P.S. I Hate You

by Winter Renshaw

  She hangs on his arm, smiling and chatting, not a care in the world, and I can’t help but wonder if she knows what kind of man he is. How he’s ruthless and conniving, selfish and egocentric.

  And I would know.

  Because it takes one to know one.

  Approaching the bar, I sidle up beside him. “Had no idea you were coming tonight.”

  Especially considering the fact that this gala is affiliated with our political party, of which the Harringtons do not belong.

  Surely someone sent him an invitation by mistake.

  “Hunter, I’m going to be right back,” Mary Kate says, her Southern burr thick as molasses.

  The second she’s gone, he turns to me. “How’s Rowan?”

  I roll my eyes, refusing to answer his question because it’s none of his goddamn business.

  “Secondhand was never my thing,” he says, leaning closer. “Glad it doesn’t bother you.”

  I know Hunter had her first. I know he enjoyed her first. I know she loved him first.

  But right now, none of that matters.

  Ordering two glasses of champagne, I pretend Hunter is as invisible as he deserves to be, and I head back to my girl.

  Only by the time I turn the corner and pass through a vacant hall near the restrooms, I realize I have company.

  “Oh, hey, Keir. Before I forget. Was going to ask you …” he says, his thin lips drawing into a mischievous smirk. “How’s my dick taste?”

  Before I realize what’s happening, I find my hands around his neck. He’s gurgling, his face turning a mottled shade of purple, and his back is pressed against the wall.

  I let him go before someone sees us, and when I glance down, I find the champagne flutes shattered on the floor, the golden liquid covering our shoes.

  “Jesus Christ.” Hunter is gasping, his hands protecting his neck as he tries to catch his breath. “You could’ve killed me.”

  “Should’ve,” I say. “I should’ve killed you. But you’re not fucking worth it.”

  Staring into Hunter’s familiar green eyes, all the memories I’ve tried to forget come rushing to the surface. At nineteen, Hunter was my freshman roommate at Dartmouth. My best friend. We hit it off immediately despite our fathers having campaigned against one another for governor of New York because we got each other. We were cut from the same cloth.

  He wasn’t my blood brother, obviously, but I was closer to him than I’d ever been to my own.

  And then came Nicolette.

  A nineteen-year old’s wet dream, my chem lab partner, and the girl I planned on taking for my own.

  Hunter knew.

  He knew I saw her first. He knew how badly I wanted her. He’d even offered to be my wingman—not that I needed one.

  I’d only been seeing her a couple of months when he stole her out from under me. Coming back early from class to find your girlfriend and your roommate fucking on your bed is a moment that’s forever sketched into my memory, though most of the time I do a damn good job at pretending it isn’t.

  I waited until Nicolette was dressed and scrambling out the door before I kicked his ass.

  We’ve been enemies ever since.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if he came here tonight just to fuck with me. Or to see Rowan. Maybe even both.

  Hunter finally catches his breath, and he points a shaking finger at me. “I know what you’re doing. I know you’re announcing soon. And I know you’re using her. You think the Aldridges will help you win.”

  “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I scoff at him.

  “I know more than you think I do. People talk around here. Word gets out. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Exhaling, I think about all those “researchers” Connor hired to help track down Rowan and dig up everything they possibly could about her. It’s possible, then, that one of them slipped up and said something. I guess non-disclosure agreements are nothing more than a piece of meaningless paper to asshole poly sci interns who think they’re smart enough to never get caught.

  Fuck.

  “You’ll keep your fucking mouth shut about whatever it is you think you know.” I spit my words at him, and I’m beginning to see red.

  “Or what?” There’s an evil glint in his eyes.

  If he only knew what I was capable of. The connections I have. The strings I could pull. If he only knew the depths I’m willing to go to to secure the things my heart desires … and right now that’s Rowan.

  The click of heels on tile and the whoosh of the ladies’ room door opening and closing forces us to halt our conversation. An older woman with white, cotton-candy hair and a powder blue dress bedazzled in a million sequins gives us each a curious stare before continuing on her way.

  “You do anything to hurt her, I’ll kill you,” Hunter says, confirming exactly what I suspected all along. He still has feelings for her.

  “I knew it,” I say. “You still want her, and it drives you insane to see her happy. With me.”

  “You don’t deserve her,” he says.

  “And you do?” I chuff, shaking my head. “You dumped her, Hunter. You kicked her aside so you could publicize some scam engagement and use your future father-in-law to fund your campaign.”

  “Guess nothing’s changed,” Hunter says. “We’re still the same, you and me.”

  I’m about to point out our vast differences when his gaze flicks over my shoulder and his expression falls.

  Turning, I see Mary Kate standing next to a marble console with an elaborate floral arrangement, her eyes wide and glassy, her expression crestfallen.

  “Shit,” Hunter says under his breath. “Mary Kate …”

  He goes to her, but she maneuvers around me and ducks into the ladies’ room. I’m guessing she heard everything. And I’m guessing by this time tomorrow, the wedding will be called off.

  “The fuck are you smirking about?” Hunter’s words cut through the hallway, and when I turn to look at him, I see the pathetic red mug of a desperate man who’s about to lose it all.

  He lost Rowan.

  He lost Mary Kate, which means he’ll lose the funding for his campaign.

  And now he’s going to lose the election.

  Wearing a satisfied smirk, I return to the bar to grab two fresh flutes of champagne.

  It may be a little premature, but I feel the urge to celebrate my impending victory.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Rowan

  “Took you long enough.” I tease him as he hands me a glass of champagne, the crisp bubbles popping as they float to the surface.

  “Ran into an old friend,” he tells me. “We got to reminiscing. I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” I run a palm down his lapel, smoothing the thick ebony fabric. “I don’t think I told you how handsome you look tonight.”

  “Aren’t I this handsome every night?”

  I wrinkle my nose and stick out my tongue for a brief moment. “So arrogant.”

  “Always.”

  “I need to run to the ladies’ room for a second. Hold my drink?” I hand him my flute. “I won’t be long.”

  Gliding across the ballroom, cutting between dignitaries and pseudo-familiar famous faces and political heavyweights, I manage to find the restroom, only when the door swings open and I step inside, I’m surprised to find a yet another familiar face.

  Mary Kate.

  I’ve only ever seen her in photographs, only ever read about her in interviews, but it’s her.

  Which means Hunter is here, too.

  Her back is to me, but I see her reflection in the mirror, and as I move closer, I can tell she’s been crying. A crumpled tissue rests in her hand, covered in traces of black mascara. The tip of her pointed nose is red and her pristine complexion is flushed.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says with a Georgian drawl. The fact that she would apologize to me for crying says a lot about her.

  She’s probably a sweet girl, and as much as I want to
loathe her, I really can’t. None of this is her fault. Hunter played us both. I bet she doesn’t even know I exist. I always wondered why it was so important to him that our relationship keep a low profile.

  Now I know.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  Her lips tremble as she tries to smile. “Yes? No.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t want to bother you.” She dabs at a fat tear sliding down her cheek.

  She seems sweet, endearing. Not what I expected at all.

  Hunter doesn’t deserve someone this nice.

  Hell, he didn’t deserve me either. It just took me a while to realize it.

  “Talk to me.” I take the spot on the counter beside her, dress, heels, and everything.

  “I overheard a conversation between my fiancé and another man,” she says, her breath jagged as she pauses. “He admitted he has feelings for another girl, and that our engagement was nothing more than a way to benefit his senate campaign.”

  Jesus.

  So that’s why he dumped me and went back to his ex.

  I hand her a fresh tissue from a nearby box. “Sounds like a prick. You should consider yourself lucky. Imagine spending the rest of your life with someone like that?”

  “It’s just … you think you know someone,” she says. “We’d been together since high school. We even stayed together in college, doing the whole long-distance thing. Anyway, you don’t need to hear all this. I’m just trying to wrap my head around how I could fall in love with someone and not even truly know them.”

  Her words resonate in more ways than one, but I try not to focus on my own problems.

  Mary Kate’s life just fell apart at the seams, and right now, I’m all she’s got.

  “I should’ve known better,” she said. “My Mama always said there are two kinds of men you never want to fall in love with. Car salesmen because they’re professional liars. And politicians because they rarely make a promise they can keep.”

  “Listen, you’re going to be fine,” I say, resting my hand over hers. “Whoever he was, he doesn’t deserve you. Will you do something for me?”

  Her eyes study mine. “Sure.”

  “Will you walk out of here with your head held high?” I ask. “And promise yourself that you will never let him darken your doorstep ever again?”

  Mary Kate offers a slow nod. “Yes. I promise.”

  “Thank you.” I give her a hug because she looks like she needs one, and she squeezes me tight.

  “No,” she says, offering a weary smile. “Thank you. Whoever you are.”

  I know now that Hunter had never mentioned me to her, that I wasn’t important enough to him. I imagine she has no idea we’d been seeing each other, that we’d spent hundreds of nights in each other’s arms.

  I was just some girl to keep his bed warm.

  He was always planning to go back to her.

  I meant nothing.

  And just like that, the jagged chunk of my heart that refused to let go of him … does.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Keir

  “Run into an old friend?” I ask when she returns, handing her flute back.

  “There was a girl crying in the restroom,” she says. “I had to console her.”

  Mary Kate.

  “Let’s make rounds, shall we?” I ask, downing the rest of my champagne before leaning into her ear. “I’d like to get out of here while the night’s still young. You slinking around here in that dress and knowing I can’t touch you the way I want to is driving me fucking insane.”

  Her chin tucks and her mouth slips into a smirk.

  Rowan slips her hand into the bend of my elbow, and I lead her into the crowd. The ballroom is filling by the minute, guests still arriving, and the jazz band in the corner is playing some Frank Sinatra tune.

  Everywhere we go, people stare, and I don’t blame them.

  We look incredible together, but it isn’t just our outward appearance. It’s everything. We just mesh. We fit. She gets me. I get her.

  “I want to introduce you to someone,” I tell her, squeezing her hand as we approach a bald man in a dark gray suit. “Senator Harvey.”

  The senator turns, his eyes landing on Rowan first then lifting to me, and when he recognizes me, he extends his hand, grinning wide.

  “Keir,” he says. “It’s been a long time. Look at you.”

  “Rowan, I’d like you to meet Senator Bill Harvey,” I say. “He was one of my most influential professors at Dartmouth. Now he’s influencing millions. Congratulations on passing that reform bill last year. I know what a labor of love that was for you.”

  He rolls back on his heels, nodding. “Almost lost hope for a second, but it pulled through at the last minute. How have you been? How are things going for you?”

  I glance at Rowan before answering. “Never better.”

  And I mean it.

  Rising on the balls of his feet, he makes eye contact with someone in the distance. “Looks like my wife is trying to flag me down, Keir. It was nice talking to you. And great meeting you, Rowan.”

  Moving on, I take her from senator to representative to ambassador to billionaire benefactor, all of this serving two purposes.

  Primarily, I want these people to feel comfortable supporting me once I announce my candidacy, and in order for them to feel comfortable, I want them to see that I’m getting settled, calming my wild ways. And second, I want Rowan to feel at ease in this world. I want her to feel like a part of it, a part of me. If she stays with me, she’ll need to schmooze and smile and socialize while I get my career off the ground.

  When we’ve spent a solid two hours making our rounds, I call the car around.

  I want to get her home and I want her all to myself.

  I’m done sharing her.

  And tomorrow, when she makes her decision, it better be me. And if it isn’t, I’m going to do everything in my power to change her mind.

  I can’t lose her. I can’t let her go. Not now, not ever.

  I realize tonight, with complete certainty, that I’m falling madly in love with this woman.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Rowan

  It’s still dark when I wake the next morning. Keir’s sheets are tangled around my legs and a sweet soreness lingers between my thighs. Brushing the hair from my face, I slowly climb out of bed and tiptoe across the room, feeling my way toward the dresser until I find my designated drawer.

  Slipping into a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, I quietly head toward the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  I couldn’t sleep last night. With a mind heavy with thoughts and worries, I found it impossible to turn it off. I spent hours playing different scenarios, trying to imagine my life with Keir and my life without.

  When I finish brushing up, I grab an elastic and gather my hair on top of my head before padding back through the bedroom.

  “Where you going?” His groggy voice cuts through the darkness. “What time is it?”

  Moving toward the bed, I take a seat next to him, studying his chiseled outline, illuminated from the sliver of light breaking through his curtains.

  Brushing a strand of dark hair from his forehead, I smile. “I’m running home for a little while. I need to do some laundry and take care of a few things. I’ll be back later.”

  Keir hooks his arm around my waist, pulling me back into bed. “Have you made your decision yet?”

  The fact that this is the first thing he wants to talk about means it must have been weighing on his mind all night too. And I should have known. Last night, he made love to me. He didn’t just fuck me. It was sweet and tender, not rabid and animalistic.

  “I have.” I exhale, my eyes locked on his.

  “And?”

  Pausing, I bite the smile claiming my lips before leaning down to kiss his forehead.

  “I’m not taking the job,” I say, my heart racing. I’d made the decision somewhere around five in the morning,
committing to it. But saying it out loud makes it real, terrifying, exciting.

  Keir sits up, wrapping his arms around me and burying his head into my shoulder. “You have no idea how happy this makes me, Rowan. You won’t regret this. I promise.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Keir

  “You fell for her.” Connor’s eyes drag the length of me Sunday morning as he stands in my kitchen with his hands in his pockets. “I see it in your eyes. You’re all shiny and happy and giddy.”

  I scoff. “I’m not giddy. I don’t get giddy.”

  “There’s something … lighter about you,” he says, walking closer.

  “And your point?”

  He shrugs. “Love looks good on you. I think the people are really going to like this version of you.”

  “You act like I’m a completely different person.”

  “You are.” He leans against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles. “You can’t see it, but I do. It’s my job to study you, to notice these things. And believe me, you’re not the same man you were a couple of months ago.”

  “Anyway.” I grab a bottle of Evian from my refrigerator and text my agents to see if they’re ready for our eight-mile jog.

  “Rumor has it Mary Kate called off the engagement with Hunter,” Connor says, retrieving his phone from his pocket. “Not sure why. Still trying to find out. Guess it doesn’t matter. All it means is that Daddy Winslow won’t be making a deposit into the Bank of Harrington and you’re basically a shoo-in. Not that you weren’t before, but now it’s pretty much a guarantee. Especially with Rowan by your side.”

  I take a swig of water, checking my watch.

  “You know, I was thinking …” Connor says. “We need to find her a job. It doesn’t look good that she’s just floundering aimlessly.”

  I frown. “She’s not floundering aimlessly.”

  “Well, you know. She’s not working. So to the outside world, it looks like she isn’t ambitious or motivated. If we want her to appeal to those female voters, we need her to be more than just a pretty face standing next to you in Lilly Pulitzer dresses.”