The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,31

my legal pad tucked up under my arm. I needed coffee. I’d barely gotten any sleep last night, and it was already catching up with me. I couldn’t pop over to Coffee Grounds with the media camped out front. So, I’d have to make do with the shitty break-room coffee.

The room was already full of everyone else who had decided on the same thing. There was a line ten people deep, and man, I could not deal with that today. I whirled around to head back to my office and die from exhaustion in peace. But when I got there, I found Aspen missing and Sam leaning against her desk instead.

“Hey,” I said in surprise. “What’s up? And where’s my assistant?”

“I told her to go grab her lunch. That I’d watch her desk.”

My eyes widened. “Oh god.”

He laughed. “It’s only been a few minutes.” He picked up a Coffee Grounds cup from the desk. “I brought you coffee in. She was going to take it to you in the meeting. But hey, now, you’re here.”

I looked at the coffee like a lifeline. “I don’t even want to know how you got in and out of here to bring this to me. I’d die for that coffee right now.”

“I can’t give away all my secrets.” He passed it over to me with a satisfied smile. “I figured after last night…you might need it.”

“You figured correctly.”

“So, what’s the scoop?” he asked, sitting back and sipping his own coffee.

I shrugged. “Court is under house arrest. We’re bringing Jay Neville on for consulting. I’m going to try to hire English to babysit Court. And otherwise, we’re kind of fucked right now.”

“Wait, Court is under house arrest?” he asked. “That doesn’t make sense. He didn’t even do anything.”

“Well, not official house arrest. But he was arrested, and it’s a fucking media circus out there. He can’t leave without making this all worse. So, we’re trying to find someone to deal with him before that happens.”

“Huh. That seems unfair to Court.”

I gave him a I’ve been up for way too long to pity Court look. “He’s fucking the entire campaign right now. If he has to sit in his multimillion-dollar penthouse for a few days, is he really suffering?”

Sam laughed softly. “I suppose not.”

“I appreciate this,” I said, nodding to the drink. “But I should probably get back to work. The world is ending. Didn’t you hear?”

He stood up from Aspen’s desk and nodded. “Ah, well, I think it’ll blow over. Just hang in there.” He headed back toward his own office before saying, “And get some sleep.”

I waved him off with a secret smile and then headed into my office. I would not overanalyze that conversation. I would not think obsessively about him bringing me coffee. I would not think about any of it.

Not even a little.

Okay. Maybe just a little.

13

Sam

Ever since the conversation with Lark, I’d been thinking about how Court Kensington had ended up on an unofficial house arrest. And how ridiculous it was that it was happening. That no one seemed to care that he was a grown-ass man and should deal with his own consequences or not.

But no, everyone was so focused on the campaign. No one was thinking about Court at all. It was their job to think about Leslie and how this would impact her. I seemed to be the only one wondering how Court was holding up.

Which was how I ended up inside an actual fucking elevator that took me up to his literal penthouse overlooking Central Park.

I knew in some abstract way how the uber wealthy lived. Lark had been different when in Madison—living in a one-bedroom apartment, driving a Subaru, and wearing regular brands. So, I hadn’t seen it close up.

Not until today…right this minute.

The elevator dinged on the top floor and slid open to a foyer. It felt pretty surreal to be in an apartment that was nicer than any house I’d ever been in.

“Court?” I called as I stepped out of the elevator.

But no one responded. I crept forward until I found the living room. It was a kind of perfect mix of interior designer meets bachelor pad. Everything was muted and nearly spotless.

Court rounded the corner. He was dressed in dark-wash jeans and a plain gray T-shirt, holding a bottle of bourbon in his hand. “Oh, hey. You made it past the assholes outside.”

“Yeah. I came in the back way, like you suggested.”

“Cool. Drink?”

He didn’t wait for my reply before striding back into