The Last King

by Katee Robert

  Instead, he called his bank. His aunt’s comment about finances wasn’t in passing. Once he confirmed that no unauthorized charges had been made to his personal account, he ordered it locked down for everything except in-person withdrawals. Then Beckett did the same with his trust fund, the three accounts his father had willed him, and Morningstar’s accounts as well. Even with no evidence of any attempts to access the money, he couldn’t help feeling a little paranoid.

  Either she’d been bluffing to waste his time…or she was already three steps ahead of him.

  Fuck that. Beckett dropped onto the bench and leaned back to stare at the sky. He couldn’t go on like this, reacting to the shit Lydia pulled. Eventually, she’d get the best of him and he’d lose yet another thing he valued. No, he had to get ahead of this and he had to do it before the next blow fell.

  The government contract.

  Beckett hesitated. By all rights, he should wait for the presentation Friday and let the dice fall where they may. Samara had been working her ass off on her bid, and if he played dirty on this, it might hurt her standing with her job.

  And maybe that’s exactly what Lydia wants. She shoved Samara at me and, while that connection might be real enough, Samara’s been very clear about where her loyalties lie. I can’t put her before Morningstar when she’s not doing the same for me.

  Whether he liked it or not, his attraction to Samara was a glaring weak spot. Lydia wouldn’t hesitate to exploit it, and Samara wasn’t above using it against him, either. He was in the middle of a game where he was the only one playing by the rules, and there would be no winning if he continued on that route.

  There would be no justice.

  This is the only way, no matter how distasteful I find it.

  He braced himself and made the call.

  Chapter Ten

  Samara spent Sunday with her amma. Going through the normal weekend routine of her childhood was like wrapping up in a warm blanket. It transported her back to a time when she believed there was nothing her amma couldn’t do. When she stood as shield between Samara and the rest of the world.

  They cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, starting with wiping the cabinets down, inside and out, and ending with mopping the floor. Only when they were finished and Samara had rinsed out the mop bucket and set it aside to dry did her amma dry her hands and turn to her. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

  The dam inside her that held everything in its proper place had been showing hairline cracks since her first night with Beckett six months ago. At her amma’s softly spoken question, it burst and words poured out. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Amma considered her. “This has been bothering you for some time.”

  “Yes.” She leaned against the counter and looked out the back window. There wasn’t much to see—a postage stamp–sized backyard that her amma kept well groomed. The neighbors whose backyard bordered theirs were within easy speaking distance. She’d always hated that. Condo living might have its downsides, but growing up here had been like living in a fishbowl. Everyone was in everyone’s business, and they had no problem snooping and gossiping to get the scoop on whatever petty drama was currently playing out.

  “Samara.” There was no censure in her amma’s voice, but she felt it all the same.

  “Ever since I was a little girl, I had a path. It’s a good path. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am now. I’ve made sacrifices.” She raked her fingers through her hair. It didn’t help. “He’s under my skin, Amma. I thought I could keep my head about him and do what needed to be done, but every time we’re together he has me questioning things I know for a fact are true.”

  “Beckett King.” She spat the name.

  “Beckett King.” Samara took a deep breath and looked at her amma. She might have her father’s strong nose, but in every other way, she was made in her mother’s image. The years had been kind to her amma, dealing out laugh lines as easily as they dealt out the pinched stress lines that peppered her forehead. She wasn’t smiling now. Samara forced herself to look at her hands, at the weathered and beaten fingers that could have belonged to a woman twice her amma’s age.

  Those hands had sacrificed so Samara could have every opportunity, could shoot for the stars without anything holding her back.

  She forced a smile. “I’m sorry, Amma. The stress of this upcoming bid has me talking crazy. Why don’t you get out the cards and we’ll play rummy?”

  Amma hesitated like she wanted to dig into this conversation, but finally nodded. “It’s not every day my daughter has an entire Sunday to give me. You’ll stay for dinner?”

  “Of course.” She had to get back to the rat race sooner rather than later, but it would hold until after dinner. She needed this reminder of why she couldn’t deviate from her path. Beckett might believe that Lydia was behind every misfortune he’d been dealt since his father’s death, and he might even be right about part of it, but that had nothing to do with Samara.

  She ignored the tiny voice inside her that disagreed with leaving them to hash it out. It didn’t matter that Lydia had her children and Beckett had…Well, no one. It couldn’t matter. Samara didn’t make choices with her heart. She couldn’t afford to. She might not have achieved the level of ice-queen persona that Lydia cultivated, but what she had was better than nothing.

  In this industry, a thin skin might as well be an invitation for a knife in the back.

  Samara didn’t even make it into her office Monday morning before she was waylaid by Lydia’s assistant. “Ms. King needs to see you—now.”

  Of course she does. She wants a damn report on how I fucked Beckett on his desk and then almost died in a fire.

  Samara wouldn’t give it to her. She wasn’t willing to cross that particular line.

  Lydia turned from looking out her floor-to-ceiling windows as Samara walked into her office. She wore a gold dress that should have looked ostentatious as daywear, but she managed to pull it off all the same. “Close the door.”

  Apparently we’re getting right down to it. “Good morning, Lydia.”

  “Yes, yes.” She waved that away. “What do you have for me?”

  “It might help if you told me what information you’re looking for. Beckett wasn’t exactly sharing state secrets when I was at Morningstar Enterprise.”

  Lydia crossed to lean against the edge of her desk. She motioned to Samara to sit. “Start with why he invited you there in the first place.”

  “He offered me a job.” She made a face. “He didn’t come right out and say it, but the offer was there all the same.”

  Instead of being furious, Lydia’s lips quirked up. “My nephew isn’t as dumb as his father. He knew losing you would be a serious blow to both me and Kingdom Corp, and he didn’t hesitate to leverage your…history.”

  “I didn’t take it.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You’re loyal to a fault.” Lydia still looked entirely too amused. “He’ll try again, of course. He’s infatuated with you, and you present quite the prize both personally and professionally. Beckett won’t be able to resist attempting to seduce you away from me.”

  Samara stared. She’d had a couple ideas how this conversation would go, but none of them involved Lydia looking downright giddy at the thought of facing off with Beckett—of continuing to face off with him. “I’m not a toy you two can fight over, Lydia. I have better things to do than to lead Beckett King around by his nose.” That wasn’t what they were, but she wasn’t about to get into the intricacies of the push-and-pull between her and Beckett. They grappled for power within each interaction, but it was as much for their own enjoyment as to pursue their independent goals.

  “On the contrary. You’re uniquely qualified to do exactly that. He might not trust you completely, but he can’t leave you alone.” The amusement drained out of Lydia’s face, leaving only cold calculation in its wake. “If you’re so concerned about handling your various responsibilities, I can off-load the upcomi
ng bid to Journey to free you up.”

  “You’re not serious.” She shouldn’t have questioned Lydia, but it was too late to take it back now. Samara pushed to her feet. “You’re treating me like a glorified whore.”

  “You’re paid significantly better than any whore I know.”

  She stopped short, half sure she’d misheard. But no, Lydia had actually just said that. Samara took a careful breath and kept her body as relaxed as possible. Do not scream at your boss. “Lydia.” She spoke quietly, biting off each word to keep from losing control. “Nowhere in my job description does it include seducing the competition, let alone the competition who’s grief-stricken from losing his last remaining parent a few short days ago.”

  “Oh, please. Nathaniel was nothing but a burden on everyone connected to him. Beckett should be grateful he’s gone.” Lydia tilted her head to the side and studied Samara, leaving her feeling like a bug under a microscope. “You’re being uncharacteristically hysterical this morning.”

  She did not just—Samara gritted her teeth. “Well, I almost died in a fire on Saturday, so that might account for my poor mood.”

  “Honey, you were never in any danger from that fire.”

  The world seemed to hold its breath around her. Samara went still, her breath stalled in her lungs. “What are you talking about?” How the hell could Lydia possibly know what kind of danger she was or wasn’t in? Samara didn’t even know the true level of danger because the fire inspector had had to wait for the scene to cool down before he could do his job.

  “It was just a small fire. No one was in any danger.” Lydia must have seen the incredulous expression on her face, because she laughed. “No, I didn’t set it. I spoke with Beckett yesterday. Don’t look at me like that, Samara. I’m not a monster.”

  I’m not so sure. She wouldn’t know without speaking to Beckett, but Samara didn’t see him sharing specifics about the fire with his aunt. It didn’t make any sense. But if she contradicted Lydia right now, she was essentially accusing her boss of arson. Without proof.

  She’d be fired before the words were fully voiced.

  Lydia pushed off the desk and stalked toward her. The concerned expression on her face didn’t detract from the menace in her body language. “You look a little peaked, Samara. I’m sure you suffered some smoke inhalation on Saturday. Why don’t you take a few days to recover and then we’ll talk again?”

  A few days. “If I take a few days, that will hamper my ability to give the presentation for the government contract.”

  “Yes, honey, I know. Stop by Journey’s office on your way out and give her the pertinent information. She’ll take this one, and we’ll field you the next one.”

  Just like that, all Samara’s hard work was shelved so someone else could take the credit. It didn’t matter that Journey was her friend and would be as horrified by this turn of events as Samara was. What mattered was she’d been treated like the pawn she’d fought so hard to rise above.

  Samara lifted her chin. “I think you should reconsider.”

  “You’re more than capable of handling this, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been leaning on you entirely too much since my boys left.” Lydia’s hazel eyes were sympathetic, but her words cut through Samara like a knife. “I take care of my employees. This is in your best interest, Samara.” Nearly the same words Beckett had used, but for a very different purpose.

  There was no point in arguing. She’d just confirm how hysterical Lydia accused her of being. With it framed as being something for her benefit, Samara wouldn’t win. “I’ll be back on Wednesday.”

  “Might as well take the full week. Don’t look at me like that—you have a month’s worth of vacation days. A week will do you a bit of good.” Lydia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “In fact, it might be just the opportunity to take a real vacation. You haven’t had one of those in years. Our Hamptons house is always open to you, of course. I can make the arrangements.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” She couldn’t keep the stiffness out of her voice. “I’ll see you Monday.” Samara turned and walked out of the office. It was tempting to keep on walking until she got control of the fury blossoming with each breath, but no matter how pissed she was, she couldn’t leave Journey hanging.

  She managed to keep her expression under control until she shut the door between Journey’s office and the rest of the building. “Fuck. Shit, fuck, goddamn it.” She wished she had something to throw, but she wasn’t going to destroy her friend’s office just to make herself feel better.

  Journey hung up her phone and stood. “What the hell happened? Mother just called and let me know I’m taking over the bid? That’s your project.”

  “Not anymore.” She stalked from one side of the office to the other, her heels sinking into the thick carpet. “She basically just kicked me out of the office for a week. Forced vacation time.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Journey glared at the door. “I’m going to take care of this.”

  “No, don’t.” Samara stepped into her line of sight. “If you and your mother get into a fight over me, it will just make everyone else on this floor miserable for the next week.” Not to mention the fact it wouldn’t do any good. Lydia obviously wanted her out of the office—out of the city—for the next week. In all her years of working for this company, she’d never once been ordered on vacation. Something is going on.

  “Samara, this is wrong.”

  “I know.” She walked over and took her friend’s shoulders. “Can you drop by later and pick up the stuff I have for the bid? It’s at my place. You have to pull this off.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Journey turned contemplative. “Does this mean you’re going to take over negotiating with that jackass Frank Evans for me?”

  “Not a chance.” She hugged Journey. “It will be okay.”

  “You just got shafted and you’re comforting me.” Journey shook her head. “That’s so messed up.”

  “It will be fine. There will be other projects.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re taking this suspiciously well.”

  “I know when to pick my battles.” Several things Lydia had said had her suspicions rising. The woman shouldn’t have known about the specifics of the fire, but it was possible that Beckett had shared them with her. Samara wouldn’t know until she asked him.

  Taking a risk.

  So be it.

  “If you need anything—anything at all—this week, you let me know.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Journey gave her another suspicious look, but moved back to resume her seat. “I’ll be by later to grab that stuff.”

  “Actually, I’ll have it couriered to you. No reason to waste more time.” She smiled to reassure her friend, but Journey just looked more worried. Samara sighed. “Look, I’m angry and upset and I just want to drink too much wine and rage about the injustice of it all.”

  Journey stared. “Okay,” she said carefully. “Tell Beckett I said hi.”

  She paused. “I never said I was going to Beckett.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Journey gave a soft smile. “Might as well make the best of a shitty situation.”

  That wasn’t why she was going to Beckett, but she didn’t correct her friend. Samara would never do anything to hurt Kingdom Corp but…If Lydia really was behind the arson or, God forbid, Nathaniel’s death, then Samara was under an obligation to do what it took to bring that to light. She wasn’t a detective, but outside of the King family, no one knew the woman as well as Samara did. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Talk to you then.”

  She headed home and got everything packaged up and couriered out. Samara stared at her phone. She didn’t have to make this call. She could go on the vacation Lydia pressed on her. The Hamptons house was a small slice of paradise. She and Journey took a long weekend there every year and spent three days sunning themselves on the beach, drinking too much, and unwinding. Maybe if sh
e left Houston now she’d get her head on straight and come home with her priorities in order.

  But if she left now there would be no answers. Beckett might think the worst of Lydia, but no one else would believe him. He had the disadvantage of being seen as grieving, and while that gave him some leeway with his actions, it also counted against him when it came to his credibility.

  I might be wrong.

  She couldn’t guarantee it, though.

  What would she have done in Beckett’s place? If it had been her amma who suddenly died and there were no answers to be had. If there was someone who had answers, she’d want them to come forward. She’d beg them to come forward. Samara might not have concrete information, but she could get it given enough time.

  She’d lose her job if she did.

  She paced around her apartment, round and round as she argued with herself. There were no answers here. There were no easy answers at all. With a sigh, she pulled the theoretical trigger and called Beckett.

  He didn’t make her wait. “Samara, is everything okay?”

  She blinked, his concern stopping her in her tracks. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  A pause, like she’d surprised him. “You may have forgotten, but just forty-eight hours ago, we were running down far too many flights of stairs.”

  For some reason, she got the feeling that hadn’t been what he was originally going to say. Samara forced some lightness into her voice. If there were things she wasn’t willing to say over the phone, it stood to reason that he might have some as well. “I’d like to see you tonight.”

  “I may have to work a little late, but why don’t you just meet me at my condo. I’ll have my doorman let you in.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Beckett, that’s not necessary. Just text me when you’re done at work, and I’ll come over then.”

  “Humor me. You’ll be safe at my place.”

  Safe. Beckett definitely knew something she didn’t. Samara pictured Lydia’s face as she pushed her to leave the city for the week. Surely Lydia wouldn’t hurt me to get at Beckett. That would require him to actually care about me.