The Hating Season (Seasons #2) - K.A.Linde Page 0,39
a bartender stationed at the front. My buzz was already wearing off. Whatever he was serving, I wanted it. It had been one hellish week.
Court pointed at me. “She’ll have a gin and tonic. I’ll take a bourbon and Coke.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Court flashed me a smile. As if it was just another thing that he’d been raised to do. He knew what drink I liked. And he knew to order it for me. I let the protest die on my lips and took the procured gin and tonic.
“You made it!” a man crowed, appearing out of the crowd and clapping Court on the back.
Court turned and grinned at the Hispanic man I’d recognized from lunch the other day. “Robert, good to see you.”
“I just heard about your announcement.” Robert shook his hand. He was handsome with sun-kissed skin and dark hair, almost black, styled in the latest European fashion. He had the air of someone who could talk his way in and out of everything. “Congrats! Now, you’ll get to live the drudgery life like the rest of us.”
Court just laughed. “It was time.”
“It fucking was, man.” His gaze slipped to me. “Now, introduce me to your beautiful woman.”
I opened my mouth to object, but Court was already there. “This is English.”
Robert winked at me as he took my hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Court Kensington is a friend of mine. But he does always find the loveliest woman in the room.”
“Thank you,” I said with a laugh. “I remember you from something. When I saw you at St. Regis, you were Robert something. Just on the tip of my tongue.”
“Ah, yes, next to a Kensington, Robert something is about as good as it gets, isn’t it?” He waved his hand with a flourish. “Robert Dawson, at your service.”
“Dawson! I knew it. I think we met when I was at Columbia. You’re friends with Lark.”
“Indeed, I am. Larkin St. Vincent is one of a kind.” He grinned at us both. “Well, I know most of New York is saying their last hurrah in the Hamptons this weekend, but I think it’ll pick up tonight.”
“Pick up?” I asked softly. “It’s already packed.”
“Robert fancies himself a bit of a Gatsby,” Court said.
Robert grinned at Court. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Kensington.”
Court just shook his head. Suddenly, a buxom woman with a sheet of mahogany hair appeared at his side.
“Hey, Court,” she said with big doe eyes accented with eyeliner.
“Poppy Arlington,” Robert crowed. “You were a maybe on the RSVP list.”
She winked at Robert. “I’d thought that I’d still be on my yacht in the Mediterranean, but I took one too many pills in Ibiza, if you know what I mean.”
“Sent you back to rehab?” Robert asked with a laugh.
“As if I didn’t have anything better to do,” she said with an eye roll. “How have you been, Court? I haven’t seen you around.”
“He’s working at Kensington Corporation again,” Robert interjected.
Court just shrugged and sipped his drink, oblivious or purposely ambivalent to Poppy’s flirtation. “Just busy.”
“Ooh, taking after Daddy,” she cooed. “I like.”
Court’s eyes narrowed at the insinuation. “Poppy, if you’ll excuse us.”
He took my arm and hauled me away from them.
“What was that about?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I like Robert. He’s good people. He went to boarding school in Europe and loves high fashion and elaborate parties. He makes Gavin look tame,” he said with a laugh. “Poppy is just…”
“Aggressive?”
“You could say that.”
We meandered to the edge of the living room that had been converted into a dance floor. I eyed the crowd of people. All so rich and carefree. I needed to drink more to feel like that.
But I drifted back to Court’s side. His eyes were on me. And I tried not to blush at the intensity of his look.
“Why did you let Robert think that we were together?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He stepped forward and drained his drink. “Aren’t we?”
I gulped. “No.”
“We came here together.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
He grinned at me and tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear. “Okay, Anna.”
Anna.
There was that name again. The one that no one ever used unless they didn’t know me. The one he somehow laced with so much desire.
“It’s… it’s English,” I murmured. “Everyone calls me English.”
He shrugged. “I’m not everyone.”
“Court, please,” I whispered, half-rebuke, half-plea.
He laughed gently as if my unease amused him. “Relax. Have a good time. I’d say we’ve both earned it.”