"I'm looking for Kasen James," she announces, sounding like she's about to grade my entire existence. I bet grad students shit themselves when they have to answer a question in her class. "I understand he's responsible for my daughter's current situation."
Fuck.
Margot Callan. Wren's mom. The professor who basically programmed Wren to think all men are out to ruin her career and make her a second-class citizen or something. The woman who apparently has a quote from some dead writer at the ready so she can prove her point.
And she's looking at me like I'm everything wrong with the patriarchy, condensed into human form.
No big deal.
"That would be me," I say, shifting Noble higher on my hip. The kid chooses that moment to let out an ear-piercing scream before smacking my face with a slobbery hand, which doesn't exactly help me look put together.
Margot's eyes narrow behind her glasses, taking in the tattoos, the baby on my hip, the beer in my hand. I can practically see her cataloging each detail, filing them away as evidence against me.
"I see." Her tone could ice over a volcano. "Is there somewhere we can speak privately, Mr. James? About my daughter and my grandchild?"
Banks, Reed, and Lake exchange looks that all communicate the same thing:You're on your own, buddy.
"My office," I say, nodding toward the back. "Lake, can you take Noble?"
Lake practically trips over himself taking my nephew, clearly eager to escape whatever showdown is about to happen. Noble immediately starts fussing at the handoff, but he should consider himself lucky he doesn’t have to be a part of what’s about to go down.
I lead Margot to my office, trying not to feel like I'm walking to my execution. The space isn't much—desk, couple of chairs, walls covered in beer label designs and family photos. It's cluttered but clean, at least.
She takes the seat across from my desk, spine straight, hands folded in her lap.
"Mrs. Callan—" I start.
"Doctor," she corrects immediately. "Dr. Callan."
Right. Strike one.
"Dr. Callan," I try again. "I'm guessing Wren doesn't know you're here."
"She does not." Margot's eyes are a sharp gray, just like Wren's, but lacking the warmth I've come to expect in that color. "I learned about her pregnancy through a former student who works at the Portland Tribune. Apparently, your relationship has become something of a talking point in local business circles."
Great. Exactly what Wren was afraid of.
"What exactly are your intentions with my daughter, Mr. James?" She cuts right to it, no preamble, no warming up."Because from where I sit, this looks suspiciously like the kind of situation I've spent twenty-seven years warning Wren about."
I could bullshit her. Try to charm her with promises and reassurances. But something tells me Margot Callan has a finely tuned bullshit detector, and I'd only dig myself deeper.
So I go with honesty instead.
"I love her," I say simply. "And I'm going to be there for her and our son for as long as she'll let me, which I'm hoping is forever."
Margot's expression doesn't change. "Love is all well and good, but it doesn't pay bills or advance careers. Wren has worked incredibly hard to build Cascade from nothing. She's fought twice as hard as any man in your industry to be taken seriously. And now her reputation is being undermined by whispers that she's sleeping her way to the top."
The accusation stings, mostly because I know Wren worries about the same thing.
"Anyone who knows Wren knows she's a badass businesswoman who built Cascade without any handouts," I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Her reputation isn't as fragile as you seem to think."
"Isn't it?" Margot's eyebrow arches in a gesture so familiar it momentarily throws me. Wren does the exact same thing. "Women's reputations are always more fragile than men's, Mr. James. Especially in male-dominated industries. One misstep—one perceived weakness—and everything she's built could crumble."
"This isn't a misstep," I say, my jaw tightening. "And Wren isn't weak."
"No, she isn't," Margot agrees, surprising me. "Which is why I'm concerned about the timing of all this. Pacific Northwest Brewing has been circling Portland's craft scene like a vulture for months. Suddenly my daughter is pregnant, living with... well,you, and making decisions that seem uncharacteristic, to say the least."
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the desk. "You think what, exactly? That I got her pregnant to what, slow her down? Distract her?"
