Samara put her time to good use while Beckett was gone. If this was going to be a break from reality and a date at the same time, she wanted it to be a damn good date. The best date. She chatted up the bellman and got the best restaurant within easy traveling distance—a place just up the beach—and then she went shopping.
It was frivolous and silly to want to wow Beckett, but she couldn’t just sit in the hotel room and wait for him to come back. As she flipped through dress options at a little boutique the bellman had recommended, she gave in to the temptation to call Journey. Just to check in.
Right.
Her friend answered as if she’d been waiting by the phone. “Thank God. Samara, I swear to all that’s holy, you scare me sometimes.”
Samara considered a red dress and set it back on the rack. “You’re looking through the notes for the bid.”
“Of course I’m looking through the notes for the bid. I’ve been doing nothing but wading through your notes since I picked them up this morning. Seriously, honey, we have to talk about your research habits. You have two binders full of information.”
“There’s a ‘CliffsNotes’ version in the smaller of the two. I put all the pertinent information there for easy reference.” She frowned at a sequined gown that looked like it belonged in a bridal shop. “If you need me to come back—”
“Nope. I don’t care what my mother’s reasons were for forcing you to take a break, but I do support the end result. You work your ass off for Kingdom Corp. You might as well enjoy those vacation days you’ve saved up and let your hair down.” She paused and lowered her voice. “Are you still with Beckett?”
“Not currently, but yes.” Her gaze landed on a dark purple dress and she lifted the hanger to get a better look at it. Perfect. “I…I kind of like him.”
“Honey, I know you do. Just be careful, okay?”
“I will,” she promised, though it felt like lying through her teeth. Samara had left careful behind days ago. She was in a full free fall and she couldn’t bring herself to care about the fast-approaching ground.
Journey snorted. “Somehow, I just don’t believe you. But that’s neither here nor there.” The amusement disappeared from her tone. “Mother has leveled the direst of threats against me if I screw up your presentation—her disappointment. She’s in danger of micromanaging, but you’ll be happy to know that I’ve kept my temper in check. Mostly.”
If they hadn’t been friends for so many years, Samara wouldn’t have picked up on the thread of tension in Journey’s voice. Everyone had their hot-button issues. For Samara, it was her father. For Journey, it was both her parents.
She glanced around, but no one was paying her the slightest bit of attention. “You can do this. You’re even better at this job than I am, and I’m fucking great at my job.”
“This isn’t my forte, Samara. I’m better at telling people what to do and managing the bullshit that crops up when the different departments start butting heads. Hell, I’d rather deal with the media than this.”
Samara drifted toward the back of the boutique, her dress in hand. “Are you at home?”
“…Yes. Though if you’re about to ask me what I’m wearing, we’re going to talk about your phone sex skills.”
She laughed. “You know that giant atrocity of a mirror in your front hall? Go stand in front of that.”
“Kinky.”
“Shut up and do what I say.”
“Yes, mistress.” Heels clicked in the distance as Journey must have stood and walked to the mirror. Samara could picture the mirror perfectly. It was easily seven feet tall and three feet wide, and its one-foot-wide metal frame only made it seem more massive. Journey huffed out a breath. “Okay, I’m staring at my mirror and feeling like an idiot.”
“Repeat after me.”
“Oh, no. Samara—”
“I am a badass, capable woman and I’m going to make this bid my bitch.”
Silence for a beat. “Do I have to scream it like Jerry Maguire?”
She laughed. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Now, stop stalling and say it.”
“I am a badass, capable woman and I’m going to make this bid my bitch!” Journey dissolved into giggles. “Okay, I don’t hold to the positive affirmation stuff, but I feel slightly better. Thanks. This thing has me all twisted up. It’s wrong that I’m doing this, Sam. It should be you.”
It should be me. She wouldn’t say it. Not to Journey. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that Lydia had pulled this bullshit a couple days before the presentation date. Lamenting about how upset she was to lose her place would only serve to make Journey feel like shit and cause conflict between the two King women. There would be other bids and other contracts to secure.
She hoped.
If she didn’t get fired.
If Lydia wasn’t implicated in Nathaniel’s death or the fire set in Morningstar Enterprise’s building.
She gave herself a shake. Stop borrowing trouble. “You’re going to do great.”
“Nice dodge.” Journey sighed. “I guess I should get back to it.” Her tone perked up. “What are you doing right now? Something interesting? You should tell me all about it.”
“Not a chance. Kick ass in your presentation and I’ll share all the illicit details over drinks. My treat.”
“Actually, on second thought, if those illicit details involve my cousin, I don’t think I want to know.”
Samara laughed. “Bye, Journey. Call me if you need anything.”
“Have fun!”
She slipped her phone into her purse and eyed the jewelry display at the back of the store. The dress she’d picked had a plunging neckline that just begged for some kind of adornment. For shoes, her black heels would work perfectly, and she could take her time getting ready.
Beckett wouldn’t know what hit him.
Samara was gone when Beckett got back to the hotel suite. He found a note set out on the table. Meet me at 1898. 7 pm. Don’t be late. It was signed with the imprint of her lipstick in a perfect kiss. He checked the time. Six thirty. 1898 was a ten-minute walk from the hotel, which gave him enough time to take a quick shower and change.
It didn’t explain why Samara wasn’t here, though.
He sent a quick text as he pulled out another suit. You okay?
Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?
The same way she’d responded when they spoke on the phone last. Beckett exhaled his tension. Samara was fine. She wasn’t in any danger just because he couldn’t see her. She’d been alone for a couple hours and she hadn’t come to any harm. He typed out a quick response. See you at 7.
I’ll be there.
He got ready in record time and actually enjoyed the walk. The humidity that plagued Houston was nowhere to be found here, and the ocean breeze actually felt refreshing. Despite his meeting with Elliott Bancroft, he found himself smiling and picking up his pace. As he came up the stairs to the restaurant’s deck, he caught sight of Samara and stopped short.
She leaned against the railing, watching the waves roll toward the beach. Her black heels made her legs look even longer than normal, and he let himself look his fill. The dress was a deep purple that set off her brown skin and it hugged her ass in a way that begged to be touched.
A board creaked under his shoes, and she glanced over and smiled at him. “Beckett.”
The dress was even better from the front. It dipped low between her breasts and she wore a long necklace of several knotted strands of pearls. Her hair drifted in the breeze and he didn’t bother to resist the urge to walk to her and sink his hands into the dark waves. “Hey.”
She ran her hands up his chest. “Hey.”
“I like the dress.”
Samara smiled. “Good.”
“I’ll like it even better when I’m peeling it off you as I kiss every inch of your body.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Let’s get dinner to go.”
“Ah-ah. No way. You can spend all night sexing me up. Right now, I want to eat food that I’ve been assured is amazing and talk with you.”
Beckett considered kissing her again, but she was right—he wanted to talk to her. They’d already proved they matched up in the bedroom. He wanted to know her. “Tell me another secret.”
She laughed. “New Year’s Day is my favorite holiday.”
“I’m going to need an explanation.” He shifted back and slid his arm around her waist. They walked easily toward the front door.
It wasn’t until they were seated at a table overlooking the beach through a large window that Samara spoke again. “I never drink on New Year’s Eve. It’s a silly superstition, but I think what you bring into the new year becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. I get up early on the first and drink my first cup of coffee out on my balcony and try to be mindful about what I want the next year to be. Then I go to my amma’s for breakfast, and around the time I’m finished with dishes, Journey is rolling out of bed, so we spend the rest of the day together.”
“That sounds like a great tradition.” When he’d first met her, he’d assumed Samara was like a pillar—strong as fuck and separated from everyone around her. It comforted Beckett to know that she had a good friend in his cousin. That she had roots as deep as his, if different.
“It is.” She toyed with her water glass. “A secret for a secret?”
He liked this game. It was theirs and theirs alone, another thread linking them together. “What I wanted most in the world when I was in kindergarten was to be a trainer at SeaWorld.”
“Orcas or dolphins?”
He loved that she asked it with a straight face. Beckett answered just as seriously. “Orcas, of course. My mother took me there one weekend and I was convinced that the trainers were magic. It seemed like the most amazing thing in the world for them to work with such massive, majestic creatures.” He made a face. “That was before I grew up enough to realize what a tragedy it is to keep those animals in captivity.”
Samara pressed her lips together. “You donate to PETA, don’t you?”
“I can’t abide by some of their policies.” When she just stared, he huffed out a breath. “I donate to a small group of scientists that are funding research to prove how harmful captivity is for orcas.”
“Oh, Beckett.” She smiled. “You really are a white knight, aren’t you?”
He didn’t know what to do with that look on her face, as if he was someone admirable. “What’s the point of having all this money and influence if I just sit on it and watch it multiply? The oil industry is problematic in a whole different way. I can’t change things all at once, but keeping the status quo is a mistake.” It was something he and his father never quite saw eye to eye on. Nathaniel wasn’t opposed to clean energy, but he only saw the money to be made—he didn’t worry about their planet or what life might be like for future generations if they continued down this path.
If anything, the admiration in her eyes grew. Samara leaned forward, fully engaged in the topic. “What changes? Are you thinking of making the lateral move to clean energy?”
“Eventually. It’s not realistic to get out of oil completely, no matter how shitty I think the downsides are. But it’s a finite resource and eventually the world is going to wise up to that fact. Renewable energy is one of the fastest-growing industries out there, and I want Morningstar to be on the cutting edge of that wave.” He stopped short. “Shit, I’m sorry. I promised we wouldn’t talk business, and that lasted a grand total of five minutes.”
“This isn’t business. This is hopes and dreams.” She lowered her voice. “And secrets.”
He searched her face, but there was nothing but honest curiosity there. “Are you interested in clean energy?”
“Only distantly. I’ve been so focused on doing my job that there’s not much room left for the kind of research you’re talking about.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Beyond that, it’s not my call to make. I don’t head up any departments, and I’m not even part owner in Kingdom Corp. Employees might be the lifeblood of the company, but we don’t have much control about the direction it goes in.”
He started to press her, but stopped. No business tonight.
The waitress appeared at their table. As she went over the specials and wine selections, Beckett’s attention kept drifting back to Samara. The dying sunset painted her in shadows, making her beauty look otherworldly. He wanted to touch her, to bring her back to earth, to keep her with him always.
Slow down. You don’t have a right to ask her that, and if you do, it’ll ruin the night.
Tomorrow they would go back to the viper’s pit that Houston had become. He would track down Walter and put pressure on him in an effort to persuade the man to talk. Lydia would undoubtedly have some nasty surprise waiting for him. He’d doubled security on Morningstar before he left, but there was nothing stopping her from trying to bribe them away as well.
“Sir?”
He’d been staring instead of listening, but asking the waitress to repeat herself would just waste everyone’s time. “I’ll have the special with whatever wine you think would pair best.”
She hesitated but seemed to understand that he didn’t give a fuck what kind of wine she brought. “Sure thing.”
Samara took a sip of her water. “Where did you go this afternoon?”
“I went to see Elliott Bancroft.” It felt good to say it aloud, like he’d just removed a weight that had settled over him from the moment he decided to track down his aunt’s husband. It was a low move, something his father would have been proud of. He told himself that fact didn’t matter, but Beckett wasn’t sure if he believed it.
“What? You’re joking.” She set her glass down and leaned closer. “Oh shit, you’re not joking.”
“I need more information on her—and I’m not going to keep putting you in the middle.”
“News flash, Beckett—you’re putting me in the middle right now.” She picked up her cloth napkin and then set it down again. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
“No. Wait.” He held up a hand. “I’m sorry. That was out of line and I shouldn’t have shared it.”
“Don’t you see? It’s not about sharing or not sharing. You and she are diametrically opposed, and if you ask me to choose sides, you have to know which one I’m going to land on.”
He did. He wished it wasn’t the truth, but he did know. Beckett took her hand. “I’m sorry. Let’s pretend it never happened.”
“Fat chance of that.”
The waitress swooped in with their wine, not a moment too soon. Beckett’s was a bold red with faint spicy undertones. He waited for the woman to leave again before focusing on Samara. “When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
She hesitated, but finally relaxed. “I wanted to be a flight attendant.” She took a hasty sip of her white wine. “There was this commercial that played all the time when I was…I don’t know. Six or seven. I can’t even remember what airline it was for, but the flight attendants were pictured visiting these exotic locales and traveling around the world. It seemed like a dream come true for me—to travel and be paid for it.” She made a face. “And then I turned twelve and realized that flight attendants don’t make much money and they spend all their time being harassed by asshole people on the plane, which pretty much killed that dream.”
“That would do it.” He chuckled. Beckett took another drink of his wine and turned the conversation away from anything resembling their current troubles. No business. No Lydia. Nothing too close to what put them on this path to begin with.
It was easy being with Samara.
So fucking easy.
Without their roles as rivals standing between them, he found her humor just as tempting as her intelligence and her drive. They traded embarrassing stories from their formative years. Her sewing her own prom dress and going stag when her date didn’t show. His one and only game on the football team that ended with him getting into a fight with his own team’s quarterback. By the time they’d finished their meal, both were relaxed and he’d actually managed to stop thinking about the shit show waiting for him back home.
After he paid, they made their way to the deck overlooking the ocean. Beckett took Samara’s hand. “Walk with me.”
“I’d like that.”