Chapter 3
THREE
NADIA
I'd barely made it inside my commercial kitchen when my knees went weak.
Bracing myself against the stainless-steel prep table, I took a shuddering breath and tried to get my act together.
Professional Nadia, the one who'd managed food service for five hundred soldiers, could handle this.
Personal Nadia, the one who'd fled Daemon’s bed, was having a complete meltdown.
What the hell had I been thinking?
I knew what I'd been thinking. I'd been thinking about how good he looked in those worn jeans. How his laugh set my body fizzing in a way that was far from professional. For six months, every time he'd asked me out, I'd wanted to say yes but stopped myself.
And last night, with the champagne buzzing in my veins and the success of Lindsey Hunter's launch making me believe in happy endings, I'd let myself have what I wanted.
And now I was paying for it.
My phone buzzed with a text from my delivery driver.
Running 10 mins late. Accident. Not me.
Thank heavens. That gave me ten minutes to pull myself together before I had to be the competent business owner who ran Coogan's Catering and Events with skills I'd learned in the military.
I caught my reflection in the polished chrome of my industrial refrigerator. Hair braided, monogrammed jumpsuit zipped, shoes on. From the outside, I looked as I always did.
Inside, I was a mess.
No one would guess that three hours ago, I'd been in Daemon's bed, doing things that would make my mama's rosary beads catch fire.
Don't think about it.
But that was the problem. I couldn't stop thinking about it.
About how his hands had felt on my skin, rough from construction work but oh so gentle.
How he'd kissed me like he'd been waiting months to get it right.
How afterward, he'd pulled me against his muscled chest, and I'd fallen asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, more relaxed than I had been in years.
How I'd woken up surrounded by doilies and ceramic cats and realized I'd made a terrible mistake.
Not the sex. The sex had been... well. The sex had been the kind that ruined you for other men. The kind that made you understand why people did stupid things for passion.
The mistake was letting myself want more.
Because I'd seen his face when I tried to leave.
Seen something raw and real that had nothing to do with his reputation as Coogan's Break's most charming player.
And in that instant I'd wanted to stay. Wanted to curl back into that bed amid the ridiculous decor and see what breakfast with Daemon looked like.
But I couldn't afford wants. Not when my parents were struggling to make mortgage payments and my sister needed help with the kids. Not when my business was the only thing keeping my family afloat.
And it would be a ‘hell no’ when the man in question was famous for loving and leaving half the women in town wanting more. So much more.
Except... those ceramic cats. That hideous rose-covered lamp. The way he'd admitted, almost sheepishly, that he couldn't redecorate because his elderly landlady would notice.
Those weren't the actions of a careless player. That was something else altogether.
Stop it. You don't know him.
But I knew him, didn't I? Months of watching from the periphery at events or around town. Of noticing how he was always the first to help when something went wrong, how he looked at me like...
Like I was the only woman in the room.
Dangerous thinking, Becker.
My phone rang. Unknown number. I almost let it go to voicemail.
"Coogan's Catering, this is Nadia."
"Ms. Becker. Richard Gray from P.T.S."
Given the early hour, my stomach dropped. Pacific Tech Solutions was one of my biggest corporate accounts. Regular events, reliable income, excellent references. "Mr. Gray, good morning. What can I do for you?"
A beat stretched too long. "I'm afraid I'm calling with tough news. Corporate has updated our approved vendor list, and we'll need to transition to a national chain for our catering needs going forward."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "I... I don't understand. Has there been a problem with our service?"
"Not at all. Your work has been exemplary. But corporate prefers us to use larger operations that can service multiple properties. I'm sorry, Nadia. I pushed back, but the decision was above my pay grade."
"Which chain?" I asked, my mind already turning over something I'd seen or heard recently.
"I'm not sure. Corporate was cagey about sharing details. All they'd say was that it was a big outfit expanding into the region."
A big national operator was my worst nightmare. The kind that wrung out local competition with lowball pricing, corporate connections, and economies of scale that no independent operation could match.
"I understand," I said, proud that my voice stayed steady. "Thank you for letting me know."
"For what it's worth, I'll be recommending you to anyone who asks. You run a quality operation."
I didn't realize he'd hung up until the line went dead. I'd been too busy calculating how badly losing the account would hurt. Pacific Tech had been money I could rely on. Money I'd counted on, money my family needed.
The vendor truck pulled up outside, and I forced myself to move. To check in the delivery, inspect the produce, and sign the invoice. To be the competent professional everyone expected.
But my mind was spinning. Whoever this new competitor was, I needed to know more about them. Figure out their strategy. Find some way to compete. Maybe reach out to my other corporate clients and make sure they weren't planning to jump ship too.
My phone buzzed again. This time a text from my sister, Holly.
Mom called. They're short $500 on this month's mortgage. Dad's hours got cut again. Can you help? Sorry sis.
I closed my eyes. Five hundred dollars. Money that would have been easy before losing the Pacific Tech contract. Now it would be tight.
Damn it, I should have stayed in bed with Daemon.
Not that it would have helped. This was about building something. Protecting my family. Not dodging my responsibilities. Not being a woman who risked everything for a man who wouldn't stick around when things got hard.
It didn't matter that he checked on his landlady every day and lived surrounded by ceramic cats rather than upset her by hiding them. Nor did it matter that his hands had been so gentle and his eyes so honest when he'd said it was real.
My phone buzzed a third time. Daemon, as if my obsessing over him had manifested his text.
Breakfast with Sofia was brutal. She knows everything. She wants to meet you. Fair warning, she’ll grill you while feeding you 10,000 calories.
Despite the lost account, the money stress, the confusion churning in my gut, I smiled. Then I deleted the text before I could do something stupid like responding.
Prep work consumed the rest of the morning. I had a corporate luncheon and a small private dinner to organize. Normal work. Routine. Things I could do in my sleep.
Except I kept getting distracted by memories of Daemon holding my thighs steady. His lips moving ever closer. The way he'd said my name before he...
Focus, Becker.
I was arranging appetizers on serving platters when my phone rang. Tony at Coastal Produce, one of my regular suppliers.
"Hey, Tony. What's up?"
"Nadia," he said, his voice apologetic. "I got a call this morning. Some place offering me an exclusive supply contract. Better rates than I can give you, but guaranteed bigger volumes."
My hands stilled on the platter. "Are you taking it?"
"I don't want to. You've been a good customer for three years. But Nadia... it's a lot of money. And they said if I want the contract, I can't service their competitors in the region."
"Meaning me."
"Yeah. I'm sorry. I told them I needed to think about it, but..." He trailed off, his decision loud in the silence that followed.
"I understand," I said, because what else could I say? "Thanks for the heads-up."
"If it helps, I'm not the only one they've approached. They're going after all the local suppliers. I think they're trying to lock down the entire region."
"Tony, did you get a name?"
"Yeah, Elevate Events. Out of San Francisco, I think."
After we hung up, I stared at my phone.
This wasn't run-of-the-mill competition. This was deliberate. A campaign designed to force operations like mine out of business. And once they succeeded, you could be damn sure they'd hike their prices.
Elevate? Why did the name ring a bell?
I thought about it for a minute, then had it. A month back I'd catered a clifftop auction for Law's Real Estate. One of those high-end properties north of town, the kind with floor-to-ceiling glass and a view that made people forget what things cost.
I'd been leaving afterward, tired but satisfied, when I'd noticed a black Tesla parked a little way down the cul-de-sac. Dark silver logo on the door. A stylized E with the name Elevate below. Nothing about events, though.
I'd assumed it belonged to a guest or a staging company. Someone with real estate money. I hadn't thought twice.
And then again last night, at the Donovan Warehouse, when I’d stepped out front for some fresh air. No missing it. Same car, same logo, parked like it had been there a while. At the time, I'd been too distracted by everything else to register it properly.
Whoever they were, they hadn't recently arrived in Coogan's Break. They'd been watching for at least four weeks, possibly longer. The other thing I knew was that they hadn't attended Lindsey's book launch, because I'd known everyone there. One of the perks of being a local.
That meant they weren't targeting me specifically, but the entire local market. A high-end real estate auction, a major book launch. Both exactly the sort of events a corporate caterer would scout before moving in.
The thought sat cold in my chest. It wasn't personal, but they'd come prepared, and whoever they were, I didn't have a clue how to fight them.
Never one to sit still, I texted my staff group chat to let them know there'd be a team meeting at eight the following morning. To sweeten the deal, I sent a follow-up: coffee and pastries on me.
Then, before I could second-guess myself, I opened a new message. Stared at Daemon's name in my contacts. The text I'd deleted earlier was still in my head. Sofia wants to meet you.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I should ignore it. Should keep my distance. The last thing I needed while my business was imploding was complications.
But Daemon worked for Lucky Break Construction. Which meant he worked with Ethan Hunter, who was married to Lindsey Hunter. Whose book launch had been last night. And Lindsey knew everyone in Coogan's Break.
Which meant maybe there were connections I could use. Information I could gather. Resources I could tap.
You're rationalizing, my brain informed me. You want an excuse to text him, to see him again. All of him. Spread out beneath you.
My brain might be right about Daemon, but I was also desperate when it came to my business.
I texted to tell him I liked my coffee strong and my interrogations direct, then asked what time I should come over.
I hit send before I could reconsider.
His response came back almost immediately.
Tonight? 7pm? I'll provide moral support and an exit strategy if she gets too intense. Also, she makes the best carbonara you've ever tasted.
I shouldn't. This was such a bad idea. And yet I responded with a simple: See you at 7.
Then I set my phone down and got back to work, trying not to think about what I was doing. Trying not to acknowledge that I'd be seeing Daemon again that night.
It wouldn't matter that I'd have his landlady as a buffer. It was as if I were giving myself permission to want something I'd already decided I couldn't have.
Planning was my forte. I was excellent at separating emotion from mission objectives. I could have dinner with Sofia, charm an elderly lady, maybe pick Daemon's brain about business connections in Coogan's Break.
I could be professional about it. Keep my walls up.
Resist the urge to drag him back to that ridiculous apartment and find out if last night was a fluke or as good as I remembered.
My money was on the latter.