The lawyer passed Samara the second file. “Nathaniel King has left the residence of Thistledown Villa to Lydia King and her children.”
“The fuck he did!” Beckett slammed his hands down on the desk, making it clang hollowly. “There’s been a mistake. No way in hell my father left the family home to her.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. King, but there’s been no mistake. As I mentioned earlier, the paperwork is all in order. Your father was in his right mind when he signed this will, and I stood as his witness. While you’re welcome to contest it in court, I have to advise you that it’s a losing battle.”
Samara read through the paperwork quickly. She’d been told to expect the family home to be willed to Lydia, but she still wanted to make sure everything was in order. As Walter had said, there was a lot of legalese, but it was exactly what he said. Good. It meant she could get the hell out of there. “Thank you for your time.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door.
She barely made it into the hallway before a large hand closed over her upper arm, halting her forward progress. “Let me go, Beckett.”
“Samara, just hold on a damn second.” He released her but didn’t step back. “That house should have been mine and you know it. My father leaving it to Lydia makes no sense. She hasn’t set foot in the place in thirty years.”
“It’s none of my business what your father did or didn’t leave to Lydia. I’m not a King.” She forced herself to move away despite the insane urge to touch him. It was second nature to inject her tone with calm and confidence. “Nothing you can say is going to change what that will said. I know it’s your childhood home, but your father obviously had a reason for leaving it to his sister. Maybe he was finally trying to fix the hurt his father caused by passing her over for CEO and cutting her out of the family. It’s not like you were close enough for him to confide in you if he had decided to fix things with Lydia.”
Hurt flickered through Beckett’s dark eyes, and Samara battled a pang of guilt in response. The King family’s messed-up past wasn’t Beckett’s fault any more than it was hers, but that didn’t mean she had to throw it in his face.
His jaw set, hurt replaced by fury. “Stop trying to handle me. I’m not some client you’re trying to talk into an oil lease.”
She took him in, from the top of his hair that looked like he’d been raking his fingers through it for roughly twelve hours straight, over the T-shirt fitted tightly across his broad shoulders and muscled chest, down to the faded jeans that hugged his thighs lovingly, ending on the scuffed boots. “If you were a client, I would already have a contract in hand. You’re easy pickings right now, Beckett.” That’s it. Remember who you are to each other: enemies.
He reached out and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger, pulling her a little closer despite her best intentions. “Don’t try that snooty attitude with me. It doesn’t work.”
“You’re just full of orders tonight, aren’t you?”
“You like it.” His thumb brushed her cheek, sending a zing down her spine that curled her damn toes in her expensive red heels. “You like a lot of things I do when you’re not thinking so hard.”
She had to get the hell out of there right then and there, or she’d do something unforgivable like kiss Beckett King. Never should have let him get this close. I know what happens when we’re within touching distance. It had only been once, but once was more than enough to imprint itself on her memories. No amount of tequila could blur out how intoxicating it was to have his hands on her body, or the way he’d growled every filthy thing he’d wanted to do to her before following through on it. Things would be a lot easier if she’d just blacked out the entire night and moved on with her life.
He lowered his head and she blurted out the first thing she could think of to make him back off. “Beckett, your father just died.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Nathaniel King was dead.
That reality was almost impossible to wrap her head around. For all her thirty-two years, Nathaniel had loomed large over Houston. The King family was an institution that had been around for generations, all the way back to the founding of Houston itself, and Nathaniel was its favored son. It was that favoritism that caused his father to pass over Lydia for the CEO position. The unfairness of that call had driven her to cash out her shares and start her own company—Kingdom Corp—in direct competition with her family. Thirty years later, it didn’t matter what Samara had told Beckett, because that rift was nowhere near closing. Time might heal some wounds, but it only cemented Lydia’s ill will for the family that had cut her off when she wouldn’t play by their rules.
And now there was nothing left of that side of the family but Beckett.
He released Samara and took a step back, and then another. “Just go. Run back to your handler.” He let her get three steps before he said, “But make no mistake—this isn’t over.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant contesting the will or them, and she didn’t stick around to ask. Samara kept her head held high and the file clutched tightly in her grip as she took the elevator down to the main floor, walked out the doors, and strode two blocks down the humid Houston streets to Kingdom Corp headquarters. The only person lingering at this time in the evening was the security guard near the front door, and he barely looked up as she strode through the doors.
Another quick elevator ride, and she stepped out at the executive
