“Speechless?” His dark laugh took up residence in her stomach and then lower. She sank onto her couch. Damn you, Beckett.
“Never.” She bit out. There were only two options at this point. She could hang up the phone, go back to working on her presentation…or she could agree to meet Beckett and see what information she could gather. Samara doubted he intended to give her anything she could use against him, but just because that was his plan didn’t mean she had to go along with it. “What time would you like to meet?”
“Now.”
She wet her lips, trying to control the pounding of her heart. “Right now?”
“Unless you have something more important to do?”
She looked at the presentation notes spread across her living room. Several notebooks with different-colored writing, more pens than one woman should probably own, and a master timeline for the income she’d projected for Kingdom Corp. Samara closed her eyes. “You can’t just crook your finger and expect me to come running.”
“I’m not Lydia. I’m not treating you like a pet.” Something rustled in the background, and she could perfectly picture him leaning back in his chair and straightening his muscled legs. “I’ll order in lunch. Be here in an hour.” Beckett hung up, leaving her wondering if she should curse him or admire his ingenuity.
He’s got an agenda. I can’t afford to forget that.
With that in mind, she dialed Lydia. Her boss barely let the phone ring. “Is this important, Samara? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Beckett King just invited me to Morningstar Enterprise for a business lunch.”
A meaningful pause. “He’s moving fast.” Her disdain for Beckett practically oozed through the phone. As far as Samara knew, Beckett had never done anything to her boss personally. She could be wrong, but…
Still.
She straightened. “I’m confident I can gather information that will be useful.”
“I have no doubt you will do exactly that. I expect a full report Monday.” Lydia hung up.
Monday?
Samara dropped her phone onto the couch. What did Lydia think she’d be doing for the next thirty-six hours that she wouldn’t report until Monday? Her stomach lurched.
She almost called Journey, but there wasn’t anything more to say. Beckett had issued the invitation, Lydia had supported her accepting it. Overthinking things at this point wouldn’t do anything but waste more time.
Samara was ready inside of thirty minutes—a small miracle—and picked a fitted green dress that did wonders for her breasts and ass. Strictly speaking, it was a little too sexy for a business meeting, but she’d already blown the chance to keep her relationship with Beckett professional.
Not to mention, anything that gave her an edge at this point was an asset.
Sure. That’s why you’re pulling out all the stops. To distract Beckett.
It’s sure as hell not because you want to see that look of appreciation in his dark eyes.
Definitely not.
Chapter Seven
Heaven was Samara in a little green dress.
Beckett watched her walk across the lobby, her mile-long legs eating up the distance with ease. That glimpse of wildness she’d given him last night was in full effect today, her hair a mass of black waves that seemed to curl and snap around her shoulders with each step. Her dress fitted her like a second skin, sloping down over her breasts, her stomach, to her hips and thighs.
But it was her dark eyes that drew and held him. Anger and desire and something like guilt lingered there, and she held his gaze as she stopped in front of him. “Do I meet your expectations?”
“You’re beautiful.”
She arched a single eyebrow. “I know.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. Beckett turned to the elevator bank and offered his elbow. The gentlemanly move was over-the-top for their current circumstances, but he couldn’t be this close to her without touching her. Kissing her now, here, was a terrible damn idea, so he’d settle for the small touch. “No false modesty. I like that.”
“I think we’ve established that I don’t operate based on what you like.” Despite her words, amusement pulled at the edges of her lips, and she set her hand carefully on his forearm. “Every time I think I have your number down, you surprise me. Most guys get pissy pants if a woman doesn’t fall at their feet when they call her beautiful.”
“I’m not most guys.” He waited for the elevator door to open and led her onto it. “You can’t fit me into a box and write me off, Samara.”
“I’m beginning to see that.” She shook her head, her hair brushing against his shoulder. “My life would be a whole lot easier if I could.”
He couldn’t argue that, so he didn’t bother. Beckett took them up to the executive level. He noted the way she studied everything, obviously filing away every bit of information she could lay her eyes on. “What does Lydia pay you these days?”
She dropped her arm and stepped back. “Oh no. I don’t think so.” She pointed at him. “We went over this last night. I’m not for sale.”
“It’s an innocent question.”
“It is most definitely not an innocent question.” She looked like she wanted to take off her shoe and throw it at his head. “I don’t care what issue you and your aunt have. I’m not part of it. You don’t get to use me as leverage. I’m not a pawn for either of you to sacrifice in this pissing match you have going on.”
Shame tried to take hold, but he wouldn’t let it. Samara knew the game, no matter how much it apparently offended her. “I’m the bad guy for trying to offer you a job, but I’m sure you agreed to show up here solely out of the goodness of your heart.” He pretended to think about it. “Wait, no you didn’t—which you already admitted. You’re here because Lydia wants to do whatever it takes to sink Morningstar. Full stop.” He motioned at the offices behind him. “Wake up, Samara. I’m only playing the game she made the rules for.”
She took
