Cruel Desire

by K. A. Linde

  “Marital strife?” I asked with an arched eyebrow.

  He responded by taking another long pull on his cigar.

  “I suppose you knew the woman you decided to marry.” I took a seat across from him. “She’s a tad bit headstrong.”

  Camden’s eyes flickered to mine. “A tad bit headstrong? That’s how you would describe Katherine Van Pelt?”

  A smile crooked my features. “Or the most headstrong woman I have ever met.”

  “Person you have ever met,” he corrected.

  “Eh. I’ve met you.”

  “Well, you didn’t show up early to discuss my obstinate wife, I presume.”

  “I did not. Though we could continue if you’d like. Perhaps you could tell me why you decided to get her to marry you,” I said with a grin, knowing he had no intention of ever explaining himself.

  “Perhaps,” he said with a wry look. “Though I think you are here about the woman you took to Robert Dawson’s party. You know when I told you to go out and get pussy, I didn’t mean a new complication.”

  “You know how I am,” I said. “Always making things complicated.”

  “True enough.” Camden assessed me. “Let me guess… it didn’t feel like just fucking with English.”

  I shrugged noncommittally. “It didn’t.”

  “It should have.”

  “Yeah, well, she made it seem like that’s all it was. Said that we were just rebound and that we’d end poorly.”

  “She’s right,” Camden said evenly. “I mean… this is just a rebound. And if you don’t think it will end badly for you, you’re delusional, Kensington.”

  I hated when Camden was right. Especially when he agreed with English. It wasn’t that I thought we were suddenly going to start dating and all would be well. But having her there had felt nice. It had felt different than before. Like she had seen beyond the bullshit mask I wore. Except that she hadn’t. She’d seen me exactly how everyone else had. So, maybe I was just fooling myself.

  “Fuck her all you want,” Camden said. “But you know that’s where it ends. If it’s good sex, then have some good sex and draw a line in the sand.”

  “I think we’re past that,” I told him. “I might have thrown her clothes at her and told her to get the fuck out of my apartment after she insinuated that I cheated on Jane.”

  A laugh cracked Camden’s dour demeanor. “Fuck, Court. You sure have a way with women.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “Want my advice?”

  I frowned. “Not really.”

  “Tough shit. You’re getting it anyway.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” I asked with a shake of my head.

  “Anna English is in the middle of a divorce. She’s about as fucked up as you are right now. What you need is someone… easy. Someone who will be a fun flirtation, who you can dabble with, but nothing serious. Find the hottest woman you can with little to no baggage and move on.”

  I nodded absentmindedly. Camden’s suggestion made sense. English and I were both fucked up. I still hadn’t escaped what Jane had done. And who the fuck knew when or even if she’d ever recover from Josh cheating on her? Thinking about anything more than a good fuck with her was emotional suicide. It’d be smarter to forget about her.

  Camden didn’t need a response. We knew each other well enough to know when the conversation was over.

  We were in the middle of a game of pool when Gavin and Sam showed up for the poker night.

  “Brought along a stray,” Gavin boasted.

  And then Robert Dawson appeared at the entrance as well.

  I glanced at Camden. He didn’t like surprises. But he didn’t seem to be bothered by Robert’s appearance. Which either meant that Gavin had run it by him or Camden had something else up his sleeve, like usual.

  “Hey, man,” I said, shaking Robert’s hand. “Good to see you again.”

  “You too. I was honored to get the invite.” Robert moved and took Camden’s hand next.

  Gavin reached for my hand. “So, your brother is having a wedding reception and no wedding. What the fuck is that about?”

  “He eloped,” I said with a shrug. “Penn kind of does whatever the fuck he wants. And gets away with it.”

  “Lucky bastard,” Gavin muttered. “If I eloped, my family might literally kill me, raise me from the dead, and kill me again.”

  Sam chuckled. “Can your family raise people from the dead?”

  “It’s that Texas oil money,” I said. “They can do anything.”

  “It’s true,” Gavin agreed.

  We sat down at the table, and Camden began to shuffle the decks together. I poured drinks like a professional bartender before sliding into my seat at the end of the table, next to Robert. I side-eyed Sam as he shuffled poker chips like he was on the fucking World Series of Poker. I still couldn’t believe how bad he’d hustled us the first time I’d all but dragged him along.

  “So, Court, where did you meet your new girl?” Robert asked, taking a sip of his old-fashioned.

  Gavin perked up. “New girl?”

  “What?” Sam chirped, his chips spilling in surprise.

  I carefully glanced up at Camden, who looked unfazed, before turning to Gavin. “What do you mean?”

  Robert seemed to read the room. “The woman you showed up with last week. Anna?”

  “English?” Gavin gasped. “You’re with English?”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Sam said. He slapped his hand down on the table. “Since when?”

  “I’m not with English,” I told them all. “It’s a simple misunderstanding. When we went to Robert’s party together, I didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. So, I didn’t correct you when you said we were together.” I shrugged, all nonchalant. “She’s my publicist.”

  Robert’s eyes widened. “Oh fuck, I had no idea.”

  Gavin sat back in his seat. “Fuck, that is way less interesting.”

  Sam just narrowed his eyes. He didn’t believe me. And I could hardly blame him.

  “Does that mean English is fair game?” Robert asked with a sly smile. “Because she’s super hot.”

  Gavin snorted. “As if you’d have a chance with Anna English.”

  “No,” Camden said abruptly, silencing the lot of them. “English isn’t fair game.”

  He didn’t meet my eyes. But I knew why he’d said it. And I was grateful. Even if I’d just decided to put the whole thing behind us.

  “All right,” Robert said after a minute. “Let’s deal some cards then.”

  “Yes. Let’s,” I said.

  It would be a good distraction from the rest of this conversation.

  19

  English

  I’d had every intention of talking to Court over the weekend. But Winnie had sent Max Henson, one of her A-list clients, my way, and I’d played babysitter the whole time. It had been bad before Max realized that I was married to Josh. Then, it had gone straight to miserable.

  I still couldn’t decide if it was worse that Max kept trying to convince me that Josh was a good guy and people just “made mistakes” or the number of times Max tried to get in my pants. Either way, I’d handled him. He hadn’t botched his round of interviews for his movie. And he was off his merry way, back to LA, where he could be Winnie’s problem again.

  But now that Court was working, I saw him a lot less. I suddenly had free days like crazy. And I needed to talk to him.

  I knew that, every Monday, he got off work at three and went with Camden to this traditional gentlemen’s club. I’d assumed it was a strip club until I’d looked it up. Apparently, it was this super-snooty aristocratic social club that favored Ivy League educations and bank accounts in the nine- to ten-digit range.

  The likelihood that I could get into this place was basically zero. But I’d shown up anyway in the hopes that they would send for him or some bullshit. Since I didn’t want to interrupt his work and I didn’t think just waltzing into his apartment was a good idea. All
things considered.

  But after a solid thirty-minute wait outside the gentlemen’s club, it wasn’t Court that appeared. It was Camden.

  “English,” he said with a hard, steady gaze and next to no kindness in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to see Court.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “He isn’t here.”

  “He’s been coming here every Monday for a month,” I told him.

  “I can assure you that Court has not nor has he ever come here on a Monday afternoon. He doesn’t actually care about keeping up connections or appearances,” he said stiffly.

  “If he’s not here, then where the hell is he every Monday? This is what’s on his calendar.”

  Camden just stared at me. “How should I know?”

  A bad feeling settled into the pit of my stomach. Why would Court lie about what he was doing? Was he seeing another woman? It would make sense based on his past actions. But he had said that he hadn’t been with anyone else. He had no reason to lie about that. But still… I was uneasy.

  “I don’t know. You’re his best friend.”

  “And you’re his publicist.”

  I was. And I had somehow managed to lose my client.

  “Well, thanks, Camden,” I said, putting on my best publicist voice and smiling at him. “I appreciate your help.”

  “Was I helpful?”

  “I know he’s not here. That’s more than I knew before.”

  Camden took a step forward. He was so domineering. A power unto himself. An asshole, but to get to the position that he was in, he likely had to be. “Be careful, English.”

  A shiver trailed down my back. It sounded more like a threat than anything. “Careful with what?”

  He shrugged. “You tell me.”

  So… he knew.

  Court had told him.

  Was he saying that I should be careful with my heart because Court would break it? Or something more sinister?

  “I don’t know,” I finally said. “But… I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “You do that.” He stepped back. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me. You interrupted a meeting.”

  Then, he walked into the club without a backward glanced. Leaving me to feel chilled and uncomfortable. Camden Percy was slightly terrifying.

  I strode away from the entrance to the gentlemen’s club and paced the sidewalk. How the hell was I going to find out where Court was? And what would I find when I did? I couldn’t stop imagining him with another woman, and despite it all, it made my stomach turn.

  I scrolled through the calendar, checking over the last couple of Mondays. Nothing unusual. They all said they’d be here. He’d even said that. He’d lied to me, even when he claimed to hate lying. But… why?

  Another thought hit me. When Court had started working at Kensington Corporation, I’d hired a full-time car service for him. Before, he’d been content to get around with cabs or on foot, but with the job, it looked good for him to have the car.

  And that car service came with an app. Its main function was like Uber or Lyft. You could flag your service down, see where the car was parked, communicate with the driver, and the like. I had the app as well as Court so that I could call the car for him. I’d used the same thing with other clients on occasion and found it convenient.

  Well, I hadn’t thought about using it as a GPS before.

  I pulled up the app, expecting to see the car parked on the Upper East Side in front of an apartment building or something. But instead, it was parked on the Upper West near Central Park.

  “Weird,” I muttered to myself and then flagged a cab down to take me to the car.

  It was a half-hour trek to get to the car’s location on my phone. I was certain that it would move, and I’d have to follow it around through the city. But no. It was exactly where the app said it would be, parked harmlessly in front of a bagel shop.

  I paid my cab and strode over to the car. I rapped on the window twice. The driver rolled his window down.

  His eyes rounded in surprise. “You’re… English, right?”

  “That’d be me,” I said with a smile. “I’m here for Court. Can you point me in the right direction?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He stepped out of the vehicle and gestured in front of him. “One block up into Central Park, and then he’s on the third field on the left.”

  The third field? What the hell?

  He must have seen my confusion. “Do you want me to walk you?”

  “No. That’s quite all right. Thank you.”

  “No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I will.”

  I headed across Central Park West toward the fields inside the park. I regretted my heels and lack of jacket as I hustled through the tree-lined trails. It opened up onto an array of fields—soccer, kick ball, lacrosse, baseball. They were all completely packed. A few games were going on, but mostly, it looked like practice.

  The driver had said the third field. So, I headed that way and stopped before I reached the field. My eyes couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing.

  It was a lacrosse field with several dozen upper-elementary-school-aged kids running drills. They all wore matching red-and-white T-shirts and shorts with helmets and gloves and sticks. Most of them were drenched in sweat but appeared to be both deep in concentration and having the time of their lives.

  None of that was unusual.

  What was out of place… was the coach.

  I recognized him from a hundred yards off.

  Court Kensington coached youth lacrosse.

  My jaw dropped open at the sight of him. He looked hot as fuck out there in red shorts and a white T-shirt. A whistle dangled from his neck, and he had a stick in his hand, demonstrating some move that I had no hope of imagining its purpose. I’d never seen anyone play lacrosse. It was a rich white guy sport. But the way Court handled that stick made me wonder why I’d never given it a chance.

  My mouth went dry. I was staring. Surely, he would be able to feel my eyes drilling into the back of his head.

  But he never looked up. His full attention was on the team of boys learning the sport that he’d played all through college. In fact, it was the very sport that I’d made him donate a shit-ton of money to when we first started working together.

  My eyes scanned the logo on their shirt. It was the same recreation team. He’d funded the team. And now, he coached them.

  How had this happened? How had he kept this from me? Why had he kept this from me?

  Surely, he could see how good this would look to the press.

  And then I realized that was why he hadn’t told me. He didn’t want it in the press. It wasn’t about him. It was about the kids and the love of the sport. Court Kensington had a heart.

  I had completely misjudged him.

  He wasn’t who I’d thought he was at all.

  I slowly backed away. As much as I wanted to watch him coach those boys, I knew he wanted this all to himself for a reason. And I wouldn’t be the one to take this away from him.

  20

  English

  As I slipped into my black cocktail dress for Penn and Natalie’s wedding reception tonight, my stomach twisted with doubt. I hadn’t gone to see Court. We hadn’t discussed what I’d seen. Or the assumptions I had made about him.

  I kept wanting to do it. To tell him that I was wrong about what I’d said to him. Not that he’d given me an indication that he was in someway a different sort of person than he presented to anyone else. And it was unfair for him to place all the blame on me for not seeing past his facade. But I should have.

  That was part of my job. To see my client for who they were and work toward a mutual, beneficial outcome. But I’d been blind to that. My research had all indicated that Court Kensington was a hellish playboy with no ambition and a streak of stupidity to which he never had consequences.

  Now, I didn’t know.

  I’d spent the time apart, reconsidering the
persona he’d crafted. I still had no idea why he let people believe that he was a grade A jackass who fucked anything that walked. But that clearly was not who he was. Or who he no longer was. One or the other. I wasn’t sure which.

  And so, I’d done my job. I’d worked with him the last week through text. Perfectly professional. All the while knowing it was leading to tonight, where I’d finally see him.

  I wanted answers. And there was something stirring my chest. Maybe… hope. Hope that we could talk this out and figure out what to do from here.

  Hope was a dangerous emotion.

  It gave me anxiety.

  But I still finished the waves in my hair and the smoky-eye makeup I’d perfected at a young age and called a cab to take me to The Plaza.

  I was not at all surprised that Court and Penn’s mother had insisted on a wedding reception at The Plaza. It seemed like something an Upper East Side mother would do. Something Lark’s mom would do if she let her. Which seemed unlikely.

  I’d gone to the Oscars, Emmys, Tonys, and a dozen various music award ceremonies, and I’d never felt like more of a fraud than as I stepped out on a red carpet for a fucking wedding reception. There were photographers waiting outside to take pictures of all the elite guests. And then there was me.

  I handed my invitation over at the entrance and was ushered inside with the rest of the Upper East Side. I wasn’t here to make sure some A-list celeb didn’t forget their speech. I was here on my own merits. Somehow, it felt worse. More of a sham. There, I’d had a purpose. Here… I felt adrift.

  As soon as I entered, I went in search of the Upper East Siders I did know. Preferably Lark. But I couldn’t see to find her, and the room was packed. It seemed that they had invited every person they knew.

  To my surprise, Whitley was the first person I recognized. Her petite, pixie frame was clad in a silver dress that only brought out her recently dyed dark red hair.