been.

She held me at arm’s length. “That’s one of my dresses!”

Shit! I’d forgotten that I was wearing the clothes she’d picked out. “Uh…yeah,” I stammered. “I like it.”

My mother beamed as if I’d finally done something right in my life. “I knew you would if you just gave it a chance.”

I veered toward my father to avoid responding to my mother’s enthusiasm. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Sweetheart,” my father said. He put his hand on my back and then kissed my cheek. “What a good event this was.”

“Yes,” my mother agreed. “If you did this all the time, I might actually understand why you work here.”

I bit back the cringe. Showing no emotion was better than letting them know how much it got to me that they hated my job. I knew it wasn’t glamorous. I could be doing something much, much flashier than this. I didn’t have a bachelor’s from Brown and a JD from Columbia for nothing. But it just didn’t interest me. And I was done trying to be someone else for my parents. Or anyone for that matter.

“You know, if you enjoy the event-planning side, we could have you work with the STV Foundation,” my father mused. “Our charity always needs a boost. You’d be perfect for the job.”

“What a great idea, Alexander,” my mother said.

I stared between them blankly. So much for just thanking them. Perhaps they’d coordinated this attack. They knew that wasn’t what I wanted.

“Well, thank you. But I’m not the event planner. Our fundraising chair, Demi, did most of the planning work. She’s brilliant. Maybe after the campaign, I could give her your information,” I suggested blithely.

My parents shared a look. The look. Like they were going to move into plan B.

I spoke before they could. “I just wanted to thank you both for coming and for your generous donation to the mayor’s campaign. It’s donations like yours that keep this campaign running and put the mayor in a position to help the people of New York City. We can’t thank you enough,” I said as if reading from a script. “If you have anything to discuss with the mayor, feel free to reach out.”

“Larkin,” my mother said with a tired sigh.

I kept my smile painted on. “Again, thank you. The campaign will be in touch!”

And even though I knew I was supposed to be sucking up to them, I just couldn’t do it tonight. Not after the week I’d had. So, I turned around and headed out of the ballroom. I’d probably hear about it later, but right now, it just felt really damn good.

A smile returned to my features by the time I made it to the nearly empty back room to grab my purse. Shawn stepped in just then.

“What are you grinning about?” he asked with his own smile plastered on his face. He got like this after events. Like he was on top of the world even though, a few minutes ago, he’d been a stress and anxiety-ridden mess.

“Just happy about how well the event went.”

“Yes!” he said, holding his fist out. I awkwardly bumped