With my staff having clocked off, I was doing what I did at the end of every working day: a final clean-up. A habit from the military, one that had never let me down.
Only when that was done to my satisfaction did I run through the work schedule for the following day. I was putting a satisfying tick next to the last item on my to-do list when someone knocked on my door. Not the friendly rat-ta-tat of a delivery driver. This was sharp. Demanding.
I checked the new security feed on my tablet. Two people, a man and a woman, dressed professionally. I couldn't see their faces, whether by accident or design. The only thing the woman couldn’t hide was her shoes.
"Ms. Becker." Samantha Morrison's smile didn't reach her eyes. "We thought we'd visit in person to discuss things further."
"I’ve already told you. I'm not interested."
"This is Justin Walters, Elevate's regional operations director," she said, as though I hadn't just told her she should shove her offer.
Tall and polished, Justin was a corporate shark who probably had an MBA and no soul. "We were hoping for a few minutes of your time."
"I don't have time right now. I'm working on an event." Not exactly true, but not a lie either. It was simply the first thing that came to mind.
"All the more reason to discuss our offer." Justin's voice was smooth. Practiced. "We could take all this stress off your plate. Imagine not worrying about staffing issues or health department rumors."
The way he said it made my skin crawl. Like he knew exactly where those rumors came from.
"I said I'm not interested."
I moved to close the door, but Justin’s hand shot out. Worse still, he put his weight against it, forcing me back.
"Ms. Becker, we're trying to be reasonable here," Samantha said, walking into my kitchen like she already owned it. "But you should know, small businesses are fragile. One bad health inspection, a few staff members leaving, and suddenly you're not only losing income. You're losing everything."
"Is that a threat?"
"No, it's a reality check," said Justin, pulling out his phone and taking a flurry of photos of the kitchen. "We're prepared to make another offer. But it expires on Friday. After that, we'll be pursuing other partnerships in the region."
"Other partnerships?" I kept my voice steady despite the rage building.
Samantha, by contrast, appeared relaxed. More concerning, she looked triumphant. "There are other caterers in Coogan's Break. Not as established as you, but flexible. Eager." Her smile turned sharp. "Our experience has shown us that corporate clients prefer working with operations that have national backing."
They were going after my clients. Directly. Openly.
"Get off my property." My voice came out cold. Military cold.
"We're trying to have a professional conversation..." Justin trailed off. He'd seen something in my expression and thought better of continuing. Whatever it was, it had him heading for the door, with me watching him every step of the way.
"And I told you to get off my property. Leave, or I'll call the cops and report you for trespassing."
"There's no need to be hostile," said Samantha. I turned to glare at her, and she held up her hands in mock surrender. "We're businesspeople, the same as you. We want to find a mutually beneficial solution."
"The solution is that you leave. Now." I put my hand out and herded her toward the door, careful not to actually touch her.
The pair exchanged a look that had my instincts screaming.
"We'll be in touch," said Samantha. "Think about what we discussed. Clock's ticking, Ms. Becker."
They turned and walked away. I took great delight in slamming the door with a satisfying crash, then watched through the security feed as they climbed into a sleek black SUV and drove off. Not before Justin had taken one last photo of my kitchen door.
Damn it. They'd been inside my workspace. Taking photos. Making threats.
I needed to call Daemon. Needed to ... wait.
Something felt wrong.
FOURTEEN
