The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,41

as I trotted into the subway and headed back into town. It took a half hour to get to Court’s place. I spent the entire time ignoring Claire’s ever-increasingly desperate text messages and tugging on my hair at the root. I was physically and mentally exhausted. And irritated. And I felt like I wanted to put my fist through something.

None of these were good feelings to have and then talk to Claire. Especially about our supposed “break.” Everyone knew that was just code so that she could go and fuck other dudes in Europe. It had nothing to do with anything else. And I couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t want to deal with any of it.

I just wanted to get to Court’s place and get fucked up with him. Misery loved company.

I slipped past the lingering reporters and pressed the button for Court’s penthouse elevator. Finally, the thing dinged open. I stepped toward it, only to find two people standing in the elevator.

I froze with a frown on my face. The very last person I wanted to see right now was there. I couldn’t deal with that complication at the moment.

“Hey,” I forced out, stepping back to let them get out of the elevator.

“Going to see Court?” she asked with pep in her voice.

“Yep.” I darted into the elevator.

“Try to get him sober for us?” She smiled brightly at me.

And I just did a combination of shaking my head and shrugging. Court sober was the opposite of what I wanted right now. I just wanted oblivion.

“Court does what he wants.”

She looked at me like I had just stepped on a land mine and it might explode any second.

I nodded at her hand still holding the door open. “Are you done?”

Because, god, I needed this to be over.

“Uh, yeah. Are you okay?” Her voice was laced with concern. I couldn’t handle it.

“Fine,” I said, jamming the up button. “Just a long week.”

“Oh…okay.”

Then mercifully, the elevator door closed in her face. I slumped back against the metal container, feeling like a total fucking jackass. Lark probably thought I was crazy. But right now, it was hard to care. Hard to care about anything.

My girlfriend of two years had just dumped me. Something I’d never dreamed would happen. Claire had been so…dependable. But here I was, being forced to face reality. I’d moved to New York for a girl who was taking off at the first opportunity. Now, I had to stay until November, and I had no idea what I wanted anymore.

Part III

The High Road

17

Lark

The campaign office finally quieted down over the next couple of weeks.

English had officially taken the position to work with Court and moved into my guest bedroom for the time being. She spent most of her time dealing with Court, but having her in town was infinitely better than having her clear across the country.

The city was in flux as well. By Memorial Day weekend, the city had emptied of my friends and family as everyone migrated to the Hamptons or Paris for the season. While I was stuck here with the tourists. It was one thing I missed about my old life—getting to jet off to exotic locales whenever I liked. I was basically stuck in the city until November.

Stuck here, dealing with Sam being…strange.

I’d confronted him after how he acted at Court’s apartment, but he’d just smiled and shrugged it off. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. If English hadn’t been there, I would have thought I’d made the whole thing up.

Even though I knew that I hadn’t. I couldn’t possibly have invented the way he had been acting toward me since that night.

I wouldn’t say he had been avoiding me at work because it seemed impossible. The office was too small for that. We had to see each other. My job was to work with all of the head of departments, which meant I worked with Gibbs from legal. Not that it had stopped Sam and I from talking before. But suddenly, all my communication went through Gibbs alone. As if Sam could no longer contact me at all. I’d even asked Gibbs if he’d tightened the reins on intra-office communication.

Negative.

It was just Sam.

“Lark!” Demi said, sashaying past Aspen’s desk to enter my office. “I know you normally stay another couple hours. But one, it’s Memorial Day. So, we shouldn’t even be working at all. And two, a new bar just opened down the street. Which means we must emancipate you