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Grey gestures casually. “Mia.”

My name in his voice snaps me back into formation.

“This is Nash Cross,” Grey continues. “Alpha of the Crossvale pack.”

As if I don’t know.

As if I didn’t memorize the cadence of his breathing once.

Or the cut of his washboard fucking abs.

Ugh.

“Hello,” I manage.

“Nash, this is Mia Reyes,” Grey says to Nash. “Our strategist.”

Strategy, damn right. The word steadies me.

The title alone reminds me this is supposed to be a professional exchange.

No feelings. No rapid heartbeats or aching core.

Nash inclines his head as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking and is mocking my efforts. “A pleasure.”

His voice is smooth. Familiar. Dangerous in its restraint.

“Likewise,” I say evenly. Maybe even a little coldly.

If Lexi senses the shift in the air, she doesn’t show it. And I’ll be damned if I let them see our familiarity, because the last thing I want to do is explain how I know this male. Or how intimately.

Grey clears his throat and continues, “Crossvale has agreed to assist with outer perimeter security.”

I blink as his words sink in. My brain snaps back into function. “Assist how?” I ask warily.

Nash answers, “My wolves will patrol beyond your boundary lines. If Ramsey attempts to bring reinforcements through neighboring territories, we’ll intercept and send word to you to provide us with reinforcements.”

His tone is professional. Measured. Like we’re strangers.

Good.

I turn to Grey. “Are you that sure Ramsey will be able to recruit such a strong number against us?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Grey says quietly. He flicks a glance at Nash, who frowns, and realization dawns.

“Ramsey approached you,” I say.

Nash nods. “He did.”

It’s Franco’s recruitment scheme all over again. The one that brought Nash to town two years ago. The one I thwarted by making Nash agree to leave. “What did he promise you?” I ask. “Territory? Money?”

“Both.”

I narrow my eyes. “And you declined.”

“Yes.”

My skepticism is obvious, but I don’t care. “Why?”