Chapter 12
TWELVE
DAEMON
The week after meeting Nadia's family had been both better and worse than I expected.
Better because we'd fallen into a simple rhythm. Sofia's place, or mine. Stolen dinners between her events, late nights planning how to beat Elevate.
Worse, because the pressure kept building.
Three more emails from Samantha Morrison. Two voicemails. Each one more insistent than the last. Nadia deleted them all without responding.
Instead, she'd spent her evenings with Sofia, the two of them hunched over that worn recipe notebook, testing dishes and arguing about garlic-to-basil ratios. Watching them work together settled something in my chest.
They were building something. A partnership that would give Nadia an edge Elevate couldn't match.
But partnerships took time, and Elevate weren’t screwing around.
At the crack of dawn on Saturday, Nadia's phone rang. She was dead to the world after last night's lovemaking, and I knew she wouldn't want to take the call. I was about to shove the phone under my pillow when I recognized the caller.
It was Jen, one of Nadia's servers. The timing didn't bode well.
The phone wasn't locked, so I answered, readying myself to rouse Nadia. I didn't get the chance. Jen started wailing, her words audible even without the call on speaker.
"Nadia, it's Jen. I'm sick. Like really sick. Food poisoning or something. There's no way I can work today."
Before I could tell her she wasn't talking to Nadia, I heard someone retching, the sound having a familiar ring to it, though I couldn’t tell you why. Either way, I knew it was a problem. Nadia grumbled about being woken up, then the call ended. Doubtless so Jen could continue throwing up.
As I lay there waiting for the beauty next to me to fully wake, I thought about the event later that day. It was a big deal, according to Nadia. Hadn't she said something about two hundred guests?
If my gut was tightening at the prospect of her being short-staffed, I hated to think how she'd react when I broke the news. But perhaps I could help.
Saturday. Nothing urgent on my schedule. Tyler would understand if I bailed on helping him move furniture. By the time Nadia woke, I had it all straight in my mind. Would it be easy? No. But neither would it be impossible.
I was a resourceful guy.
"Who was that?" mumbled Nadia, her voice still thick with sleep.
"It was Jen. She's got food poisoning. She can't work today."
I saw the shock on her face, the way the color drained, and realized I should have broken the news more slowly. Sure enough, she started spiraling immediately, listing staff shortages and contingencies.
"Put me to work," I said.
She blinked. "What?"
"I'm off today. I can follow directions and carry heavy things. Use me."
"Daemon, you don't have experience—"
"Then tell me what to do." I squeezed her hand. "Three hours until setup. That's enough time."
Watching her expressive face, I saw the second she realized she had no other option but to rope me in. It took longer for her shoulders to drop and for her to say, "Okay. Yes."
Three hours later, I was in black pants and a vest, standing in the foyer at the Coogan's Events Center while Nadia ran through the basics. Plate presentation, wine service, clearing protocols.
"You're invisible," she said. "Polite but background. And if anyone asks about allergies, come get me."
"Got it."
The next four hours were organized chaos. Nadia commanded the kitchen the same way she told me she’d commanded the mess. I worked the floor with a couple of her regulars, kept glasses filled, plates moving. It was harder than it looked, but it worked.
She'd catch my eye across the room, give a subtle nod, and I'd know exactly what she needed. When another server nearly dropped a tray, I steadied it. When a guest complained about the soup temperature, I had it replaced before Nadia knew there was a problem.
We moved like we'd been doing this for years.
"Excellent service," the older woman said as I cleared her dessert plate. Expensive jewelry, confident bearing. "Very attentive."
"Thank you. I'll pass that to Ms. Becker."
"The owner? She's orchestrating all this?" She gestured to our palatial surroundings.
"Yes, ma'am. Nadia Becker. Coogan's Catering."
"Impressive." She handed me a business card. "Have her call me. December gala. I think we've found our caterer."
I pocketed the card, pride swelling in my chest.
But as I worked back toward the kitchen, I overheard two men at a nearby table.
"—heard something about health department issues."
"Really? The food seems fine."
"Only rumors, I think. You know how smaller operations sometimes cut corners."
I kept moving, jaw tight, mind racing.
After the event, while the remaining staff packed the vans, I pulled Nadia aside. News this potentially damaging couldn't wait. Rumors like this needed dealing with sooner rather than later.
I'd seen firsthand how rumors left to fester in prison became a nightmare. There was no such thing as "ignore it and hope it goes away" in a situation like this.
"Two guests were talking about health-department issues. Rumors about corners being cut."
The happiness drained from her face. "What?"
"They said it was rumors, but that's not random."
She pulled out her phone and went pale. "Oh, God."
She turned the screen so that I could read it. A Facebook post from the day before, "Concerned Coogan's Resident" asking about health code violations with a local food service provider. Shared fourteen times. Comments speculating about "what catering company?"
"This is Elevate." Her voice shook with fury.
"We don't know—"
"Who else would it be?" She shoved her phone away. "They offered to buy me out. I said no. Now suddenly there are health concerns?"
By the time we'd finished packing up and dropped everything off at the kitchen, we were both dead on our feet. I hadn't been this tired since the lead-up to an important fight, except that the exhaustion had a purpose. I didn't risk permanent brain damage.
The only upside was that Nadia was too exhausted to stay up all night fretting about the health code rumors.
Strangely, Sunday morning was almost a repeat of Saturday. A call from Jen woke us earlier this time.
Nadia answered, speaker on. "Hey. Feeling better?"
"I'm, I'm. I wasn't sick yesterday. I lied." Jen's voice was tight with guilt. "I got a job offer from Elevate Events. I start on Monday. I'm so sorry, Nadia, but it's too good to turn down."
Nadia went very still. "Three years, Jen. And you couldn't give me the truth?"
"I was scared you'd be angry. I need this, Nadia. Fifty percent more than you're paying—"
"I understand. Thank you for letting me know." Nadia hung up, her movements measured, when I suspected all she wanted to do was throw her phone at the wall.
For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke. Damn it. You’d think after being inside for three years I could tell when someone was faking throwing up.
"They're dismantling my business piece by piece. Taking my staff. Spreading rumors. Pressuring suppliers." She turned to face me. "And I'm supposed to let them?"
"No. But we need evidence. A pattern."
"I don't want evidence. I want to walk into their office and tell them exactly what I think. Preferably armed with a meat tenderizer."
"And then what? They deny everything, and you get done for assault." I caught her arm. "This is what they want. Don't give them that."
"So I smile and take it?"
"No. You let me help." I pulled out my phone. "Malakai has been digging into Elevate. He hinted that he might have found something, but it was early days. I'll call him, arrange for us to meet later today, figure out what we've got, and plan our next move."
She stared at me. Then nodded once, sharply. "Okay. Call him."
By the time we'd showered, Malakai had called back and left a message. Sunday afternoon at his old place. Us, Malakai, Chase, and Cole, if he was available.
But first, I needed to deal with the woman pacing back and forth across my small space like a caged tiger.
"They went to the media late on Friday to announce they're opening a local office," Nadia said, scrolling on her phone. "I was so busy getting ready for the Peterson event that I missed it."
She held her phone up and read like a radio DJ. "Elevate Events is thrilled to announce they're expanding their presence in Northern California. As well as offering new clients introductory discounts, they'll bring a wealth of experience in events and large-scale catering."
The urge to punch the wall was almost overwhelming. The only thing that stopped me was the thought of working with a broken hand and Sofia's distress at the sight of it. "Which means they're not going anywhere."
"Which means this is only the beginning." She threw her phone onto the loveseat. "They'll keep coming until I sell or collapse."
"Then we make sure you don't collapse." I moved behind her, hands on her shoulders. "You did something incredible yesterday. Flawless event. Potential new client."
"None of that matters if people think I'm going to poison them."
"So we'll prove them wrong. Document everything. Pass inspections. Build a reputation that their rumors can't touch." I turned her around. "But first, you breathe."
"I don't want to breathe. I want to fight."
"I know." I pulled her close. "But you're exhausted and angry. That's when mistakes happen."
"I don't make mistakes."
"Everyone does when they're pissed off and running on empty." I kissed her forehead. "Let's get out of here and clear the cobwebs. It's a beautiful day. How about a walk along the boardwalk?"
For a second, I thought she'd throw my suggestion back in my face, but eventually she huffed in defeat. "I hate that you're right."
"Get used to it."
That got a small smile. "You're impossible."
"And you're stubborn. Perfect match."
The boardwalk was doing its weekend best, families and dogs and the smell of fried food, and for an hour it worked. She talked through the Sofia partnership while we walked, building it out loud the way she did, testing ideas by saying them and watching which ones held weight.
"If I make it through winter," she said, "by next summer I could add a third van. Maybe a junior coordinator." She bumped my shoulder with hers. "You could build me the racking for the new cold store. I've seen your work."
Next summer. The words went through me the way cold water finds the gap in a collar. Eight months from now. Her, still here. Me, still trusted with something she'd built.
"Sure," I said. It came out half a second too late, and a shade too even, and I knew she'd registered both before I finished the syllable.
She didn't comment. She filed it, the way she filed everything, and went back to the cold store specs. I spent the next hundred yards hating that half-second more than I'd hated anything all week.
Later, after walking the length of the beach twice and grabbing something to eat, the tension came back. Nadia couldn't settle, pacing back and forth in front of the cats, making my place feel even smaller.
"I should do something. Respond to that post. Call clients."
I caught her hand as she passed. "Let me help you shut your brain off."
She looked at me, and I saw the shift. Anger mutating into something else.
"You think sex fixes this?"
"No. But it might help you stop thinking." I stepped closer. "And I've been watching you fret all day. You'll be useless at that meeting with Cole and the others if you can't think straight."
"And?"
"I don't want you thinking. I want you seeing stars."
What happened next had an edge to it. Desperation born from frustration and fear. She took what she needed, and I gave it willingly, both of us losing ourselves until thought became impossible.
Afterward, tangled together, Nadia finally relaxed.
"I'm still angry," she said against my chest.
"I know."
"And I'm not giving up."
"I know that, too."
"But thank you. For today. For all of it."
I pressed a kiss to her hair. "Always."
She fell asleep in my arms, while I lay awake, counting down the hours until we were to meet Malakai and the others. The words were still in my chest. They'd been there since the night she asked me how I saw her, and they weren't any easier to move.
I'd wondered whether there was a version of me that could say them and still be standing afterward. Protecting her, though, that I knew how to do. Doing that came with instructions.
So I held her, and I promised myself that Elevate Events was going to regret targeting Nadia Becker. Whatever I couldn't give her yet, I could give her that.