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I cringe at his crass words that typically would roll right off me, but given last night’s circumstances, and the fact that Griffin is clearly into cock, I bristle.

I stare at the photo and try to comprehend what the fuck is happening.

My entire body vibrates with anger. Panic starts to slither up my spine, infecting me with its poison.

I grip my thighs under the desk, my fingers pressing firmly into the muscle.

A few months ago, I received an email from a personal assistant on behalf of a prestigious Pacific Northwest travel magazine, saying they were interested in doing a feature on the distillery.

Their presence online and in print is well-known and has far more reach than just the Pacific Northwest. It could be incredible publicity for the business.

I’ve spent months trying to get a meeting with the writer and being given the runaround.

Did he know who I was? Was this all some sick fucking game to him? Do my brothers know what happened last night? Fuck, what did I do? I have a near desperate urge to loosen my tie, and I don’t want the move to look suspicious, but it’s getting damn hard to breathe in here.

I lean back into my chair, doing my damndest to play it cool and hoping like hell none of them read my emotions. I’ve gotten extremely good at masking my anxiety, and I’m tapping into that shit hardcore right now, even if I feel like I’m failing to do so.

“Well, no fucking shit,” I say smoothly after a whistle of surprise. “How’d you get this? I’ve been trying to find this asshole for months. He’s the damn owner ?”

Sawyer speaks up first, which is no surprise. “Yeah, a Nash. What are the damn chances of that? Wes Draven got the info. Man is talented. We should have gone to him a while ago, because he pulled all that shit in less than a day.”

“That motherfucker shouldn’t be hiding out in a small town like Aspen Ridge, he could be bringing in the big bucks in some place like DC as a PI if he wanted to.”

“No shit, but our gain again since our family seems to be his biggest return client.”

“No shit,” Dallas adds. “Just be careful what you ask for, and don’t repeat my mistakes. ”

Sawyer opens his mouth to say something we all expect to be snarky, but lucky for me, Liam speaks up, getting our idiot twin brothers back on topic.

“Will you two shut the hell up for two minutes? Don’t even start your crap. Carter, what are you gonna do now? You know who he is, you gonna hunt him down and get him to do the feature or tell him to fuck off?”

Unfortunately for me, my shithead brother speaks up before I can make my own decision.

“Oh, he’s gonna hunt him down. He’s getting this story. They asked for it and we agreed. There may not be any contracts, but Carter can be persuasive. I’m sure you can work some magic and get us this feature.”

“He’s not wrong, Car. You’re the one who got excited about this to begin with.

You know what a game changer it could be for all the parts of our business—sales, expanded distribution, the events that Blaire has been hosting.

We need this,” Liam adds, and I know he’s not wrong.

When I got that email, I was ecstatic, but then it’s just been bullshit ever since.

“Ehh. I’m fine if he tells him to fuck off. I think we’re doin’ just fine without all that press and attention.”

“Fuck off, dumbass, no one asked you.”

“Uh, pretty sure the four of us make up this goddamn distillery, so my opinion matters. Last I checked, I was the COO.”

“Yeah, not CEO.”

“Oh, fuck off on your high horse, shithead.”

I drown out Sawyer and Dallas’ bickering while my mind flashes to images of Griffin.

A chill runs up my spine at the thought of seeing him again, and I inconspicuously wipe the sweat off my shaky palms on my thighs.

I can’t differentiate whether or not the feeling is foreboding or thrilling. Maybe a twisted mix of both .

Our distillery is the number one supplier of whiskey and bourbon to the entire Pacific Northwest, and we’ve only just started to expand to other states and territories.

The Northwest Explorer would damn near guarantee that expansion.

It was an honor to have them reach out to us, but then they’ve done nothing but play games, and that level of unprofessionalism has been surprising.

They’ve been setting up meetings and then cancelling, and all communication was through a personal assistant.

The magazine can make or break companies just like ours, and I’m just greedy enough to gamble on it.

It’s not like my brothers are giving me much of a choice anyway, and I’ll be damned if I let them down.

“I’m gonna find the fucker. And I’m going to get the feature they asked for.”

Who cares if I already know what the asshole’s dick feels like rubbed against mine. Or what he looks like when he comes.

Actually . . . an idea strikes me. I’m not against a little manipulation if it comes to it. I’m going to get that feature one way or another. I just hope that I can find him before he fucks everything up with the information he already has on me. He had better not have known who I was.