The Hating Season

by Linde, K. A.

  “Yeah,” I said softly.

  “When do you move back?” Ashley asked.

  “Um…actually, I’m not sure. That was…part of why I was here,” I said, taking a sip to clear the cotton in my throat. “Josh and I are getting a divorce.”

  Ashley’s jaw dropped open. “What? Why?”

  My dad just stared at me. As if…he’d guessed all along that it would come to this.

  I stared right back at him. “I found out that he was sleeping with someone else. And I don’t suffer cheaters.”

  He had the decency to wince slightly at the words.

  “How awful!” Ashley said. She pulled me into a hug and dragged me over to the couch. “I am so sorry. Tell me everything. You must be a mess.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was powwow with anyone about the demise of my relationship. But Ashley was sincere, and she wouldn’t tell anyone. So, I divested myself of the information. Let her coo over me like the mom I’d always wanted. Then after I drained my Coke, I made my excuses and got the hell out of there.

  My breaths came out unevenly when I was behind the wheel. This time had been worse. So much worse. My dad was exactly the same, and no one saw it but me. Worse yet, Taylor would be in New York. I was not looking forward to having my recently graduated baby sister in the city. Or the promise I’d made to look after her.

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, after driving through fucking horrendous traffic, I parked in front of Poise PR. I’d signed up with Poise the minute I graduated from law school at Columbia. When I’d gotten my film degree, I’d thought that I wanted to be a director. But then quickly realized that held no sway with me and decided I’d get a JD and become a film agent. After interning with a very well-known agency the two summers of law school, I realized that wasn’t what I was interested in either.

  Then one of my friends from film school, Lanie, landed a lead role in a small movie. She came to me, sobbing, because they were pushing her around. I went in with all the overconfidence and bluster I could muster and got everything she wanted and more. Lanie was my first client. And I’d brought her with me to Poise when I decided being a publicist was as natural as breathing.

  She was probably going to kill me if she found out I was in LA and didn’t see her.

  But the City of Angels felt like it was stocked full of demons tonight. And I wanted out as soon as possible.

  I beelined for my office. I wanted to grab a few things before I saw my boss, Margery. She had started as a receptionist at another well-known agency, worked her way up to partner, and then left to start her own agency. She had been working in the industry for thirty years and was a bit terrifying.

  “Knock, knock,” a voice said, stepping into my office.

  “Winnie,” I crooned. “You look as amazing as ever.”

  And she did.

  Winnie was my closest friend in the agency. She was taller than me with perfect black locks and light-brown skin. She’d grown up in London; she was of Indian descent and had the most incredible accent. She was also a total basket case, cutthroat, and did whatever it took to get ahead.

  She reached forward and grasped my hands. “Fuck yes. Look at you, English. Please tell me you’re back. Already, that city has sucked the life right out of you.”

  “I’m just pale,” I said with a laugh. “Life has not been sucked out of me. I have a meeting with Margery.”

  “About coming back?”

  “No. I still intend to stay through November.”

  “Aren’t you bored with just one client?”

  “If you met Court Kensington, you’d know that boy can keep you busy.”

  Winnie winked. “Tell me all about it.”

  I frowned. “Not like that.”

  “Oh right, the rules,” Winnie said with an eye roll. “I think everyone should bone at least one client. Knocks your superiority down a peg.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration,” I said, playfully nudging her.

  This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. It likely wouldn’t be the last either.

  Because I wasn’t interested in Court. We’d just almost kissed. But we hadn’t. And it wasn’t ever going to happen. Never, ever.

  “Okay, on to Margery I go.”

  “Is this about the pictures?” Winnie asked.

  I narrowed my eyes in confusion. “What pictures?”

  Winnie frowned. “Oh god. Tell me you’ve checked your phone today. That you saw TMZ.”

  “I…I haven’t. I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

  TMZ was publicist gold. The goal, of course, was to make sure nothing showed up there that you hadn’t sold to them on purpose. But sometimes, things slipped through the cracks.

  I pulled up the tabloid, and Winnie leaned forward to look over my shoulder.

  A gasp escaped my lips. “No.”

  It was Josh and Celeste. Naked. In bed.

  “Fuck!”

  3

  Court

  Camden laughed so hard that I thought he was going to fall over. “She actually put you on lockdown? That woman has got some balls.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  He just laughed harder. “Come on. It’s hilarious. You’re a grown-ass man, and your publicist thinks you’re so fucked up that she won’t let you leave the house.”

  “I didn’t even fucking do anything.”

  I snatched up a bottle of his best whiskey and poured myself a double. English had told me not to leave, but I wasn’t taking her shit. It wasn’t like Camden’s penthouse in Percy Tower was a den of debauchery. Or at least, not one that was going to make it into any papers.

  “You did get arrested,” Camden said with a shrug, taking a hit off a joint.

  “Fuck that, man. I didn’t know what the fuck Jane was doing.”

  “Maybe you should have paid attention.”

  “To what?” I asked. “Jane seemed like every other girl on the Upper East Side, except that she was unique and interesting. She had money. She had ambitions. She didn’t care how obnoxious I was or about any of my bad habits. She didn’t even ask me to fund her stupid club. I fucking offered.”

  “Maybe you should care less,” Camden suggested with a straight face.

  “Like you?” I asked. “If we’re bringing up Jane and the arrest, should we discuss your wife?”

  His eyes narrowed. “No.”

  Camden and Katherine had entered an arranged marriage about a year ago. Half the time, I thought he hated her, and half the time, I thought he was insanely in love with her. With Camden, it was hard to tell where his head was. His life was business, business, business. Running one of the most successful and lucrative hotel chains in the country sure helped that.

  “I didn’t think so.” I plopped into a seat adjacent to him and sipped on my whiskey. “She just drives me up the wall.”

  “Then fire her,” Camden said with a shrug.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I didn’t hire her.”

  “So? You’re the one allowing yourself to be subjected to this.”

  I sighed. “She’s just doing her job.”

  “It sounds like she stepped over a line.”

  God, how I wished she had.

  How had I fucking misinterpreted her reaction so completely? I’d almost kissed her. Almost reached across that divide between publicist and client. I hadn’t even wanted to. It had just been instinct. Which was fucking insane because I hadn’t touched another girl since the night Jane was arrested. The first person shouldn’t be fucking Anna English. That made no sense.

  “This whole thing is just…stupid.” I held my hand out for the joint.

  He passed it to me, and I took a hit.

  “What’s stupid is not letting her do her job if it’s working. Is it working?”

  I shrugged and made another pull. “I guess.”

  “Then stop fucking complaining. And don’t fucking take the whole thing. That’s the good shit.”

 
; I laughed and passed it back to him, feeling a little more relaxed. “I’m only complaining because this lockdown is bullshit.”

  Camden stretched his legs and stepped up to the pool table. He racked the balls and set the cue down. He picked up his lucky stick, rolled chalk across the top, and then aimed.

  “Solids or stripes?” he asked.

  I swallowed the last of my drink and stepped over. “Stripes.”

  “Strippers it is,” he said with a chuckle as he hit the cue ball with perfect accuracy.

  The balls cracked together and then exploded around the green felt table. Three went in, and Camden smiled his typical competitive smile. The one that said I’d better fucking win, or I’ll end you. I knew it well.

  “You know what you need, Court?” Camden asked, stepping up to the cue again.

  “I think you’re going to tell me.”

  “You need to get laid.”

  “I am shocked to hear you say that,” I drawled, laying the sarcasm on thick.

  He pocketed the ball and then smirked at me. “I know you. You haven’t fucked anyone since Jane.”

  “So?”

  “And you were actually faithful to her.”

  “Some people see that as a good thing,” I reminded him.

  “How many people would even believe that you were faithful to her?” Camden asked as he pocketed another ball.

  I was beginning to wonder if I’d even get a chance to play the game.

  “Likely no one.”

  I’d carefully cultivated that appearance. I didn’t want anyone to think I cared about anything too much. I’d learned that caring usually ended up backfiring in my face. And look, it had happened with Jane, too.

  “So, you haven’t had any other pussy in what…two years?”

  Camden missed the next ball, and I sighed. Thank fuck.

  “Two-ish years. Sure,” I said.

  Even though I could give him the exact date Jane and I’d first fucked and everything else went out the window. I might be known as a Manhattan playboy, a giant train wreck, and the Kensington fuckup. In fact, I was all of those things. Or at least, I had been for most of my life.

  But I’d thought Jane was endgame. You treated endgame differently than the other girls.

  Turned out, I had been wrong. And her endgame was just prison.

  “It’s time.”

  I dropped the first ball into the pocket with ease. “Maybe.”

  “You’re letting your publicist get to you. Weed and good whiskey aren’t even calming your bitching,” Camden said with a raised eyebrow. “You’re Court Kensington. How hard is it to find a willing supplicant?”

  Too easy.

  Always had been.

  The Kensington charm that won my mother elections and had made my dipshit father so good at business got me whatever woman I wanted. All it took was a deep look into their eyes and a pointed smile.

  It was how everything had ever been in my life. My name opened doors. I got everything I ever wanted, including the economics degree from Harvard. Who cared if I only went there for lacrosse when the Kensington name was on the building and I charmed my way through the classes?

  I was that asshole. The rich, entitled fuck. And I’d never cared a day in my life.

  Until the day I’d been arrested.

  The day I found out that Jane had just been using me. That her smiles and charm had used and hurt me the way I’d used and hurt so many others.

  “Ah, I know that look. You don’t want just anyone,” Camden said.

  I whiffed the next ball. “Fuck.”

  Camden chuckled as I slammed the stick back into place and waited for him to clean the table. I dragged my phone out of my pocket to check my messages. Maybe Camden had a point. Maybe it was time to move on. I knew a few people who might take the edge off. None that I wanted long-term, but…still…

  A text waited for me from my buddy, Gavin King, our friend from college who ran the New York division of an oil empire, Dorset & King.

  Holy fuck! Bro, did you see the pictures posted on TMZ? Isn’t that English’s guy?

  I furrowed my brow and clicked on the link he’d provided. “Oh fuck!”

  Camden glanced up from the pool table. “What?”

  I slid the phone across the table to him. “Look at what Gavin just sent me.”

  He picked up the phone and scrolled through the photos. “She’s hot. Why are we looking at porn?”

  “That’s not porn. That’s Josh Hutch and Celeste Gammon on the set of the latest Bourne movie.”

  “So?”

  “That’s English’s husband.”

  “Oh,” Camden said. His gaze swept the photos another time. “Not for long, I’d guess.”

  “Yeah. Fuck.” I clenched my hands into fists. “Fuck! I was such a dick to her. And she was dealing with this shit.”

  Camden handed me back the phone. “So? Why do you care?”

  “I don’t.”

  Camden smirked. “Okay.”

  Fuck, why did I care?

  4

  English

  “No. No. Put that over there,” I said, directing the movers.

  “English, where do you want this box labeled Miscellaneous Closet?” my best friend, Lark, asked from the other room.

  “Uh, I have no idea. Just my bedroom is fine. I’ll go through it.”

  Lark wiped her hands on her pants and came back into the living room. “You know, this really isn’t that much stuff.”

  “I know. I didn’t take everything. I figured I would buy all-new furniture and decorations. I didn’t want to take anything that reminded me of him.”

  “Makes sense,” she said. “Glad we could get the moving done early so that I could be here for you before work.”

  “Me too.”

  Lark and I had met in law school at Columbia. She worked on the reelection campaign for Court’s mom, Mayor Leslie Kensington. She was the one to recommend me to be Court’s publicist after his arrest this summer. It had been great, living with her, but it was time to get my own place.

  “Thank fuck the movers finally showed up,” I told her. “I thought I would be living in your apartment forever.”

  “Hey! You love my apartment.”

  I laughed. “I do. But I felt like a third wheel since Sam moved in.”

  “Ugh! I never want you to feel like that.”

  “It’s fine. I’m happy for you and Sam. That you two worked things out. It was time for me to move out anyway.” I shot her a sad smile. “I just wish that it wasn’t this apartment.”

  “Yeah,” Lark said softly. “At least you and Josh never lived here together.”

  “No, instead, he just bought me this apartment out of guilt. I’m living in my husband’s multimillion-dollar guilt gift. I don’t know if it’s better or worse.”

  “Ugh. I hate this for you. Why did Josh have to be such a dick?”

  “If I knew the answer to that, then I would probably be out of a job.”

  Lark laughed. “True. I mean, we could sell the place.”

  “I thought about that. But I don’t even know how that would work. It would be complicated.”

  I ran a hand back through my blonde hair and stared around at the mostly bare apartment. I’d fallen in love with it the moment Josh suggested it. All the natural light and the perfect floor plan. The New York City life I’d always wanted to live. And he’d known that.

  “We could get you another place. You don’t have to live here,” Lark said.

  “I know, but I want to. It’s like I’m in Friends with this giant, unrealistic New York apartment.”

  “This is a lot bigger than the apartment in Friends.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a laugh, “but it’s a dream come true. Asshole knew that.”

  “Damn boys. Can’t they be thoughtful when it’s just for good?”

  “Right?” I cracked a smile. “Anyway, I like that I’m only a few floors up from you. I don’t want to move
.”

  “I don’t want you to move either. Selfishly.”

  I stared around at the bright apartment, wondering if staying meant that I was giving in. Giving Josh just another outlet to me. If I would be stronger if I decided to get my own place, somewhere he’d never touched before. But everything was so fucked right now. The last thing I wanted was to move again. To have to go through the process of locating a place that I liked when everything else was in upheaval.

  “Maybe we should go out tonight. Get your mind off of it,” Lark suggested.

  “You can’t do that,” I said. “The campaign…”

  Lark cringed. “I know. We’re so close to the primary, and I’m working crazy hours, but I’d do it for you.”

  “Let’s just do it after,” I said even though going out with my girls sounded nicer than staying in or going to see Court.

  I still didn’t know what to make of what had happened last time I saw him. I kept meaning to bring it up to Lark, but it got stuck on my tongue like peanut butter.

  “No. You need it now. I can sacrifice sleep for one night,” she said around a yawn.

  I shook my head at her. “You have a complex.”

  “God, I know,” Lark said with a laugh. “I have to get in to the office. Just text Whitley and Katherine, and we’ll meet at Sparks. I’m sure Katherine can get us a booth.”

  “I bet she can.”

  “I’ll see you later!”

  “Bye, Lark.”

  She exited the penthouse, and I gazed around at the collection of boxes. I knew that I should text Court. I’d put him on lockdown. It was… unnecessary, but my head had been in the wrong place. I wasn’t going to apologize. I just needed to figure out where we should go from here. What we should do to help his reputation leading to the primary next week.

  But if I were being honest, I didn’t want to see him. Or have that conversation. I’d rather spend the day unpacking all of these boxes than face Court Kensington.

  * * *

  I canceled on my girls three times that day.