The room was blessedly empty, and she shut the door behind them. The manager would probably be pissed, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She could just shell out the money to rent the damn room for an hour—with a little extra to ensure that the manager kept his mouth shut. “What the hell were you thinking?”
He strode three steps deeper into the room and spun to face her. “What was I thinking? You have a lot of nerve acting like the injured party right now.”
That brought Samara up short. There was real anger written across his features. She’d registered it before, of course, but she hadn’t really expected it to be aimed at her. Aside from their ongoing rivalry, she hadn’t done anything that should piss him off more than normal. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “Want to enlighten me about the bug that’s crawled up your ass?”
“Did you know?” He didn’t move, but he seemed to loom over her all the same. “Did you know Lydia met with my father the night he died?”
She froze. “What are you talking about? Lydia had her monthly pamper session that night. I know because I booked the appointments myself.”
He searched her face as if trying to dig inside her head and read her thoughts. “You didn’t know.”
“I’m not sure where you got your information, but you’re wrong. Lydia despised Nathaniel. She went out of her way to avoid him. Samara shook her head. “There’s no way she would have met him.”
If she had…No. Samara didn’t believe that for a second. She knew her boss. Lydia would rather set herself on fire than spend a single second in the same room as Nathaniel King. She didn’t know where Beckett came up with the idea that she had, but he was wrong.
Dead wrong.
Journey could feel him watching her. It was a hot itch at the nape of her neck, and no matter how shamelessly she flirted with the bartender, there was no distracting from Frank Evans’s gaze drilling a hole into her back. If it were any other circumstances, she’d say to hell with it and stalk out—but not before she ordered him a shot with an absurd name. Blowjob. Sex in the bathtub. Slippery nipples.
Actually…
“Hey, cutie, I’m going to need another shot. Something special this time.” She was being petty, but she didn’t care. After the weeks of frustration and dealing with Frank’s barely concealed contempt, she was due for some petty revenge. If ever there was a man who needed a sense of humor, it’s this one.
Shot in hand, she wiggled and shimmied her way around the edges of the dance floor to the VIP lounge. Journey didn’t need to look over to know he was still watching her. She put a little extra swing into her step, working it for all she was worth. If he was going to stare, she might as well give him a show.
She recognized the woman manning the velvet rope and gave a cheery wave with her free hand. “Hey, girl! How did things go with that blind date?”
“That douche doubled up his dates and the girl before me was still there when I showed up. He tried to pretend like it was totally reasonable for all three of us to sit down for a drink.” The redhead shook her head, her lip curling.
She watched Frank out of the corner of her eye. “I hope you told him to get lost.”
“Oh, I did.” The hostess grinned. “Right after I drank my weight in top-label gin.”
“Good girl.” She smiled. “You have a nice night.” She hesitated, but at this point all she was doing was putting off the inevitable. Journey sauntered over to the couch where Frank had taken up residence. It was like everything in Cocoa’s—a little overdone, a little cheeky. The damn thing looked a bit like an oversized throne made for five people instead of one. Probably for the orgies.
An image plastered itself into her brain. Frank’s dark skin bare and glistening in the low light. His muscles flexing as he thrust. His cock…
Danger! Under no circumstances are you to think about Frank Evans’s cock.
She stopped in front of him, suddenly not sure if she should take a seat on the orgy couch-throne or keep the advantage of standing. Though standing puts his face right about even with my…Journey sat, keeping a full cushion between them. She leaned over and offered the shot. “With my compliments.”
Frank took it deliberately, his steady dark gaze seeming to categorize everything about her appearance—and then dismiss her entirely. It stung. Every. Single. Time. Journey might not go out of her way to grab the spotlight, but a woman liked to think she wasn’t considered a total waste of space. That’s exactly how Frank made her feel—like a waste of space. She’d heard the nasty comments enough to know how it went, even if he never said them aloud. Party-girl heiress. Not brilliant like either of her brothers. Not a model like her younger sister. A Lydia King knockoff. Damaged goods.
He sniffed. “Jägermeister and Red Bull.”
Anger as his dismissal made her words sharp enough to cut. “It’s called Liquid Viagra. Seems to me that you could use some.”
Instead of looking pissed, the corner of his lips twitched up. Coming from Frank Evans, he might as well have boomed out a laugh that deafened the entire room. It’s a wonder his face doesn’t shatter from breaking its dour mold.
Frank leaned forward and she was too proud
