Beckett King was a monumental pain in the ass.

It was his fault Samara Mallick was standing in the middle of enemy territory, trying to bolster her defenses before she walked through the door to his office, just like it was his fault she’d lost half a dozen accounts and contracts over the last few years. The man was a force of nature, and he never did what she expected, which made it impossible to counter his moves.

Probably shouldn’t have slept with him, then.

Shut up.

She had a job to do, and the longer she took to do it, the later her night would run. She smoothed down her skirt and marched through the door before she could stall any longer. She let the door close softly behind her, taking in the tastefully decorated room. The corner office windows overlooked the Houston skyline, much higher up than Samara’s office was, and the general color scheme was stainless steel and pale gray. A single glance at the shiny desk was all she needed to confirm that Beckett didn’t spend much time behind it.

The man himself sat on the small couch arranged in the sitting area on the other side of the room, his head in his hands. His dark hair was longer than she’d seen it last, and he wore a faded gray T-shirt and jeans. Probably came straight here from the airport. His broad shoulders rose and fell in what must have been a deep sigh.

The reason for this evening visit came crashing home. Beckett’s father is dead.

She shifted, her heel clicking against the marble floor, and Beckett raised his head. He caught sight of her and stood, his expression guarded. A reminder of how this encounter was going to go. We’re not friends. We’re not even friendly acquaintances. His mouth went tight, as if he could hear her thoughts. “Figures that my aunt wouldn’t deign to make an appearance, even for this.”

She considered half a dozen responses and discarded all of them. Tonight, at least, she could keep control of her tongue. “I’m sorry about your father.”

He snorted. “No, you’re not. I’m not even sure I am.” It was a lie. All she had to do was look at the exhausted lines of his face to know he cared that his father was dead. It was there in the permanent frown pulling down the edges of his lips, and in the barely banked fury of his brown eyes, the color of her favorite bitter chocolate.

“Might as well get this started.” He stalked to his desk and pushed a button. “Walter, now’s as good a time as any.”

A few seconds later, a thin man opened the door she’d just walked through, and shuffled his way to the desk. He wore an ill-fitting suit and looked about thirty seconds from passing out right where he stood. His pale blue gaze landed on her, his eyes too large in his narrow face. “Ms. Mallick. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but the circumstances are hardly that.”

“It’s nice to see you again.” Empty, meaningless words. So much of her job required her to spill white lies and smooth ruffled feathers, and Samara was usually damn good at figuring out what a person needed and leveraging it to get what she wanted.

Or, rather, what her boss wanted.

That skill had abandoned her the second she walked through the doors of Morningstar Enterprise. Her movements lost their normal grace, and words she had no business saying crowded her throat. She had enough control to approach the desk and keep her damn mouth shut, but that was where it ended. Beckett always made her feel like an amateur, but that was operating at full capacity. Right now, he looked like the walking wounded, and she didn’t know how to process it. Samara wasn’t a nurturer. Even if she was, she wouldn’t comfort him.

Beckett doesn’t matter. The will does.

The reminder kept her steady as Walter separated two folders from the stack and looked at each of them in turn. He passed one folder to Beckett. “It’s a lot of legalese, but the bottom line is he left you nearly everything. Morningstar Enterprise and all his shares are yours, which puts you firmly in the role as majority shareholder. As of the moment you sign this, you are acting CEO.”

Beckett leafed through the file, but didn’t appear to read any of it. “You said almost everything.”

“Yes, well…” The lawyer fidgeted. “There was a change in the most recent version of the will.”

He went still. “What change?”

The lawyer passed her the second file. “Nathaniel King has left the residence of Thistledown Villa to Lydia King and her children.”

“The fuck he did!” Beckett slammed his hands down on the desk, making it clang hollowly. “There’s been a mistake. No way in hell did my father leave the family home to her.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. King, but there’s been no mistake. As I mentioned earlier, the paperwork is all in order. Your father was in his right mind when he signed this will, and I stood as his witness. While you’re welcome to contest it in court, I have to advise you that it’s a losing battle.”

Samara read through the paperwork quickly. She’d been told to expect this, but she still wanted to make sure everything was in order before she got the hell out of there. As Walter had said, there was a lot of legalese, but it was exactly what he said. This should please Lydia. “Thank you for your time.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door.

She barely made it into the hallway before a large hand closed over her upper arm, halting her forward progress. “Let me go, Beckett.”

“Samara, just hold on a damn second.” He released her, but didn’t step back. “That house should have been mine, and you know it.”

“I know nothing of the sort. I’m not a King. It’s none of my business.” She forced herself to move away despite the insane urge to touch him. It was second nature to inject her tone with calm and confidence. “Nothing you can say is going to change what that will said. I know it’s your childhood home, but your father obviously had a reason for leaving it to your aunt.”

“Stop trying to handle me. I’m not one of your clients.”

She looked at him from the top of his hair, which looked like he’d been raking his fingers through it for roughly twelve hours straight, over the T-shirt fitted tightly across his broad shoulders and muscled chest, down to the faded jeans that hugged his thighs lovingly, and ended on the scuffed boots. “If you were a client, I would fire you on the spot.” That’s it. Remember who you are to each other—enemies.

He reached out and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger, pulling her a little closer despite her best intentions. “Don’t try that snooty attitude with me. It doesn’t work.”

“You’re just full of orders tonight, aren’t you?”

“You like it.” His thumb brushed her cheek, sending a zing down her spine that curled her damn toes in her expensive red heels. “You like a lot of things I do when you’re not thinking so hard.”

She had to get the hell out of there right now, or she’d do something unforgivable, like kiss Beckett King. Never should have let him get this close. I know what happens when we’re within touching distance. It had only been once, but once was more than enough to imprint itself on her memories. No amount of tequila could blur out how intoxicating it was to have his hands on her body, or the way he’d growled every filthy thing he’d wanted to do to her before following through on it. Things would be a lot easier if she’d just blacked out the entire night and moved on with her life.

He lowered his head, and she blurted out the first thing she could think of to make him back off. “Beckett, your father just died.”

“I’m aware of that.” He released her and took a step back, and then another. “Just go, Samara. Run back to your handler.” He let her get three steps before he said, “But make no mistake—this isn’t over.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant contesting the will or them, and she didn’t stick around to ask. Samara kept her head held high and the file clutched tightly in her grip as she took the elevator down to the main floor, walked out the doors, and strode two blocks to Kingdom Corp headquarters. The only person lingering at this time in the evening was the security guard near the front entrance, and he barely looked up as she strode through the doors.

Another quick elevator ride, and she stepped out at the executive floor. Like the rest of the building, it was mostly deserted. Kingdom Corp employees worked long hours, but no one longer than Lydia King. She was there before the first person showed up, and she didn’t leave until long after they’d gone home. She was the reason the company had made unprecedented leaps in the last two decades. Samara admired the hell out of that fact.

“I have it.” She shut the door behind her and moved to set the papers on the desk.

“I appreciate you going. It’s a difficult time.” Lydia King, Beckett’s aunt and owner of the biggest competitor to his company, leaned forward and glanced over the paperwork. She didn’t look like she was grieving, for all that her brother had just died in a terrible car accident two days ago. Her long golden hair was twisted up into a more sophisticated version of Samara’s updo, and despite a long day in the office, her white and gold color-blocked dress didn’t have a single wrinkle on it.

Samara glanced at the clock and resigned herself to another long night. “Is there anything I can do?”

Lydia smiled, her berry lipstick still in perfect condition. “Was it difficult seeing Beckett again?”

How did she…It didn’t matter. Lydia always seemed to know things she shouldn’t. She had contacts all over Houston, and where she didn’t have contacts, she connected the dots. “Not in the least.” If she concentrated, she could still feel the imprint of his thumb where he’d touched her. Stop that. He’s the enemy. She lifted her chin. “He looks like he’s in rough shape. I was under the impression that Nathaniel was a terrible father.” She didn’t have much in the way of details, but anyone with eyes in their head could see that Beckett and his father didn’t have a relationship.

“He was.” Lydia shrugged. “Family is complicated, my dear. Especially fathers.”

Years of building her defenses ensured she didn’t flinch at the dig. “What’s the next move?”

But Lydia wasn’t through. She ran her hands over the papers almost reverently. “Was he upset when he found out?”

She pictured the look in Beckett’s dark eyes, something akin to panic. “Yes. He didn’t understand why Nathaniel would leave the family home to you.”

“He grew up there. We all did.” Lydia’s smile took on a softer edge. “Nathaniel and I were born there. So was Beckett. My children would have been if not for how things fell out.”

It was just a building, albeit a beautiful one. Samara didn’t understand the reverence in Lydia’s tone, or the pain Beckett obviously felt in losing it. There were much more important hills to die on when it came to clashes between the two branches of the King family—specifically the bid for the upcoming government contract. Who cared about an old mansion on the outskirts of Houston—especially after the King family had essentially cut Lydia off when she wouldn’t dance to their tune?

Doesn’t matter if I get it. It’s important to Lydia, which means I have to plan on dealing with that damn house in the future.

She realized the silence had stretched on a little too long and tried for a smile. “That’s nice.”

“Oh, Samara.” Lydia laughed. “Don’t pretend I’m not boring you to death with my nostalgia. At least Nathaniel managed to do one thing right before he did us all the favor of dying horribly.”

There she is. This was the Lydia that Samara knew, not the sentimental woman she’d just been talking to. “Nathaniel was handling the upcoming bid personally. With him gone, it will leave Beckett scrambling to catch up.” Her fingers tingled, and she clenched her fists. Excitement. Not guilt. I’m beyond guilt when it comes to men who have had everything handed to them from birth. Losing this contract won’t sink Beckett’s company, but it will damage Kingdom Corp.

“Yes, well, don’t get cocky. This important, Samara.”

“I won’t drop the ball.”

Lydia looked at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Staring into those hazel eyes was like glimpsing a lion stalking through the tall grass. Samara was reasonably sure the danger wasn’t directed at her, but her heart still kicked in her chest. Finally, Lydia nodded. “I know you won’t let me down. Why don’t you get some rest? You need to hit the ground running tomorrow.”

Samara hesitated. “You should probably go home, too. I know you didn’t have much of a relationship, but you did just lose your brother.” When Lydia just shook her head and chuckled, Samara gave up. She was Lydia King’s right hand, but that didn’t mean a damn thing when it came to anything not directly related to Kingdom Corp. Her boss could make personal comments as she saw fit, but Samara knew better. She left before she could do or say something else ill-advised.

Nathaniel King was dead.

That reality was almost impossible to wrap her head around. For all Samara’s twenty-eight years, Nathaniel had loomed large over Houston. The King family was an institution that had been around for generations, all the way back to the founding of Houston itself, and Nathaniel was its favored son. And now he was nothing at all.

She hesitated on the corner. The smart move would be to go back to her little condo, have a glass of wine, and go over her proposal for the government contract yet again. She knew she had it locked down, but insidious doubt wormed through her at the thought of facing Beckett King. I have the advantage this time. It didn’t matter. He had advantages she couldn’t even see, ones that had been gifted to him just because he held the King last name.

Samara closed her eyes. She wanted to go home. She wanted to call a Lyft and travel across town to the little house her mother had lived in since she was born. She wanted to hug her amma until the fear of losing her only parent dissipated.

Get a hold of yourself.

Amma would already be asleep, her alarm set for some ungodly hour so she could get to work on time. If Samara showed up now, it would mean a long conversation while her amma tried to figure out what the problem was. No matter how nice that sounded, Samara was stronger than this. She couldn’t lean on her amma just because seeing Beckett’s grief left her feeling strange.

She was not weak. She refused to let a man she barely knew derail her path. Kingdom Corp needed that contract, and Samara needed to be the one to get it. It was a shame Beckett’s father had died, but ultimately she couldn’t let pity for him take root.

He was the enemy.

Samara couldn’t afford to forget that.