“What’s stopping you from waiting until this all plays out, letting the dust settle, and then seeing if there’s something there with him without the countdown ticking in your ear?”
She almost didn’t answer, almost changed the subject to avoid talking about it. Journey and her mother didn’t have the best of relationships, and her friend was fiercely protective when it came to anything she viewed as taking advantage of Samara. Since she felt the same way about Journey, they’d come to an agreement of sorts in that they didn’t try to fight each other’s battles unless requested.
This was different.
She pulled at the edge of her tunic-length shirt. They’d stopped over at her place so she could shower and change before coming to Journey’s. Stop stalling and spit it out. “I think your mother was implying I should use Beckett’s attraction to me to get close to him.”
“The fuck she did.” Journey slammed her mug onto the kitchen island hard enough that hot liquid splashed over the countertop and her hand. She didn’t seem to notice. “That’s bullshit. It’s one thing to encourage you to flirt up the competition so they’ll spill information. We’ve all done that. She knows you slept with Beckett, doesn’t she?” She held up a hand. “You don’t even have to answer. I know my mother, and I know how she operates. She suspected you had unfinished business with him and she decided to leverage that to her advantage and to hell with the consequences. Goddamn it. That is such a dick move, and I can’t even say I’m surprised.”
Samara sipped her hot toddy and waited her friend out. It would do no good to interrupt until Journey ran out of steam, and she didn’t have the energy to get into a fight about what she was and wasn’t okay with. If their situations were reversed, she would react the same way.
Journey hissed out a breath. “Okay, I’m done.”
“You sure? I can sit here and keep drinking.”
She laughed. “Yes, O Patient One. You’re about to tell me that you can fight your own battles, aren’t you?”
“Journey,” Samara said seriously. “I can fight my own battles—even when it comes to your mother.”
She grabbed a pink dish towel and wiped up the spilled hot toddy. “My mother is good at getting people to shift their boundaries to accommodate her needs.”
Samara couldn’t argue that. She’d both seen it in action and been on the wrong end of Lydia’s manipulations. The worst part was that she didn’t always realize it had happened until much, much later. It’s all for the end result, which I support. I haven’t done anything I can’t live with. She ignored the uncomfortable twinge the thought brought. “Beckett’s a big boy—”
“Didn’t need to know that.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, get your mind out of the gutter.” She laughed, but sobered almost immediately. “He walked into this thing with eyes wide open. If anything, he sees me as a pawn to be moved around the board the same way Lydia does.”
“That doesn’t make it right. You’re not a fucking pawn, Samara—you’re a person.”
She knew she wasn’t a pawn, but that didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t a big player in whatever conflict Beckett and Lydia had coming. She might be damn good at her job and work her ass off, but she wasn’t a King. She could work at Kingdom Corp for the rest of her life and, twenty years down the road, she’d still be cut out or moved about by Lydia because ultimately Samara was replaceable. Beckett wasn’t. Journey and her siblings weren’t. Samara was just another ambitious woman who had her eye on the prize.
Could I be any more depressing?
She shook her head and took a large drink of the hot toddy. It warmed her stomach, a nice contrast to the air-conditioning Journey had cranked on high. “You’re right. I can take twelve hours off.”
“Fuck, Samara—that wasn’t even a good dodge.”
“I know. And I’m not sorry.” Samara grinned. “You know what would make me feel immeasurably better?”
Journey laughed, the infectious sound rolling through the room. “I bet you’re about to tell me.”
“Brownies. Brownies would cure all my woes.”
“I suppose I could whip up a batch.”
“You’re the best.” Samara tugged on the ribbing of her sleeve. All the thoughts and fears and anger swirled inside her. Things weren’t finished with her and Beckett now any more than they had been two days ago. If anything, they were infinitely more complicated. She should just walk away from the whole damn thing. It was the smart choice to make.
I don’t want to.
Proving yet again that some things are hereditary. Both my amma and I have shitty taste in men.
Journey set out all the ingredients and paused. “I just can’t believe there was a fire. What kind of ship is my cousin running that his building is spontaneously bursting into flame?”
“Things only spontaneously burst into flames in the movies.” She thought back over the mad race down to the ground floor, to the smoke coating everything and making it impossible to see clearly. No flames, though. “I wonder what caused it? There isn’t exactly a lot of burnable material in that lobby.” She shook her head. “What am I saying? It was probably faulty wiring or something.”
“Faulty wiring is another thing that happens a lot more in movies than in real life.” Journey went to work making her famous brownies. Well, famous as far as Samara was concerned.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter what started it. We got out, no one was hurt, and the firefighters were able to save the building.” Not that she cared overmuch about Morningstar Enterprise’s headquarters. She definitely
