"Fuck no," I say, tightening my arm around her. "Pretty sure it just makes you even hotter."
She snorts. "So predictable."
"What? Now we can appreciate hot women together."
She laughs, relaxing back against me. "Just don't expect any threesomes, James. I don't share either."
"Wouldn't dream of it." I press my lips to her neck. "I can barely handle you. Adding someone else would probably kill me."
We fall into comfortable silence, her attention back on the movie, mine split between the screen and the woman in my arms. Something about her casual revelation, the easy way she shared that piece of herself with me, makes my chest feel too full.
It's another layer of Wren I get to know, another part of her she's trusting me with. And I want all of it—every secret, every preference, every hidden corner of who she is.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, breaking the moment. I almost ignore it, but it's four in the morning. Nobody calls at this hour unless something's wrong.
"Shit," I mutter, reaching for it. The brewery's number flashes on the screen. "I need to take this."
Wren pauses the movie, concern crossing her face as I answer.
"James."
"Kasen, it's Scott from night security." The guard's voice is tight and I go on high alert. "Someone tried to break into the brewery. The alarm scared them off, but you might want to come down here to talk to the police."
"On my way," I say, already standing. "Anyone hurt?"
"No, sir. They didn't get past the loading dock door."
I hang up, looking down at Wren. "Someone tried to break in at Timber. I need to go check it out."
She sits up immediately. "I'll come with you."
"You don't have to?—"
"I'm coming," she says firmly, already heading for the bedroom to change. "Someone's messing with your brewery. I want to know who."
Ten minutes later, we're pulling up to Timber. The place is lit up, security guards and a couple of cops milling around the loading area. I spot Lake talking to an officer, his expression grim.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look on his face.
"What happened?" I ask, approaching them with Wren close behind me, gripping my hand.
Lake turns, relief crossing his face. "Someone tried to force the loading dock door open. They got spooked when the alarm went off." He nods toward the security cameras. "We got decent footage, though. You're gonna want to see this."
Inside the office, Lake pulls up the feed. The video quality isn't great, but we can see two figures working on the loading dock door.
"Wait." I lean closer, focusing on the shorter guy's movements. "That's Marcus Wells. He used to work for Eastside before they sold out to Miller."
"How can you tell?" Wren asks as she leans over my shoulder to squint at the screen.
"The limp. Do you remember when he hurt his knee in that brewery softball tournament last summer? He’s had it ever since." I tap the screen. "And I'd recognize that stance anywhere—he's got a specific way he leans when he’s trying to take the weight off of it.”
Lake nods slowly. "You're right. And didn't he just start working for Pacific Northwest after the acquisition?"
"Yes, yes, he did." My jaw tightens as the pieces click into place. "Miller's behind this."
"It gets better," Lake says grimly. "I was at Hopworks yesterday afternoon when some suits showed up. Rumor is they're being pressured to sell."
"Let me guess," Wren says. "Miller's people?"
