Page 13 of Taken By The Wolves
“Absolutely. Quality work deserves to be seen.”
I think back over all the people who've bought my furniture. It's what makes a home. It's what allows us to enjoy our surroundings. Quality pieces can provide a lifetime of service and enjoyment.
“Finn has a lot on his plate,” Nixon cuts in, voice flat and firm. His palms rest on the edge of the counter like he's bracing himself for a storm.
I force myself to stay calm and not rise to the bait. The goal is to leave here with my dignity intact, and hopefully, Finn's contact info in my bag.
He might actually be interested in selling through me. I could help him build exposure, manage distribution, even take a percentage of each sale. My existing clients wouldloveFinn's work; custom pieces with soul and history. I could open up new markets for both of us.
But maybe I'm going about this all wrong. Maybe instead of snapping at Nixon every time he opens his mouth, I shouldbutter him up. My mother always warned me about my fierce approach. Said charm works better than fire, especially with men who think they're the apex of the food chain.
Maybe this detour wasn't such a disaster after all. Maybe being here is… fortuitous. I could walk away from Braysville with a new supplier, a new collaborator, and enough premium lumber to fulfill every order in my pipeline. Finn wouldn't get half the prices I could get him. I'd pay him fairly and still make a solid profit. Everyone wins.
Finn returns with cream and sugar, and as I finish my coffee, I practically melt into my seat.
“Mmmm…” I sigh. “That's… God, that's good. Where do you get your beans?”
Finn rolls his eyes. “Please don't get him started. Nixon's a total coffee nerd. If you so much as whisper praise, he'll give you the full TED talk on bean origins, roast profiles, and elevation.”
“Thank you, dear brother, for your high praise,” Nixon mutters, grabbing a plate. He sounds annoyed, but I catch the flicker of pride in his eyes. It's subtle, but it's there.
He slides a plate across the counter. “Here's your toast, Scarlet. And if you'd like to try some bacon, help yourself.”
I take a slice of toast and butter it slowly, sensing Nixon'sgaze watching the bacon I insisted I didn't want. As much as I hate admitting defeat, I also know when it's smart to pick my battles. So I grab two pieces of the crispy, perfectly cooked strips and place them on my plate without comment.
He doesn't gloat but continues sipping his coffee like he didn't win that small, quiet war. I can respect that. Maybe he's a little less of a control freak than I thought.
“So… where's Reed?” I ask, biting into the toast.
“He had to handle some business,” Nixon replies. “He'll be back later.”
“Can you tell me more about the kinds of wood you supply?”
Nixon obliges, rattling off a list of lumber types and finishes. His knowledge is impressive—he knows his inventory inside out—and from the way he talks, their operation is larger than I expected. Not just a cabin-in-the-woods setup. A real business with real potential.
“This sounds like exactly what I've been looking for,” I say. “Would you be able to show me some samples?”
Nixon’s eyes flick to my hand as I help myself to a third strip of bacon. “We'll take you to the yard after breakfast,” he says. “But only if you promise to stay off that ankle afterward.”
“I can agree to that,” I say, flexing my foot gently before wincing at the sharp stab of pain. “My room at the motel isn't exactly the Ritz, but it has a bed and a TV. I'll take it easy.”
Nixon frowns. “That motel is a dump. No elevator, no room service. How are you supposed to rest when you'll have to hobble up and down stairs to feed yourself?”
I blink, taken aback. “I'll figure it out.”
“I won't have it,” he says firmly. His voice has a tone that leaves no room for negotiation. “You'll stay here. We'll make sure you've got what you need. You'll actuallyrest.”
My pulse spikes. “I couldn't—”
“You can. And you will.” He sets his cup onto the table, locking eyes with me. There's a flicker of challenge in them, and something else. Possessiveness, maybe? Or the unshakable confidence of a man used to being obeyed.
If I weren't still trying to sweeten him for the sake of a potential business deal, I'd be launching a full-scale protest.
“You can call the motel, cancel your room,” Nixon continues. “We'll swing by and pick up your stuff. You'll have everything you need right here.”
“I need to call my mom,” I counter. “She'll worry if I go dark. She knows I'm traveling.”
Nixon's hand pauses ever so slightly as he lifts his cup again. “Finn can go. No point in dragging your ankle all over town. I'll show you the yard. We'll kill two birds with one stone.”
