The Hating Season

by Linde, K. A.

  “Can’t we just get drunk and celebrate the victory?” I asked, half a plea.

  “Yes. But first, come with me.”

  I should have protested more.

  There was exactly one reason why walking out of this room and being alone with Court Kensington was a bad idea. And it had something to do with being bent over the couch at his apartment.

  I shivered at the memory.

  “Cold?” he asked as he pushed open a side door that led backstage.

  “No.”

  “I was going to be gallant and give you my jacket.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re not a white knight.”

  He shrugged. “Even villains can be generous.”

  I had nothing to say to that.

  He gestured for me to enter first, which I did despite my better judgment.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  He took my hand and pulled me down the empty hallway.

  “I’ve known Camden my entire life. You think I don’t know his hotels like the back of my hand?”

  “How well do you know the back of your hand?”

  He grinned at me. “You’re cheeky.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Guilty,” he said with a glint of light in his blue irises. He stopped in front of a dark door. “Here we are.”

  “And where is here?”

  He jiggled the door, and when it didn’t immediately open, he pulled out a credit card and swiped the lock.

  “Court! What are you doing?” I gasped. “Isn’t this illegal? Breaking and entering?”

  “My best friend owns the hotel, English. Who is going to press charges?”

  I grumbled under my breath. He had a point. But Jesus Christ, could he go a week without doing something illegal?

  He pushed the door open and flipped the lights. I nervously checked behind me before following him inside. I’d been on enough film sets to know what this room functioned as—a green room.

  I stepped inside, my eyes wide as I took in the space. It was nicer than most of the on-site locations I’d been to. With fancy couches and chairs, a few secluded desks, and a full kitchen. I could see what it would look like when the place was full of creatives, buzzing with people and energy and, most importantly, food. Lots of food.

  “This feels like home,” I admitted.

  “Yeah, it’s mostly film stars and politicians and dignitaries and the like when they have business in the city,” Court said. “I thought you’d like it.”

  “Why?”

  “Okay, I just wanted to get you alone.”

  “Ah. Well, I suppose you’ve succeeded,” I said with a shrug. “And now, we can go.”

  “Come on, English,” he said, reaching for me.

  I sidestepped him. “We have three more months to work together. We have to be professional.”

  “We weren’t the other night.”

  “That was a lapse in judgment. I had never slept with a client before. And I’m never doing it again,” I said as sternly as possible. “I was upset about what had happened with Josh, and I took it out on you.”

  “I didn’t really mind.”

  “Yeah… I might have noticed that.”

  He stepped closer to me. My breathing hitched. There was something in just that small movement as he got into my personal space, and I looked up into those baby blues. Fuck.

  “I don’t think you minded either.” His fingers brushed a stray hair out of my face.

  I swatted him away from me and took a step back. I rasped in a sharp breath that felt like I’d just been dunked in a bucket of ice water.

  “Be serious,” I said.

  “Be a little less serious. We had a good time. Let’s do it again.”

  “So, that’s why you brought me back here.” I’d already known that. I’d come anyway. But now that I was here, I couldn’t do it.

  “Don’t act like you don’t want it, English. I know that you do.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I snapped back.

  “Sure I do.”

  “Okay. What’s my middle name?” I laughed. “What’s my first?”

  “Anna,” he purred, stepping forward.

  I shivered again at the way he’d said my name. My first name. No one called me Anna. Not my parents or my boss or my friends. Just people who didn’t know me. And now, apparently, Court Kensington.

  His eyes assessed my reaction though. “Anna,” he said again, drawing out the word like a caress. “See, I know the important things. Like that little whimper you make when my tongue touches your clit. Or…”

  I held up a hand and swallowed. “I get it. But… no. I don’t want that.”

  “You’re such a good liar,” he said, tilting his head as he examined me. “I almost believe you.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “How often do you lie a day?”

  Too many. My entire job was lying to people. I couldn’t even get through a meal without lying to someone.

  “I’m convincing people you’re a good person. How often do you think?”

  He laughed. “Enough.”

  “But I’m not lying about this.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  But he didn’t believe me. Fuck, I was a good liar, but I didn’t even believe me. Fucking Court Kensington had been the most amazing high I’d ever been on… and I had grown up in Hollywood.

  He stepped closer. “Do you want to have sex with me again?”

  “No,” I lied.

  Court laughed. “Lie. I’m getting better at detecting them. Did you have a good time when we fucked?”

  I gritted my teeth. “If I say yes, will it make your head bigger?”

  “Can it get any bigger?”

  I snorted. “Now, that is something I know. It cannot.”

  “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me then?”

  “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been busy.”

  “Another lie, Anna.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “Look, you might have a lot of one-night stands. You probably fucked around the whole time you were with Jane. From what I hear, you two weren’t even that serious. This is all your MO. I get it. But this isn’t me,” I said with a shrug.

  Court took a step back. Something in his face shuttered. As if my words had hit home, and his fun, lighthearted, drunken persona evaporated.

  “Okay. Yeah, fine. Don’t want to compromise your integrity,” he drawled. Somehow, he’d reverted into that Upper East Side prick I’d first met.

  “I… yeah,” I said, off guard.

  “No problem.”

  “Court, are you taking this seriously?”

  “If that’s what you want, English,” he said, a bite on my name, “then fine. We can be professional.”

  And suddenly, I felt as if I wasn’t on solid footing. I didn’t like the way he’d said my name. I didn’t like the way he’d somehow flipped it around. As if I was the person doing something wrong.

  But before I could say anything, he wrenched the door open and walked through it. Leaving me alone in the green room, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

  10

  English

  I still had no clue what had happened that day in the green room. But I must have gotten through to Court because he’d been nothing if not professional from that moment on. Stiff and unyielding like he’d never been before that. I’d take that over the possibility of sleeping with him again.

  We were on a schedule now. I’d agreed to help Winnie out with any of her New York City clients if she needed them. And thankfully, that kept me busier now that Court was mostly out of the water. We still had events planned in the upcoming months, but I’d taken a step back. The press had worked in our favor. Moving too fast wouldn’t garner more favor. It would just look desperate.

  Kind of like this fucking shark in front of me.

  “Hour’s up,” I ground out as my alarm went off.

  “I feel like w
e just got started,” Mandy said with a grin.

  I hated that I’d had to agree to do this interview to get that picture of me and Court taken down. Of course, the picture of us together had run for less than an hour and had gone viral. Because nothing was ever much removed from the internet.

  I pressed the button on her recorder. I knew all the tricks. I’d employed them myself.

  “Have a good day,” I said, standing and reaching for my purse.

  “I’m surprised, you know.”

  I frowned and ignored her. I wouldn’t rise to the bait.

  “That you’re sleeping with Court. That he’s just a ‘client.’ ” Mandy put quotes around the word.

  I glanced down, wondering where the second recorder was. I glared back at her. “I said, one hour. We talked about Josh. We’re through.”

  She laughed and held her hands up. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

  “Can’t I?” I asked.

  “Nice doing business with you.”

  I gritted my teeth as I ventured out of her office and out onto the Manhattan streets. I hailed a cab and felt like I hadn’t breathed the entire time I was inside. The interview had gone well. Well enough at least.

  I knew how to control the situation, but I wasn’t used to being the one answering questions. At least, not unless I answered them for clients. I’d almost thought that I should have Winnie out here for this. But it felt ridiculous. I was more than capable. I just wasn’t… objective about Josh like I was about the douchebags who fucked around on my clients or vice versa.

  I probably should have told Josh that I was doing the interview. It’d have been the considerate thing to do. Speaking to the press was taboo. I doubted he ever considered that I’d do it. But… it hadn’t actually been for me. It was to protect Court. He was a client, and that picture could do lasting damage to the campaign, which was the whole reason I’d been hired.

  I needed to shake the interview off. I had another one planned in Greenwich Village. And unfortunately, it was going to be even worse than the one with Mandy.

  This one was with my sister.

  Taylor English sat with her back to the rest of the coffee shop. Not smart or anything I’d ever do, but I could pick her out by her long black-to-blue-tipped hair that was gently curled at the ends. She looked like she fit in at The New School with a sketchbook open on the table and another notebook opened that she was scribbling notes into. She had three half-finished cups of tea—because she didn’t drink coffee—and a small scone. I was sure it was vegan. She’d picked that up a few years ago after doing an art project on slaughterhouses.

  I ordered a latte and then headed to her table.

  “Hey, Tay,” I said, managing a smile as I plopped into the seat opposite her.

  “Oh,” she said, looking up at me. “Hi, Anna.”

  “How’s school going?”

  Taylor made an indistinct noise. “I don’t know. It’s only the second week. We’ve just been going over the syllabus in every class.”

  “Right. I remember those days. So… this is just… recreational?” I gestured to her notebooks.

  She slammed the sketchbook closed and shoved it into her messenger bag. “It’s nothing.”

  “Okay,” I said, frustrated. This was how it always went with Taylor.

  “So, like, did Dad send you to check on me?” Taylor asked. Her ice-blue eyes mirrored mine even if she looked nothing like me otherwise.

  “Yeah, so? I’m here.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “That’s good because I have enough people to babysit and only one sister.”

  She wrinkled her pert nose. “Oh yeah, your clients.”

  It came out as a sneer. She wanted to offend me. So, I was purposely not offended.

  “Yep. Always pretty busy at work.”

  “I don’t know how you even work there.”

  We’d had this conversation before. My dad hated my job, too. It had clearly rubbed off on Taylor. I didn’t need to justify it to them. But it would be nice for someone in my family to be proud of what I’d accomplished.

  “Pretty easy. I’m good at cleaning up messes.”

  “Just not in your own life,” Taylor quipped.

  I nearly bit right back at her. But it was true. Look at Josh. We were in the midst of a divorce. Meanwhile, he was trying to drag me through the wringer because he didn’t want the divorce. And then there was Court, which I had no idea how to fix or if we even needed to be fixed. Plus, my family… which, as much as I’d tried, I had never been able to figure out.

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.”

  “You know I don’t need you checking in on me.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, don’t bother,” Taylor said huffily.

  “All right,” I said. “I do care though, Taylor. I’m not just here because of Dad.”

  “This is supposed to be my new start,” Taylor said with a sigh. “I don’t need anything to make me different here.”

  I glanced around the coffee shop. Everyone looked a little different here. A little less Hollywood, a little more New York City. Dark and haunted and tortured. Angsty, edgy, and artistic. The darkness to my light. I’d always fit in in LA. Maybe a little too well. But New York seemed to favor Taylor. I understood wanting to fit in.

  Then my gaze snagged on the TV. A face appeared that I recognized—Jane Devney.

  Court’s ex-girlfriend and her Upper East Side alias. Her real name was Janine Lehmann, and she was a dual German-French citizen who had stolen more money than God from banks all over the world. All with the force of her personality. She had conned Court for two years while they dated and stolen I didn’t even know how much money from his trust fund.

  The very reason that I had been hired to help Court’s image.

  I leaned forward to read what was scrolling across the bottom of the news channel.

  Jane Devney, pseudonym to Janine Lehmann, refuses a plea deal and pleads not guilty to charges of grand larceny and fraud. A court date has been set for December 10.

  “Fuck,” I spat, jumping to my feet.

  “What?” Taylor asked. She turned to look at the television. “What’s going on?”

  “I have to go.”

  “Go? Where are you going?”

  “Work,” I said, grasping my bag. “I have to get back uptown. We could meet up again… later.”

  Taylor rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother. I know that work comes first.”

  And it did. It had to.

  “Maybe you’ll understand one day. Maybe you won’t,” I said with raised eyebrows. “Enjoy school. Keep your head down.”

  “Whatever.”

  I wished there were a way to make this better between us. But it certainly couldn’t happen over forced coffee. And it wouldn’t happen when I had to deal with Court first. He was the priority. No matter what was going on with Taylor.

  I dashed into the first cab, stealing it from another couple who yelled at me. But my need was great. I called Court and texted and called again. He never answered. I knew he was out with Gavin for their weekly lunch, which mostly consisted of drinking. But he should have his phone on him. The last thing I wanted was for someone to ask him about Jane without him knowing about it, without me talking with him first.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I murmured. I leaned forward. “Can we go any faster? I can pay.”

  The woman shrugged and turned down the next alley. Soon, we were zipping through the streets. She drove like a maniac, but right now, that was what I needed. I felt frantic. It was the worst time of day for me to be in Greenwich Village when I needed to be in Midtown.

  It was an interminable amount of time before the cab screeched to a halt in front of the St. Regis. Thankfully, Court had a routine, and he lunched here every Wednesday. King Cole Bar was a staple for the business types. Dorset & King, the oil company Gavin ran in the city, had their New York headquarters nearby. Occasionally, they went to The Mark or Casa L
ever, but I remembered Court had said something about St. Regis, and I was betting on it since he hadn’t fucking returned my call.

  I walked through the lobby and straight into the restaurant and bar, bypassing the receptionist, who looked put out.

  “Excuse me, miss. Can I help you? Do you have a reservation? Are you meeting someone?” she asked, hustling behind me.

  “No. I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Then, I continued forward as she followed me. Everyone looked alike here. So many two-thousand-dollar business suits and musky cologne. Don Draper from Mad Men could have stepped straight into this place. There was not a single other female. It was disorienting.

  Then, I found Court sitting opposite Gavin. They had dirty martinis in front of them. Gavin laughed at whatever Court had just said. There were four other men with them, who I’d never met before. Though one of them looked familiar. I couldn’t place him though. Robert something?

  I inhaled and then exhaled. At least I wore a sensible black dress and heels. I couldn’t appear frazzled to these men. They ate that for breakfast.

  Gavin’s cunning eyes saw me first. He ran a hand back through his reddish brown hair and then jumped up. “English, love!”

  “Gavin King.” I winked at him. “Just look at you.”

  Court whipped around. His eyes narrowed in confusion. I hadn’t interrupted his guy time like this since I investigated his monthly poker game with Camden.

  Gavin stepped around the table and drew me into a hug. “To what do we owe the pleasure? You look smoking hot. Has anyone told you that today?”

  I laughed. “Actually, no, they haven’t.”

  “I’m not saying that I’m happy that you’ll soon be single,” he said with a wink. “But… when you’re ready to date, you know who to ask.”

  “Is that right?”

  Court’s frown deepened. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Gavin smacked Court’s arm. “Fucking manners, Kensington. Shouldn’t we introduce her around?”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” I said, all business. “I’m just here to steal Court away from you all.”

  “Why?” Court asked suspiciously.

  “When a beautiful woman asks to steal you, you don’t ask why,” Gavin said with a laugh.