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Thoreson cuts in. “What we’d like to see is for Morgan-Blair to come to the table first. We want to know what kind of recompense you can give to your loyal partners, ones who’ve been with you for decades, and have stuck with you through all of this. It really is—”

“Through all of what, Mr. Thoreson?” I ask, cutting him off.

During the entire discussion, he hasn’t come right out and said it. I know well what he’s referring to, but the old goat hasn’t had the stones to own up to what he means.

And what he doesn’t know? I’ve already got my lawyers looking into breaking the contract entirely.

The business we do with his company is a drop in the bucket, all things considered. It would mean shifting some other interests around, reassigning the team members who work on the account, but if it means cutting ties with a company whose values are so entirely opposed to the beings who work here, then so be it.

“Excuse me?” Thoreson asks, bristling at the interruption.

“It’s a simple question,” I tell him. “What exactly about Morgan-Blair Enterprises do you take issue with? What do you think is going to hurt your company’s reputation?”

Thoreson opens and closes his mouth a couple of times like a trout on a riverbank, and Rutelege steps in to save his ass from answering.

“What Mr. Thoreson means—”

“I know what Mr. Thoreson means. But if he’s adamant about it affecting our partnership, then the least he could do is own up to it.”

Silence is my only answer as the two men glance at each other and shift uncomfortably in their seats.

It isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and it won’t be the last.

Attitudes about paranormal folk are still in flux. Most are more than willing to accept us with open arms into the human world, but the detractors tend to be the emptiest, noisiest barrels. Though it’s infuriating at times to navigate the complicated politics of it all, being able to advocate for all the beings who work at and have stock in Morgan-Blair is a privilege and responsibility I don’t take lightly.

“Look, Mr. Morgan,” Rutelege says. “The way we see it—”

Before he can finish, he’s interrupted by a soft knock at the door. A welcome reprieve for whatever corporate half-speak he was about to offer as an excuse.

“Come in,” I call out.

Veronica opens the door and sticks her head around the corner. “I apologize, Mr. Morgan, for interrupting.”

“Not at all,” I assure her.

“I have a visitor for you. One on your ‘urgent’ list.”

“Who?” There are only a handful of people on that list, with the most recent inclusion being, perhaps idiotically…

“Nora Perry.”

Standing immediately, I nod. “Please show her in.”

Veronica disappears for a moment, and I’m about to dismiss my two guests when she reappears with Nora following close behind.

The restless, unsettled thing rattling around in my chest quiets and the lingering ache in my skull disappears the moment she walks through the door.

My mate, my kraken’s instinct purrs.Here. Safe.

It’s as unconscious and unstoppable as the beating of my two hearts or the drag of breath in and out of my lungs, but I make myself tamp it down as Nora glances uneasily around the room.

“Gentlemen,” I say, gesturing toward the door. “I apologize, but I’m going to have to cut our meeting short.”

They both stand, though not without some unhappy grumbles. Fine. They can deal with it. Rescheduling a meeting I didn’t want to have in the first place is no great sacrifice to make to have my mate so close.

After Veronica has shown them out and closed the door behind her, silence falls in the room.

Nora is standing near the corner of my desk, staring down at my three hundredth birthday present from Casimir. The wooden replica of a ship, an exact match of the one I sailed for nearly fifty years with Blair, though not under any country’s flag.