Kieran's already waiting in my office with the Miller file open on his tablet. "So Pacific Northwest Distribution," he says without preamble. "They've been buying up small craft operations all over the Northwest."
"Not just buying," I correct, settling behind my desk, thinking about the reports I’ve read and things I heard at the conference in Vegas. "Gutting. They strip away everything unique, standardize the processes, and slap the original labels on what amounts to mass-produced swill."
"Harsh but accurate." Kieran swipes through some documents. "They've acquired seven craft breweries in the last eighteen months. Last month, they approached Eastside Ales with an offer."
"Did they accept?"
"No, but rumor has it they're reconsidering after Miller sweetened the deal. And now he's coming to us." Kieran looks up, his expression serious. "What do you think he wants?"
"To destroy everything I've built," I say without hesitation. "Cascade is the link between most of the independent craft breweries in Portland. If he folds our distribution into his control, he controls who gets tap handles and shelf space almost everywhere."
"It’s a smart play," Kieran admits.
"Yes, but it doesn't mean I'm selling." I straighten a stack of papers on my desk. "Not now, not ever. I didn't build this company from nothing just to hand it over to some soulless corporate douchebag."
"Even if the number has a lot of zeros?"
"Even then." My hand moves to my stomach, then drops when I realize what I'm doing. It’s a new habit I need to break before someone notices.
But Kieran sees it. Of course he does. The man misses nothing. Mercifully, though, he says nothing. "Have you talked to your new roommate about this meeting?"
"Why would I?" I tilt my head and squint at my head of operations, wondering what he’s getting at. "We agreed to keep our business lives completely separate."
"Because Miller's probably talking to him too," Kieran points out. "Pacific Northwest hasn't been subtle about wanting to control the Portland craft scene. Timber would be a prime target."
The thought hadn't occurred to me, which is annoying. Kieran's right—of course Miller would approach Kasen too. Timber's built a loyal following, and their direct-to-bar model cuts out distributors like me. It's the exact kind of operation Miller would want.
"Kasen wouldn't sell," I say with a lot of confidence I hope I’m not wrong about. "He's too stubborn and too proud of what he's built."
Kieran gives me a strange look. "That almost sounded like a compliment."
"It's not. It's an observation." I stand, straightening my blazer. "I need to prep for this meeting. Make sure the conference room is ready."
"Already done." He rises too, tablet in hand. "Should I mention that the Timber team was spotted at Hopworks yesterday? From what I hear, it looked like an informal meeting. Someone matching Miller's description was there."
My stomach drops. "Why are you just telling me this now?"
"I couldn’t confirm it until this morning." Kieran shrugs, but his eyes are sharp. "Thought you'd want to know before you sit down with Miller yourself."
"You’re right." I grab my water bottle, all this talk of Kasen reminding me of his incessant texts about staying hydrated. "Thanks."
"That's what you pay me for." He pauses at the door. "Among other things, like snapping you out of dirty daydreams and keeping you humble."
"That happened once.”
"Three times.” He smirks. “So far.” Then the asshole disappears down the hall.
Alone again, I sink back into my chair. My thoughts are going in a million different directions. Kasen met with Miller? It could be nothing. Or it could be everything. The idea of Kasen selling Timber makes my chest tight in a way that has nothing to do with business rivalry and everything to do with knowing how much that brewery means to him.
Not that I care. I don't. It's just?—
My phone buzzes again. It's not Kasen this time, but a text from the reception desk.
Reception: Nolan Miller is here. 15 mins early.
Yeah, that’s an attempt at a power move. He’s trying to make me accommodate his schedule instead of the other way around and if I was feeling like a bitch today, I’d make him wait an extra ten minutes to show him his time’s no more valuable than mine.
This isn’t my first rodeo.
