Beckett stared. What he was saying…what he was accusing Lydia of? “But you stayed married.”
“Bancrofts aren’t quitters, nephew. If I walked out on her, I stood to lose everything. Over the years, we fell into what passed for a comfortable arrangement, but I still can’t stand to be in the same room as that woman.”
There were two sides to every story. Beckett might think his aunt was damn near evil, but he seriously doubted that Elliott was some babe in the woods who’d fallen prey to her. It was far more likely that he’d always been a philanderer and his family had jumped at the chance to make him someone else’s problem. But if even part of what he said was true, Beckett needed to have a conversation with Walter Trissel—sooner rather than later. His former attorney might be brilliant in court, but he was a weak man with weak impulses. If Beckett found something to leverage against him, he could get the man to talk. He was sure of it.
“Thanks for your time.” Beckett stood and considered his uncle. “If you were going to hit Lydia where it hurt, where would you aim?”
Elliott threw back his head and laughed. “Good luck, nephew. That would require Lydia to have a fucking heart.”
Chapter Fourteen
Samara put her time to good use while Beckett was gone. If this was going to be a break from reality and a date at the same time, she wanted it to be a damn good date. The best date. She chatted up the bellman and got the best restaurant within easy traveling distance—a place just up the beach—and then she went shopping.
It was frivolous and silly to want to wow Beckett, but she couldn’t just sit in the hotel room and wait for him to come back. As she flipped through dress options at a little boutique the bellman had recommended, she gave in to the temptation to call Journey. Just to check in.
Right.
Her friend answered as if she’d been waiting by the phone. “Thank God. Samara, I swear to all that’s holy, you scare me sometimes.”
Samara considered a red dress and set it back on the rack. “You’re looking through the notes for the bid.”
“Of course I’m looking through the notes for the bid. I’ve been doing nothing but wading through your notes since I picked them up this morning. Seriously, honey, we have to talk about your research habits. You have two binders full of information.”
“There’s a ‘CliffsNotes’ version in the smaller of the two. I put all the pertinent information there for easy reference.” She frowned at a sequined gown that looked like it belonged in a bridal shop. “If you need me to come back—”
“Nope. I don’t care what my mother’s reasons were for forcing you to take a break, but I do support the end result. You work your ass off for Kingdom Corp. You might as well enjoy those vacation days you’ve saved up and let your hair down.” She paused and lowered her voice. “Are you still with Beckett?”
“Not currently, but yes.” Her gaze landed on a dark purple dress and she lifted the hanger to get a better look at it. Perfect. “I…I kind of like him.”
“Honey, I know you do. Just be careful, okay?”
“I will,” she promised, though it felt like lying through her teeth. Samara had left careful behind days ago. She was in a full free fall and she couldn’t bring herself to care about the fast-approaching ground.
Journey snorted. “Somehow, I just don’t believe you. But that’s neither here nor there.” The amusement disappeared from her tone. “Mother has leveled the direst of threats against me if I screw up your presentation—her disappointment. She’s in danger of micromanaging, but you’ll be happy to know that I’ve kept my temper in check. Mostly.”
If they hadn’t been friends for so many years, Samara wouldn’t have picked up on the thread of tension in Journey’s voice. Everyone had their hot-button issues. For Samara, it was her father. For Journey, it was both her parents.
She glanced around, but no one was paying her the slightest bit of attention. “You can do this. You’re even better at this job than I am, and I’m fucking great at my job.”
“This isn’t my forte, Samara. I’m better at telling people what to do and managing the bullshit that crops up when the different departments start butting heads. Hell, I’d rather deal with the media than this.”
Samara drifted toward the back of the boutique, her dress in hand. “Are you at home?”
“…Yes. Though if you’re about to ask me what I’m wearing, we’re going to talk about your phone sex skills.”
She laughed. “You know that giant atrocity of a mirror in your front hall? Go stand in front of that.”
“Kinky.”
“Shut up and do what I say.”
“Yes, mistress.” Heels clicked in the distance as Journey must have stood and walked to the mirror. Samara could picture the mirror perfectly. It was easily seven feet tall and three feet wide, and its one-foot-wide metal frame only made it seem more massive. Journey huffed out a breath. “Okay, I’m staring at my mirror and feeling like an idiot.”
“Repeat after me.”
“Oh, no. Samara—”
“I am a badass, capable woman and I’m going to make this bid my bitch.”
Silence for a beat. “Do I have to scream it like Jerry Maguire?”
She laughed. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Now, stop stalling and say it.”
“I am a badass, capable woman and I’m going to make this bid my bitch!” Journey dissolved into giggles. “Okay, I don’t hold to the positive affirmation stuff, but I feel slightly better. Thanks. This thing has me all twisted up. It’s wrong that I’m doing this, Sam. It should be you.”
It should be me. She wouldn’t say it. Not to Journey. It wasn’t her friend’s fault that Lydia
