Kieran: Do I need to file a missing person’s report?
Kieran: Don’t make me call you
Shit. The MacIntyre meeting. I completely spaced on it. They're a small but growing brewery looking for distribution—exactly the kind of client Cascade needs. Exactly the kind of brewery Kasen would try to convince to bypass distributors altogether and sell direct-to-bar like Timber does.
Me: I’m in baggage claim hell.
Me: Stall.
I tap my foot against the tile. "This is ridiculous," I mutter, earning a sympathetic smile from the businessman standing next to me.
By the time I reach Cascade headquarters, I've pushed thoughts of Vegas and Kasen as far back in my mind as possible. I've done what I told myself I would, and when the plane touched down on Portland soil, I took the ring off.
It didn’t go far, though, and I slipped it on the simple chain necklace that used to be my grandmother’s and tucked it into my shirt. I did a speed change into fresh clothes in the airport bathroom. My hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, my makeup’s as flawless as it can get, having been done in the back of an Uber (complete with covered hickey), and I’m back to feeling more like myself.
I mean, I'm still a wreck, but no one needs to know that.
My baby, the converted warehouse that houses Cascade Craft Distribution, comes into view, and every time I see it, I feel aswell of pride. I built this business from nothing, fought for every contract, every tap handle, every distribution route.
I refuse to let one stupid decision hurt my baby.
Kieran meets me at the door in a tailored navy Tom Ford suit, a coffee in each hand and a smirk on his handsome face.
"It must’ve been a good weekend because you look like hell,” he says, handing me the larger of the two cups.
"I don’t want to talk about it," I reply, taking a grateful sip.
“Exactly how you should walk away from a trip to Vegas.”
"MacIntyre?"
"Conference room. They were early, which is a good sign."
I nod, already shifting into work mode as the caffeine works its magic into my bloodstream. "Good. What's our offer?"
Kieran falls into step beside me as we cross the warehouse floor. "Thirty percent distribution with first-year incentives if they hit the targets we set. Exclusive rights to their seasonal releases."
"Make it thirty-five," I say. "I want them to feel we're invested in their growth."
Kieran gives me a searching look. "You sure? That's higher than we discussed."
"I'm sure."
What I don't say is that I need this win today—need something to go right after the clusterfuck that was Vegas. I need to prove to myself that I'm still capable and strong and not the fuckup my weekend choices might imply.
Right before we’re about to go into the conference room, Kieran stops me with a hand on my arm. He looks down at me with a frown, his hair swept back off his face. "I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but what really happened in Vegas?" he asks quietly. "And don't say 'nothing' because I can tell something's off." He glances up at the room full of people. “You can’t go in there being off.”
For a split second, I consider telling him everything. Kieran is the closest thing I have to a best friend, the one person who knows all the sacrifices I've made for Cascade. He’s been by my side for all of them. But this whole thing is just too humiliating to admit. At least right now when I’ve got less than thirty seconds before I need to walk into that room projecting nothing but confidence.
"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," I say with forced lightness. "Now let's go sign this brewery before someone else does."
Kieran doesn't look convinced, but he lets it drop. "Whatever you say, boss."
I paste on myI’m about to own the worldsmile as I push open the conference room door, extending my hand to the MacIntyre team. "Welcome to Cascade. Let's talk about getting your beer into every bar in Portland, shall we?"
For the next hour, I lose myself in what I do best—growing my empire. I push thoughts of Kasen and wedding rings and big dicks and Vegas hotel suites to the back of my mind. This—business, contracts, distribution routes—this is what I'm good at. This is what matters.
Not blue eyes or tattoos or a warm body keeping me safe while I sleep.
