Page 43 of Reluctantly Ever After (The Oops Baby Club #2)

I've never felt more like breaking someone's face than when Nolan Miller walks into Cascade's conference room with that smug fucking smile. He’s in an expensive suit and looks like he thinks he’s won.

Well, fuck that.

My fingers curl into fists. Wren sits beside me at the head of the table, shoulders back, chin up. Anyone else would miss the tension in her jaw, but I've memorized every expression she makes. She's furious.

"Mr. James. Miss Callan." Miller settles into the chair across from us, placing a leather portfolio on the table. "Thank you for agreeing to meet. I trust you're feeling better?" His eyes drop pointedly to Wren's belly.

"Cut the shit," I growl before Wren can answer. "We know what you're doing."

"And what might that be?" His smile is slimy as fuck and doesn't reach his eyes.

Wren slides a folder across the table. "Attempted industrial sabotage. Targeted harassment of our partner breweries. Using my medical incident to try to pressure me into selling." Her voice is ice cold. "Should I keep going?"

Miller barely glances at the folder. "Those are some strong accusations. I assume you have proof?"

"We have Marcus Wells on video trying to break into Timber," I say, leaning forward. "The same Marcus Wells who now works for you. And a dozen breweries with similar stories of equipment failures, distribution problems, and mystery issues."

"One disgruntled employee acting on his own hardly constitutes a pattern," Miller dismisses with a wave of his hand.

Wren's smile reminds me of a shark who smells blood in the water. "Maybe not. But a dozen breweries all experiencing the same problems after refusing your offers? That's a pattern."

"And the text you sent me after my hospital visit?" she continues. "That was a nice touch. Very concerned. Very threatening."

"I merely expressed concern for your wellbeing," Miller replies smoothly. "Pregnancy can be so stressful."

My blood burns with the need for violence, but I feel Wren's hand on my thigh, her fingers digging in to steady me.

"Here's what's going to happen," she says, her voice deceptively calm. "You're going to back off. All of our partner breweries. All of our distribution routes. Us. All of it."

Miller laughs. "Or what?"

"Or we release everything." I pull out my phone, displaying the document Clover helped us compile. "Every complaint from every brewery. Every instance of suspicious timing. Every piece of evidence suggesting a pattern of intimidation and sabotage."

"To whom? The trade magazines?" Miller looks unimpressed. "Hardly world-changing."

"To the Securities and Exchange Commission," Wren says quietly. "And the Department of Justice."

The color drains from Miller's face. "You're bluffing."

"Pacific Northwest has been acquiring breweries at below-market values after systematic efforts to damage their operations and profitability," she continues. "That's not just unethical. It's potentially illegal."

"My lawyer thinks the SEC would be very interested in the way you go about acquiring businesses,” I add.

Miller's eyes dart between us. "You have nothing concrete."

"Maybe not yet," Wren agrees. "But an investigation would tie up Pacific Northwest for months, maybe years. And the professional investigators would really dig into every little crack and shadow. I can’t imagine your shareholders would like that."

"Not to mention what it would do to your stock price," I add. "News of a federal investigation tends to make investors nervous."

Miller's jaw tightens. For the first time since I've met him, he looks shaken.

"What do you want?" he asks finally.

"A public statement that Pacific Northwest is withdrawing from the Portland craft market," Wren says immediately. "And legally binding agreements not to approach any of our partner breweries for at least five years."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" I lean back, crossing my arms. "Seems like a small price to pay to avoid a federal investigation."

The silence stretches between us. Miller stares at the folder, his bullshit facade cracking.

"I'll need to consult with our legal team," he says finally.

"You have twenty-four hours," Wren states. "After that, we go public."

The meeting ends shortly after. When Miller leaves, Wren waits until the door closes before sagging in her chair.

"You think he'll back off?" she asks, looking up at me and I get up and start rubbing her shoulders.

"He'd be stupid not to." I pull her to her feet, hands resting on her shoulders. "You were incredible."

She leans into me, her head on my chest. " We were incredible."

And just like that, another wall between us crumbles. The industry rival I spent years trying to outmaneuver is now my partner in every sense—business, life, family. The woman who's carrying my son stood beside me today, and together we faced down a corporate giant.

And I think there’s a good chance we won.

"Let's go home," I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You’re supposed to be on bed rest."

She looks up at me with those stormy eyes that I’ve been lost in for months. “Lead the way.”

The next day, I'm sitting in Banks's kitchen, trying to convince my best friend that I'm not completely losing my mind.

"You want to propose to a woman you're already married to?" Banks asks, adjusting Noble in his lap while we sit in his kitchen. The kid's gnawing on a teething ring, drooling everywhere. "That's like... what's that called?"

"Fucking romantic," I mutter, grabbing another beer from his fridge. "It's called being romantic, asshole."

"No, really, though." He shifts Noble to his other knee. "Why not just make the Vegas thing official? Put the ring on your finger and call it good?"

I pour myself a beer, staring into the amber liquid like it'll give me answers. "Because she deserves a real proposal. Not some drunk Elvis bullshit we can't even remember."

Banks watches me as I stand up and start to pace his kitchen for a minute before he sets Noble in his high chair. "Alright, sit down. You're making me nervous."

I drop into the chair across from him, dragging a hand through my hair. "I've got it all planned out. Dinner at a fancy restaurant. Get down on one knee with the ring. The whole thing."

"Uh-huh." Banks sips his own beer. "And how's that working out for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've been planning this for three weeks, and every time you're about to do it, you chicken out." His grin pisses me off. "Remember last Tuesday when you had reservations for dinner?"

"She had a sudden craving for tacos," I mutter. "Not just any tacos. Fish tacos from that truck on Southeast Division that's only open until eight."

"Right. And when you had those sunset cruise tickets?"

"Kieran called with an emergency. Someone accidentally shipped a shit ton of beer to the wrong brewery." I take a long pull from my beer. "It was actually an emergency, but still..."

"I think the universe is telling you something," Banks says, trying not to laugh. "Maybe she doesn't want the whole fancy restaurant, one-knee thing. Maybe that's not her style."

"Of course it's not her style," I snap. "She'd probably roll her eyes and ask if I practiced my speech in the mirror while she laughs at me. But I don’t have a better idea.”

Banks erupts into laughter, nearly spilling his beer, and Noble squawks and then shrieks at the sound. "Dude. Look at you. You've gone from the guy who told me Wren Callan was a 'pink-haired menace who'd destroy craft beer as we know it' to the guy who drives across town for special tacos."

"Shut up." But I'm fighting a grin. "She's changed."

"No, she hasn't. You have." Banks becomes serious. "You've fallen for her hard, man. Which is why you need to stop overthinking this. When have you ever planned grand gestures?"

"Never."

"Exactly. You're not that guy. You're the guy who rebuilt his brewery from ashes.

Who raised his teenage sister after their mom died.

Who builds furniture for fun in his spare time.

Who makes the best goddamn IPA in Portland.

" He points his beer at me. "Be that guy.

The direct, no-bullshit guy she fell in love with. "

Noble chooses that moment to throw his teething ring across the room, letting out an indignant wail.

"Smart move, buddy," I say, getting up to retrieve the ring. "Sometimes you gotta chuck the whole thing and start over."

Banks grins, tossing me a kitchen towel. "Look, you want my advice? Stop planning. Next time you feel it, just ask. Doesn't matter where or when. Just be real."

I wipe down the teething ring and hand it back to Noble, who immediately sticks it in his mouth. "What if she says no?"

"She won't." Banks's certainty is annoying and comforting at the same time. "You know how I know?"

"Enlighten me."

"Because when I mentioned making a guys' poker night next week when her, Clover, and Navy were here, she immediately asked what I was planning to feed you.

Then went on about how you always skip lunch when you're stressed and just drink coffee all day.

" He smirks. "That's not what someone who doesn’t care does, brother. "

A warmth spreads through my chest that has nothing to do with the beer. "She knows that?"

"She knows everything about you, man. And she cares. Now go home to your wife and stop being a pussy about this."

Noble claps his hands in agreement, drool smeared across his face.

"Thanks for the pep talk, you two." I finish my beer and grab my keys. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need luck," Banks calls after me. "She’s already yours.”