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.
