The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,7

but it was looking up.

My eyes strayed to the direction of the legal department. I wanted to go back there and confront Sam right now. Get everything out in the open. But I wouldn’t do it. For one, I had too much work to do. I’d already lost enough time today, and I couldn’t afford any more.

So with a sigh, I backtracked to my office, thanked Aspen for getting me the documents I needed, and barricaded myself inside. The work was slow and tiresome even if I did enjoy it. While I was the deputy campaign manager, my direct boss was the actual campaign manager, Shawn. He was the big-picture guy who controlled access to the mayor and was the last say on basically everything. And we went back and forth all day about the new messaging research that had come in.

Sometime later, a knock sounded on my open door. I couldn’t even remember leaving it open. My head snapped up. I was prepared to tell them I was busy, but then I faltered.

Sam was standing in my doorway.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said with that easy smile. He leaned against the doorframe, taking up nearly the whole damn thing. “How are you doing?”

“Um…I’m kind of busy actually. Did you talk to Aspen?”

“I think she left already.”

“She did?” I asked in surprise.

He laughed. “I think everyone’s left, Lark. It’s late.”

I checked the time and groaned. “How is it almost nine? Christ.”

“Burning the candle at both ends already, I see.”

Sam stepped in the room, uninvited, as if he belonged in the damn place. His steps were even and measured. No rush or hurry to him. As if nothing affected him. Not even me.

“I just have a lot to do,” I told him.

He grabbed a chair, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and sank into it before my desk. He crossed one leg over the other at the ankle and stared back at me. “Don’t you always?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked instead of answering his question.

“I said that we needed to talk.” He shrugged. “It’s later.”

“Right. I guess we should talk.”

I closed my laptop and shut down my desktop as well. Then I stacked the paperwork in front of me into an easy pile for me to work from tomorrow, keeping out the few things I needed Aspen to do. I’d add them to her desk on the way out.

All the while, I avoided Sam’s steady gaze. I didn’t know what he was thinking. Or what he felt about this situation. Technically, I was his boss. Or his boss’s boss. We had history. And as much as I didn’t want to think of him, he was my ex-boyfriend, and we were now working together full-time. I was a professional. I’d told English that I could handle this. But now, sitting in my office with the charged chemistry blistering between us, I was having all sorts of doubts again.

Finally, when the silence was too much to bear, I looked up into those big brown eyes. “When did you move to the city?”

“About a year ago.”

My stomach dropped. A fucking year ago. He’d been here that long…and I’d never known. God, what did I even expect? That he’d rush here to see me? I was delusional. I didn’t even know if I would have wanted that anyway.

“Wow,” I muttered.

“The firm I was working for back in North Carolina transferred me up here,” he continued as if that news wasn’t a gut punch to me. “And then the company folded.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah. When I saw the mayor had a legal spot open, I jumped. Which is how I’m here now. But what about you?”

“What about me?” I asked.

“One campaign. One year. And then you were going to go back to the Upper East Side,” he said almost as an accusation. “How the hell did you end up working for the mayor?”

“Well, I got home after…” I swallowed hard. “After us. And my parents were ready to bring me on board, and so…I did. I worked there for about five or six months. I was miserable. So, I decided I would just work part-time for Leslie. Get my campaign fix.” I held my hands out in front of me. “But I loved it too much. I wanted to make a difference and do what I loved. So, I quit with my parents and came on full-time.”

“Bet your parents loved that.”

“Yeah, they still hate it,” I said, finding myself relaxing with the lull of the conversation. It had always