Carla was nothing if not efficient, and it didn’t take her more than ten minutes to knock lightly on Becca’s open door, a thumb drive pinched in her fingers. “This has everything you need,” she said with a smile.

She took a few steps and slid the thumb drive across Becca’s desk. “I’ll let you know when Beau arrives. I believe Mister Whittaker wants you in on the meetings today.”

“Thank you,” Becca said. “Oh, Carla,” she added when the woman started to leave. “Where do I start?”

“I numbered them for you.” She gave a quick smile and left Becca with the thumb drive containing everything about Springside Energy.

Everything.

A wicked thought entered her mind. So she’d signed that non-disclosure form. What could they really do if she took this thumb drive and published it on the Internet?

“Probably prison,” she muttered. She hadn’t actually read the non-disclosure agreement, but she knew Andrew and his brothers would have every T crossed and every I dotted. Their brother the lawyer had probably drawn up the agreement and all the contracts she’d signed last week to be iron-clad.

And surprisingly, she didn’t want to destroy Springside Energy. Her heart had really started firing when Andrew had mentioned a robot, and she wasn’t fundamentally against mining. She just didn’t like how exploratory the fracturing had to be to find the gas.

But a robot…if it could detect the gas before any hydraulic drilling….

She pushed all her speculations away and plugged in the thumb drive. Her computer was state-of-the art, and an icon popped up on her screen in less than two seconds. She double-clicked it and at least two dozen files sprang into a box. Twenty-seven to be exact, as Carla had indeed numbered them.

The first file bore the label of The Whittaker Family.

Becca wasn’t sure if she should be surprised or disgusted at the egotism. She paused and thought about Andrew. Yes, he had every single stitch of clothing in the exact right spot. Not a hair on his head sat out of place. Even his beard was perfect.

But he didn’t seem to carry the arrogance she’d assumed he would. So maybe she’d made a few assumptions about him and his brothers—and his father? her mind whispered.

It was really the senior Whittaker that Becca had a problem with. She double-clicked the file, even more surprised when a family tree popped up instead of a plain text document like she’d been expecting.

The four boys sat at the bottom, neatly labeled in a serif font. She hovered over the oldest, Graham, and found a few sentences about him, including his birthdate, graduation dates, degrees, and his position in the company. A picture with a mom dad and child showed in the corner and she clicked on that.

A box covered most of the tree and detailed Graham’s more personal life. He was married to Laney, and they had one child, Ronald. Bailey was his step-daughter, and he suffered from mild asthma.

The files were extremely thorough, and she learned that Andrew had once broken his leg while waterskiing, and that he’d gotten his tonsils out when he was seven years old. He’d never been married and had no kids, so his personal file was quite sparse. She knew everything in the professional bio already, as it was common knowledge for someone so public.

Eli had been married to a woman named Anne, but she’d passed away over five years ago. He’d recently gotten married to Meg, and they lived in California with Eli’s son Stockton.

Beau had never been married, had no kids, and in fact had never left Coral Canyon for longer than it took to graduate from college. He’d done that in Wyoming too, and Becca felt a kinship for the youngest Whittaker brother whom she’d never met. He felt like a lifelong lover of Wyoming, same as her.

The telephone on her desk beeped, startling her while she moved the mouse to learn more about Andrew’s parents. “Mister Whittaker is ready for you, ma’am. If you’ll come out, I’ll show you to the conference room.”

The phone beeped again, and Becca stared at it. This job was so different from anything she’d ever done before. Number one, she’d never been called ma’am. Were thirty-seven-year-olds even old enough to be called that?

Number two, while she’d been to plenty of meetings, none of them happened in conference rooms. Big, open spaces while people yelled at each other, sure. Or a tiny office in the back rooms at the State Capital, yes.

But Carla led her down the hall and around a corner to an immaculate conference room, complete with a projector mounted on the ceiling, a huge screen and whiteboard, and another wall of windows.

A man who obviously came from the same family as Andrew turned from those windows, and he too wore a suit and tie. The difference was the cowboy hat and the cowboy boots.

Becca smiled at Beau and said, “You must be Andrew’s brother,” as she went around the table to shake his hand.

“That I am,” he drawled, obviously ten times as country as Andrew. “You must be our new press secretary.”

She extended her hand. “I’m Becca.”

“Beau.” His smile was genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes and filling his whole face.

“Oh, good.” Andrew bustled into the room carrying an armful of folders. “You’ve met Beau.” He closed the door behind him and took at seat in the nearest chair. “Paul apparently double-booked, so we have about forty-five minutes before we need to be in his office.”

He started sending folders down the table, though neither Becca nor Beau had taken seats yet.

“Sit, sit,” he said. “Let’s start with the blue one. Beau, that’s for you. It’s Becca’s new file. I want copies here in our usual places, and one at your office.”

Beau picked it up but didn’t open it. He sat at the corner of the table, still near the windows. “I can come later.”

“We won’t have time.” Andrew glanced up and went right back to the list in front of him. “Becca, you’ll need a red one and an orange one.” He flipped open the red, apparently deciding to go in the order of the colors of the rainbow.

“This is our permission form and packet. Anyone we talk to has to sign it. It gives us permission to use their name and picture however we see fit, and ensures that they have to get our permission before any quotes or pictures are released. You’ll need a lot of copies of these. Beau, anything specific she needs to know about these or can she look through them and get the gist?”

Beau took several long seconds to answer, and Becca could tell that it drove Andrew one rung higher on his frustration level. He kept his face placid, as if he had all the time in the world for his brother to speak. But Becca could see something brewing right beneath his skin. She’d felt it in his office too.

“I think she can get the gist,” Beau said. “I really can come another time.”

Andrew blinked at him. “The orange one is new documentation I need you to review, edit or change so we’re in compliance with the laws regarding public safety.”

Becca perked up at that. She was well-versed in public safety. “I can do that,” she said.

“You don’t have time.” Andrew didn’t even look at her. “Beau can do it. He usually does.”

“I have a degree in public policy,” she said, unsure as to why she was arguing to put more work on her plate. But why wouldn’t he even look at her? She felt her own frustration rise, and she worked to be as cool and collected as the great Andrew Whittaker always was.

“I need you to go over the trademark registrations,” he continued, pushing a thick packet toward Beau. “It has to be done by the end of the week so the SonarBot and all its related technology, past, present, or future, can’t be stolen. The list of what needs to be protected is in there.”

Beau stacked the packet on top of the folders without looking at it. “Are you okay, Andrew?” He peered at his brother like there was something seriously wrong with him.

“I’m fine.” He checked a box on his paper, but Becca didn’t think he was fine. She exchanged a glance with Beau, and he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. She immediately deemed him a gentle giant and wondered why she’d judged him so quickly. She hadn’t even known who he was.

But thanks to the family tree, she knew he’d been engaged once but his bride-to-be had called the wedding off the night before the nuptials. She also knew he’d had to take the entrance exam to law school three times before he made it in, but that he was a brilliant lawyer and had never lost a case. Never.

Andrew said something else, but Becca didn’t hear him. Beau started talking too, and she let them carry on their meeting. Andrew didn’t slide her any more folders, nor say her name, and when he stood, she did too.

“Thanks for coming, Beau. Tell Mom I’ll try to make it to dinner this weekend, okay?”

“Oh, she’s not doing dinner this weekend.”

Becca paused, pretending to straighten the already straight papers inside her folder. Andrew and Beau stood in the doorway, though, and she couldn’t leave them to this private conversation.

“Why not? She does a Saturday night dinner every weekend.” Andrew and Beau were the same height, and if they tried to walk through the door together, they wouldn’t be able to because of the width of their shoulders.

“She has a date.” Beau really popped on the T-sound on the word date.

“What?” Andrew’s disbelief filled the whole room. “A date? With who?”

“Admiral Church.”

“Admiral Church?” Andrew’s eyes searched his brothers. “And she said yes to that guy?”

“He’s a good guy,” Beau said.

“Why is this okay with you?” Andrew moved out of the room, and Beau went with him.

“Why is it not okay with you?” Beau countered, such a lawyerly move that Becca smiled.

“Dad’s been dead for two years, Beau. And she’s dating already?”

“Almost three,” Beau said, saying something else after that that got lost as they rounded the corner and left Becca standing in the doorway of the conference room.

She wasn’t sure why, but her heart felt a bit hollow. She’d known that Ronald Whittaker had died suddenly over the holidays almost three years ago. “Maybe you’ve never thought of him as someone’s father. Someone’s husband,” she whispered to herself. She clutched the folders in her hand until her fingers hurt, thinking how she would feel if her father passed away that evening.

Not only that, but Andrew had barely spoken to her during that meeting. She had more paperwork to read and he’d denied her the opportunity to work on the public safety document.

Carla appeared at the end of the hall. “There you are.” She gestured for Becca to come. “Andrew is looking for you. You’re supposed to be headed up to the fifth floor for the accounting meeting.”

Becca walked forward, her new heels rubbing along the tops of her feet uncomfortably. “Sorry,” she said.

“Oh, don’t apologize.” Carla pointed to the elevator. “He took the stairs. I swear, that man can’t hold still for longer than five seconds. Fifth floor. Ask for Paul Wilmington.”

“Paul Wilmington,” Becca repeated. She stepped over to the elevator and pushed the call button, her emotions simmering in a very bad way.

By the time she arrived on the accounting floor, she was ready to give Andrew a piece of her mind. He waited on a sofa in the lobby, looking at his phone, and she marched over to him.

“You couldn’t have waited thirty seconds?” she demanded.

He looked up, and he wore a mask. A horrible, stony mask that revealed nothing of what he was thinking or feeling. “I didn’t want to be late.”

“You knew where I was. Took Carla two seconds to send me up here.” In fact, he would’ve had to walk right in front of her to get to the stairs. “And, in case you haven’t noticed, you’re not late.” She folded her arms and glared at him.

He glanced around the lobby, but Becca didn’t care who heard their little spat. “Sit down,” he said quietly.

Becca didn’t want to comply, but her shoes really should’ve been broken in before wearing them for a full day of work. At the very least, she should’ve brought an alternate pair of footwear should these not work out.

She sat, but refused to rub her feet or act like anything was wrong at all. “And in the future, Mister Whittaker, I’d appreciate eye contact during a meeting when you’re speaking to me.”

Finally, a hint of emotion touched his expression. Was it sorrow? Regret? Something else? “Noted.”

“What was with that?”

“I’m trying really hard here,” he said under his breath, his mouth not moving at all.

“Trying to do what?”

“Andrew?” The secretary stood. “Paul’s ready for you.”

Andrew didn’t answer her question. He stood, buttoned his jacket, and said, “Thank you, Jeannie. Have you met our new press secretary?” He slipped easily behind his public relations persona, flashing that charming smile, and Becca put on her game face too. “This is Becca Collings.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said, wondering how many more times she’d say it that day and if she could do so without choking on the words.