Page 4 of Wreck Me

“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 featuretheyasked 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.

CHAPTER 2

finn

Monday came hard and fast,and I was in desperate need of more caffeine if I was going to get any work done today. I pull open my office door, tossing my bag onto my chair, and bolt straight for the break room to pour a mug of black coffee. I drop a pod into the machine and wait for the dark roast to brew, leaning casually against the counter, finding myself thankful for the rare moment of quiet in an otherwise busy room.

My family owns the Northwest Explorer, one of—if notthe—most notorious travel magazines in the Pacific Northwest and beyond. I’ve been writing my entire life, majored in journalism at the University of Southern California, and couldn’t get back to the PNW fast enough. There’s something about this place that becomes part of your soul. Once you’ve been here, there’s no place on earth that’s quite like it.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my slacks, making my jaw tick in annoyance, interrupting a brief quiet reprieve that I needed before taking on the day. Not ready to answer what I’m sure is my dad’s bullshit, I ignore the call, knowing he’ll makeme regret it later. I head back to my office with my steamy mug of fuel, saying good morning to the small staff we have employed at this location as I prepare to catch up with my assistant on any new messages that came in over the weekend.

Relaxing into my office chair, I don’t waste any time clicking open the file for my new story, the one I’ve been forbidden to write, last night on permanent replay in my mind. Did I expect to run into Carter Hayes at the club last night? Yes and no. But did I jump at the first opportunity to get close to him? Absolutely. I couldn’t have fought it if I tried.

Truth be told, I thought he’d tell me to piss off the moment our legs touched, but he was so goddamn into me stroking him that I was convinced he was at least bisexual. To my surprise, I was his first, an assumption I made based purely on his little freakout, and damn if that doesn’t make me feel good. Even if the events complicated my predicament even further.

The obnoxious vibration blares from where I dropped my phone on my custom walnut-built desk. An ostentatious gift from my father so that I “looked the part” while working at the Western offices. I know who’s calling before looking at the screen, and he’ll just keep calling if I don’t answer.

To put it plainly, my father is an overbearing, pompous asshole who feels the need to check in with me to ensure I’m being a compliant, well-behaved son. After all, the Nash name is at stake here, and he’s been convinced since the day I was born that I’m going to fuck everything up for him. A reminder I’m given multiple times a week.

Ever since I gave him the proposal for my next small town feature—Aspen Ridge, Washington—he’s been checking in with me more frequently, making sure I’m heeding his latest order.More like threat.The conversation took me by surprise; regardless of my familiarity with his explosive reactions, this one was particularly intense, even for him.

I try to hide my embarrassment as I stand in front of my father’s receptionist, Cynthia, knowing he’s purposely making me wait so I know my place. As if he’d ever allow me to forget.

“Come in, Griffin. Take a seat. I’m pulling up your proposal now.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I reply, keeping my voice as stable as possible. I hate these meetings. Luckily, they only happen quarterly. We sit down in his stuffy-ass office in Seattle, and he goes through my proposal for locations and businesses I’ll be highlighting as features in the magazine. He’s a goddamn control freak and I’ve been doing this long enough now that he should trust me, but I have yet to prove to him that I’ve got everything under control.

I watch as his face transforms from annoyed focus to complete rage, as confusion grips me. What the hell did I send him? I quickly wrack my brain, ensuring that I checked ten times that the proposal was in the correct format and that it included all of the expected information. I always have my assistant, Trey, double-check it as well. There’s no way we sent him a draft or something else entirely. Even so, my heart picks up speed behind my ribs, beating frantically as I try not to let it show outwardly. I can’t be weak. Not in front of him.

“Where the fuck did you find this town? This family?” my dad bellows from his spot behind his desk. His face is a deep crimson red, his forehead pinched in anger. His rage toward me has been frequent over the last twenty-nine years, but never over a feature location for the magazine.

I cough into my fist to clear my throat before speaking. “They’re hidden behind the Olympic Mountains, nestled up on the coast, literally engulfed in nature. It’s exactly the kind of spot I look for.” Plus, I recently stumbled across a whiskey fromAspen Ridge Distillery and went digging to find out more about them. “Trey has already reached out to one of the businesses for a meeting. The distillery that’s listed there.”

His rage explodes, and I dig my fingers into my thighs, bracing for whatever he’s about to unleash on me.

“Stay the fuck away from Aspen Ridge! Stay the fuck away from that family! Cancel the goddamn meeting! Do you understand me, Griffin? This magazine will NEVER feature that fucking family, or that disgusting town.”

I blanch as confusion ripples through me. What the hell is going on? I’ve always had the ability to choose my locations, as long as I ran them by him first with these obtuse proposals and power-trip meetings. I’m good at what I do, and up until this moment, he’s never had an issue with the locations of choice. Why now? But that confusion clouds my judgment, and I make a slip-up, questioning him.

“What? Why? That doesn’t make any sense. Do you know that family? I’ve always been allowed to pick my locations. This town is enchanting; it’s exactly the kind of place we like to feature.”

He moves quicker than I’d expect him to, rounding his desk and lifting me to stand by the lapels of my jacket, shaking me roughly. I’m so stunned by his behavior that I react too slowly, my hands gripping his wrists for purchase, my eyes going wide. While my dad has always been verbally abusive, he’s never outright put his hands on me. God forbid I suffered a mark or blemish on my skin and anyone found out where it came from.

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