Home > The Hating Season (Seasons #2)

The Hating Season (Seasons #2)
Author: K.A.Linde







“And action,” the director called on set.

The entire set went silent. I held my breath as my husband, Josh Hutch, stalked forward with all the command he had in his body. His costar Celeste followed behind him, clad in some torn, skimpy outfit, holding a gun. His suit coat was barely draped over her shoulders.

My husband was the newest Jason Bourne, and I couldn’t have been prouder. When I’d taken the job in New York City to work for Court Kensington—the train wreck bad boy whose image I’d been working to clean up—my biggest regret was that I wouldn’t get to see Josh act in this movie while on set in London. He was a natural. Born for this moment. I had a film degree from UCLA, but anyone could see it.

Thankfully, we’d figured a weekend that would work after Court’s mother won her primary bid for reelection for the mayor of New York. So, here I was, in London. A city I adored with the man I’d been with for the last five years.


And the breath went out of the room.

Noise came back. Everyone moved again.

The director hopped up from her seat and stepped onto the set. “The chemistry is all wrong here. What is going on?” she demanded in frustration. Whatever she said next was spoken soft and urgent with Josh and Celeste.

This was going to be a minute. When directors got going, nothing ever stopped them.

I turned away from the display and fought back a yawn. Josh and I hadn’t slept much last night. We hadn’t seen each other in months. So, it had been expected. But it made it hard to stand around and do nothing. Not to mention, I hadn’t yet adjusted to the time difference.

With a sigh, I headed toward the snack table. I plucked out a bag of almonds and poured myself a coffee. It wasn’t half as good as the stuff in New York that I had gotten used to, but it would keep me awake. That was all that mattered. I leaned back against the table and waited for everything to get going again. There were clusters of crew standing together all over the place, waiting just like I was. It was part of my job as a publicist to be able to read a room, and even through my sleep deprivation, something felt off.

I continued sipping my coffee, wondering what was going on when I caught the beginning of a conversation nearby. Someone who clearly did not want to be eavesdropped on. My ears perked up.

“Yeah, that’s his wife,” the first person said.

“No wonder they suck today,” said the second voice.

“Yep,” the first one continued. “We were doing just fine on set until she showed up.”

I clenched my jaw. How was I doing anything? I’d only been on set for a few hours. Josh hadn’t even looked at me. I wasn’t a distraction.

“It’ll be better when she’s gone.”

“Yeah, so he and Celeste can start banging again,” the second voice said with a laugh.

My body turned to stone. My heart stopped beating. I clenched the coffee so hard in my hand, some of it spilled over the lip and onto the floor.

“I kind of feel bad for her,” the first voice said.

“Yeah, I mean, they’re not even good at hiding it.”

I couldn’t have heard them right. Josh and Celeste were… not together. There… there was no way he would do that. Not to me. We’d been together for five years. Three of those years, we’d been married. He had never even looked at another woman. Let alone fucked one! Why would he have even made time for me to come out here if that were the case?

No. No, I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it.

Suddenly, the room went silent again. The director was in her chair. Josh and Celeste moved back into place. I watched their body language like a hawk. Celeste laughed at something he’d said. She reached out and touched the collar of his shirt, straightening it. She was clearly familiar with him. But Josh stepped out of her touch just as quickly.

Had he done that because I was here? Or was this some fabrication by the crew to explain their on-screen chemistry?

I watched the next take and tried to see for myself that it was there. That they’d slept together. But… it just wasn’t.

As soon as the director yelled, “Cut,” and called for a lunch break, Josh immediately darted away from Celeste and ran right for me.

Still, the accusation lay there like a brick in my stomach.

I had to address this. I had to know.

“Hey, babe!” he said, leaning down to give me a kiss.

I turned my face at the last moment, and he kissed my cheek.

Fire burned in my veins. Fear. This was fear. I knew what cheaters were like. My dad was a prime example. Josh knew all about that. He wouldn’t do this to me.

I searched his eyes. Those kind and caring baby blues I’d fallen in love with. The man of my dreams.

“Can we talk?” I asked, trying to keep the hitch out of my voice.

His brow furrowed. “Sure. We have an hour for lunch. Let’s get out of here.”

He tried to sling his arm over my shoulders, but I stepped out of his embrace. “We should talk before lunch.”


I took his arm and drew him away from the filmmaker and crew and stagehands. I needed to be alone with him. I needed to know.

We walked back to his trailer, and it wasn’t until we were in the small room full of recycled air that I spoke, “Are you sleeping with Celeste?”

“What?” he gasped.

“Tell me the truth.”

“English, how could you even ask me that?” He reached out and took my hands in his. He looked bereft without his wedding ring on. I knew it was for the film, but it didn’t make me feel any better. “I love you, honey.”

“You haven’t answered me,” I told him, pulling my hands back.

“No,” he said automatically. “Of course not. No. Celeste and I work together. What you saw back there was just on-screen chemistry.” He gestured to the stage. “It’s not real. You know that.”

“I do. But the crew said…”

“What did they say?” he asked.

“They said that you two were off today because I was here. That you and Celeste were sleeping together. Fuck, they said they felt bad for me.”

Fresh tears rose to my eyes, and I choked on the final words. I wanted to be the strong celebrity publicist who could take on the world with one fierce glare. But this was my life. My life falling apart.

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