My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I reach for it automatically. Miller's name appears on the screen with a text.
Miller: Heard you had some excitement tonight. Stress is so dangerous for expectant mothers. Hope you're reconsidering our offer.
I go cold. "Kasen."
He looks up from his plate, immediately reading my expression. "What’s wrong?"
I show him the text. His face darkens to something murderous.
"He wouldn't," I whisper. "Would he? Seriously try to take advantage of my health issue? In the middle of the night?"
"Forward that to me," Kasen says, his voice deadly calm. "And text that coalition group chat. Emergency meeting tomorrow morning. Miller just fucked with the wrong people."
"Whatever he's planning," I say, setting my phone aside after sending the text, "we'll stop him."
"Damn right we will," Kasen agrees, pulling me closer. "Nobody threatens my family and gets away with it."
Family. The word settles around us like a promise, like a battle cry, like the thing I've been afraid to want my whole life.
But as I let Kasen wrap me up in his arms, I'm not afraid anymore.
I'm furious.
And god help Nolan Miller, because a pregnant woman with a protective husband and a righteous anger is not someone he wants to fuck with.
He’s about to enter his find out era.
I've never felt more like breaking someone's face than when Nolan Miller walks into Cascade's conference room with that smug fucking smile. He’s in an expensive suit and looks like he thinks he’s won.
Well, fuck that.
My fingers curl into fists. Wren sits beside me at the head of the table, shoulders back, chin up. Anyone else would miss the tension in her jaw, but I've memorized every expression she makes. She's furious.
"Mr. James. Miss Callan." Miller settles into the chair across from us, placing a leather portfolio on the table. "Thank you for agreeing to meet. I trust you're feeling better?" His eyes drop pointedly to Wren's belly.
"Cut the shit," I growl before Wren can answer. "We know what you're doing."
"And what might that be?" His smile is slimy as fuck and doesn't reach his eyes.
Wren slides a folder across the table. "Attempted industrial sabotage. Targeted harassment of our partner breweries. Using my medical incident to try to pressure me into selling." Her voice is ice cold. "Should I keep going?"
Miller barely glances at the folder. "Those are some strong accusations. I assume you have proof?"
"We have Marcus Wells on video trying to break into Timber," I say, leaning forward. "The same Marcus Wells whonow works for you. And a dozen breweries with similar stories of equipment failures, distribution problems, and mystery issues."
"One disgruntled employee acting on his own hardly constitutes a pattern," Miller dismisses with a wave of his hand.
Wren's smile reminds me of a shark who smells blood in the water. "Maybe not. But a dozen breweries all experiencing the same problems after refusing your offers?That'sa pattern."
"And the text you sent me after my hospital visit?" she continues. "That was a nice touch. Very concerned. Very threatening."
"I merely expressed concern for your wellbeing," Miller replies smoothly. "Pregnancy can be so stressful."
My bloodburnswith the need for violence, but I feel Wren's hand on my thigh, her fingers digging in to steady me.
"Here's what's going to happen," she says, her voice deceptively calm. "You're going to back off. All of our partner breweries. All of our distribution routes. Us. All of it."
Miller laughs. "Or what?"
