“Food is the answer for every problem.” Her friend motioned to the vat of soup and the delicious-looking round rolls that had come with it. “Chicken noodle soup, specifically, is known to cure a list of problems as long as my arm. I have whiskey and honey and lemons for hot toddies, which will help any residual pain in your throat and give you the feel-goods. And three varieties of cookies because no meal is complete without dessert, and cookies are comforting. Peanut butter, oatmeal raisin, and lemony sugar cookies.” She pointed at each item in turn.
Warmth started in Samara’s stomach and spread through her, gathering in the edges of her eyes. “What did I do to deserve such a great friend?”
“Ha! We both know you’re the better friend, so I have to rack up points where I can.” She waved the remote. “Now, are we going to decompress to some Desperate Housewives or are you going to tell me what you were doing all alone with my cousin at Morningstar Enterprise in the middle of a Saturday?”
She started to beg off, but the truth was that she desperately wanted to talk about what was going on with Beckett with someone. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to get into it. You’re not exactly known for your love for him.”
“Correction—I loathe his father. I have absolutely no opinion regarding Beckett himself.” When Samara just stared, she finally relented. “Okay, fine, I don’t like him on principle, but that’s mostly because I’m toeing the party line inflicted by my mother. Obviously something about him caught your eye.” She waggled her brows. “Or caught something else.”
“It’s not like that.” Samara managed to hold it together for a grand total of three seconds before relenting. “Okay, it’s exactly like that. Six months ago, when I lost out on that contract in Norway, I drank enough tequila that it seemed like a good idea to let him know all the reasons I found him loathsome.” She eyed the whiskey bottle. “And then I slept with him.”
Journey seemed to be struggling to keep a straight face. “That’ll show him.”
“Shut up. I know it was a bad idea.”
“Keep talking. I’m putting the hot water on.” Journey rounded the kitchen island and moved to the state-of-the-art stovetop. “You keep eyeing that whiskey and you’re going to start taking shots instead of drinking medicinal hot toddies. Focus, woman.”
God, she’d missed her friend. It felt like they hadn’t seen each other much lately between all the work Lydia had piled on their respective positions. As COO, Journey was a master juggler and kept all the moving parts of Kingdom Corp from crashing into each other. For her part, Samara had been kept busy handling the various projects and contracts Lydia set her sights on. They only seemed to grow in number as time went on, and as much as she loved her job, she wished she had the slightest bit more downtime.
Speaking of…
She checked the clock and cursed. “I have to go.”
“Nope.” Journey set her old-fashioned kettle on the stove and turned it on. “If you go home, you’re going to work until your body gives out, and then you’ll feel even worse when you wake up.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the counter. “Is twelve hours really going to make or break this presentation? You still have a couple days left, and knowing you, you could give that bid today and they’d be falling all over themselves to sign the contract.”
As grateful as she was for Journey’s unwavering support, it wasn’t earned this time. “The bid is done, but I can’t get the presentation right. Something’s missing, and I can’t afford to botch this.”
“You won’t botch it.” She walked over, grabbed the whiskey, honey, and two lemons off the table, and went about putting together the hot toddies.
Samara couldn’t just sit there while Journey sliced lemons, so she pushed to her feet. She was a little light-headed, and her throat felt like she’d chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes. “I’m not having a crisis of faith or anything. I’m just worried. There’s a lot of pressure on this one contract.” The majority of leasing rights in the Gulf of Mexico was a huge coup to secure, and if she pulled it off, she’d prove that she deserved to be Lydia’s second-in-command. “I can’t afford to let being preoccupied with Beckett screw it up.”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
Journey poured hot water into the whiskey concoction in the two mugs in front of her and stirred it. “Are you preoccupied with Beckett?”
She started to deny it, but she didn’t make a habit of lying to her friend. “It’s not that simple.”
“Explain it to me.” She pushed one mug toward Samara. “I say that not in a judgy tone—I really want to understand.”
“I like him.” Saying the words aloud felt like a betrayal. “More than that—I respect him and the way he does business. He cares about the people who work for him.” She blinked and saw the betrayal written across Beckett’s face when he snarled about Lydia stealing his employees.
The man had no family, not really. His business might not be a true stand-in for that kind of relationship, but he took their defection significantly more personally than anyone else she’d known. He cared. “But he and Lydia are heading for a clash of epic proportions and if I get caught in the middle, they’ll trample me.”
Journey contemplated her hot toddy. “I trust your judgment, so if you say he’s not half bad, I believe you. But you’re right about being caught in the middle. Mother’s been fixated on Morningstar Enterprise since before I was born. With Nathaniel gone, it only makes sense that she’s doing everything she can to seize the opportunity.”
It made sense, and it was even a
