Working for a man like Adrian Stamkos was never boring; if nothing else, Jerry Leichester could never complain about his job being ‘mundane.’

As a personal assistant to the most influential pharmaceutical empire in the United States’ CEO, Jerry never knew what to tell people when they asked him what he did on a day to day basis. Answer phone calls, emails, letters? Yes, of course. Organize meetings, lunch dates, travel plans? Absolutely. The grunt work was expected, visible, even. When people asked Jerry about his job, they weren’t asking about the time he juggled three different conference appearances in the same weekend, interspersed with media interviews and a particularly nasty court summons. No, they were asking about the aspects of his job that made working for Adrian Stamkos unique. Exciting. Scandalous.

Jerry could’ve told them any number of things, but the ancient, bloodthirsty ice demon was a bit of a crapshoot. Sure, it was easily the most noteworthy task Mr. Stamkos had ever assigned him, but getting anyone to believe that story was another matter entirely.

A notification buzzed on Jerry’s phone, and he glanced at the screen. It was a follow-up from Mr. Stamkos’ tailor, nothing urgent. Jerry refocused his attention on the tablet in front of him, alternating between updating his personal social media accounts and waiting to hear back from Tessa Greene. She came highly recommended for their purposes, but Mr. Stamkos would only accept her for the task if Jerry vetted her first. That brought him no small amount of pride; to have the trust of someone so powerful was a heady, almost addictive sensation. He refused to lose it.

Footsteps sounded outside their temporary office, and Jerry heaved a sigh. It was likely the interim sheriff, coming by once again to remind them that they didn’t have permission to set up shop in the mayor’s old quarters at town hall. He had done so several times already, but the fact that they remained meant he had no real authority to remove them. Jerry tried his best to keep the sheriff’s nagging out of Mr. Stamkos’ earshot, but the residents of Somerton weren’t well-versed in the art of subtlety. To his relief, the footsteps walked past without pausing at their door.

God, he couldn’t wait to leave this place.

Somerton was charming in its own way, with vast wilderness and a tight-knit community that genuinely cared for their town. It was also small, stupid, and smelled of rotting grass. Jerry didn’t think it was possible, but he actually missed the factory fumes that accosted his high rise in L.A. If it weren’t for the immense real estate potential of the Basin, he would’ve spent the last six months gently nudging Mr. Stamkos in a different direction, far away from this overly complicated negotiation. As it stood, there was simply too much money to be made in Somerton for the company to walk away.

Another alert sounded from his phone, this time from Tessa Greene. Jerry checked the time stamp of his initial inquiry, noting that she answered in approximately 12 hours. A little slow for his liking, but he could work with it. Not that he had much of a choice. Mr. Stamkos had given him a strict timeline, and Jerry would rather saw off his left arm than be late.

Tessa agreed to his suggested meeting time and date. Perfect. Jerry was slightly concerned that she’d insist on a virtual meeting, as per the guidelines on her website. That wouldn’t do. In-person conversations were far easier to hide. Discreet. Secret. Ideal for what Jerry needed Tessa to do. He responded to her confirmation with a compressed folder of documents, nothing damning, of course. Information that was all easily accessible online, compiled for convenience. He would explain what Tessa was to do with that information once they met and he confirmed she was well-suited.

With that done, Jerry leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Annoyance rippled through his stomach as he considered the monumental task ahead of him. Tessa’s help would be instrumental, yes, but it was far from the only cog in the wheel. For this to work, Jerry needed everything to go smoothly. He needed to be at the right place, at the right time, talking to the right people, saying the right things. All of this could’ve been avoided if Mr. Stamkos had just let him handle the communications with James Carver from the beginning. Adrian Stamkos was a brilliant man, but covering up messes was Jerry’s job. The most effective way to clean up any mess was to prevent it in the first place, starting with the cardinal rule of secrecy: never leave a paper trail.

Now, a literal piece of paper was threatening their entire operation, and Jerry was responsible for making sure that didn’t happen. It didn’t matter that he had a plan. Plans could fail. Then what would he do? He couldn’t very well admit to Mr. Stamkos that he’d fumbled their last hurdle, not when the biggest, most obnoxious hurdles had been cleared. It would be like running a marathon and tripping on a shoe lace at the finish line. Dealing with the ice demon should have been the hardest obstacle to overcome. Jerry would never be able to show his face at Stamkos & Stein again if he let one flimsy note ruin their success at this stage.

While Jerry could understand the initial pushback to their presence in Somerton, he couldn’t help but think that Mr. Stamkos was an unrecognized hero for the small town. He wasn’t an unreasonable man, after all. His presence was felt significantly now that he was here, in person, directly involved, but it would fade when the factory was up and running. Then, Somerton would be bursting with job opportunities and new sources of income. The town would grow from a speck on the map to a bustling hub of industrial manufacturing, and the people would be rolling in more money than they knew what to do with. Eventually, they would see that. Jerry just hoped they could smooth out the wrinkles in their plans sooner rather than later and encourage that day to come quickly, before more eyes fell to their work here.

The Chehwinoo was a significant, if unexpected, hiccup. In truth, he hadn’t believed the stories when Mr. Stamkos shared Mayor Carver’s concerns. Why would he? It took a close encounter and a stubborn case of frost bite on his arm to convince him that they were dealing with something tangible and dangerous, not superstitious nonsense. When they first arrived in Somerton, Jerry was afraid he would need to start calling in favors from some of his more unsavory contacts, some of whom he had been warned never to speak to again if he valued his life. He did value his life, of course, but he valued his job more. Thankfully, the creature’s attention had been drawn away from the factory construction by the other glaring obstacle in their way.

The enemy of my enemy…

Nyla Jameson. Jerry couldn’t suppress a smile. He’d never admit it to Mr. Stamkos, but Jerry liked Nyla. A lot. He admired her ambition, her intelligence, and her heart. More than once, he wished that their plans didn’t intersect. He pitied the woman, watching all of her hard work be wrenched from her white-knuckled grip no matter how hard she tried to fight them. Pity had to take a back seat, though. Jerry, like Nyla, had a job to do. He wasn’t about to let compassion stop him. For now, at least, they were on the same side. Nyla and her friends were doing an impressively effective job at keeping the Chehwinoo’s damage to a minimum, and that was exactly what Jerry needed her to do. He wasn’t looking forward to the day that changed, and he had a feeling that time was approaching much faster than any of them realized.

In the meantime, Jerry had a meeting to prepare for. Ice demons, paper trails, and beautiful women would have to wait.

Emmett heaved a sigh of bittersweet relief, dropping his head back against the lip of his father’s truck bed. The dying screeches of another monster were suddenly drowned out by the steady thump of the opening riff to Another One Bites the Dust, immediately followed by a series of exasperated expletives.

“Sam!” Amelia yelled at the same time that Tyler snapped “Fisher!” The man in question crashed through the bushes, headbanging erratically and strumming an air guitar like he’d never seen an instrument in his life. Emmett suppressed a grin. Sam’s antics were bothersome at times, but he couldn’t deny the levity that accompanied each childish outburst. God knows they needed some levity these days.

“Do you seriously have to play that shit every time?” Tyler demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Emmett was used to seeing him in his typical FBI getup, but now he wore a dark green winter coat and splash pants to protect him from the wet ground. His cropped blond hair was dishevelled from where he’d shoved it under a beanie, although the hat was nowhere to be seen now. If Emmett squinted, he might be able to pick out a thin dusting of dark shadow along the edges of his jaw, a pale impersonation of the thick stubble covering the lower half of Emmett’s face.

The others were joining them slowly, inching their way around the disintegrating Chehwinoo with care not to step in the growing puddle of slush. Amelia hopped out of Aaron’s X5, controller in hand, looking as irritated as she did fond. She was dressed in a thin, plum-coloured hoodie and jeans, since most of her work kept her inside. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, the dark purple ends making it look like she’d dipped them in paint. They were fading now, but that only served to make the colour stand out more against her dark brown roots. Sam was tailed by Nyla, who looked significantly less annoyed than everyone else. Emmett offered a shrugging chuckle to Aaron, who was seated next to him in the pan of Emmett’s borrowed truck.

“It’s a theme song, Ty. The point is to play it every time.” Sam gave him an incredulous look, finally ending the song and slipping his phone into his jeans pocket. In contrast to Tyler, Sam had a bright red puffer coat on, designed to attract attention.

“We don’t need a theme song.”

“Au contraire, I believe we do.” Sam made his way to where Amelia was leaning against the side of the SUV, hooking his arm around her and jostling the controller in her hands.

“Careful!” She righted herself as quickly as possible, glaring at Sam as she did. Holding up the controller, she pointedly scolded him. “Delicate, expensive, and not ours.”

“Can whatever forest god is orchestrating all this take him next? Please?” Tyler pleaded, his head tilted back to face the sky. Sam made an offended sound, dramatically clutching his chest and flipping his sandy brown hair out of his eyes. It was longer now, brushing his eyebrows when it was weighed down with water or sweat.

“At least wait until I touch base with Roxy,” Amelia interjected before Sam could. “I’m pretty sure you forfeit your bet winnings if Sam kicks the bucket before I get a chance to tell Rox that I’ve sucked her brother’s di—”

“STOP.” Tyler covered his ears in exaggerated disgust. “I know it’s happening; doesn’t mean I want to hear about it.”

“I should’ve stayed on infidelity cases,” Aaron said with a sigh, for only Emmett to hear. He chuckled, spotting the drone dipping into the clearing as Amelia expertly navigated it to the ground.

Acquiring the drone had been a game-changer that they didn’t know they needed. After dealing with the immediate fallout following the second Chehwinoo’s death, another one popped up in record time, setting off a chain of trial and error that ended when Amelia borrowed Tyler’s vehicle and made off for Chicago. She returned two days later with well wishes from Tyler’s wife, Chia, and a drone that was far too advanced to be a commercial product. Initially, she was content to keep the specifics of her trip to herself, but after some needling from Tyler and Nyla, Amelia confessed that the high-tech piece of equipment was on loan from the Chicago PD. How exactly she managed to pull that favor remained a closely guarded secret, but Emmett suspected it was an under-the-table deal with someone on the inside, given the uncomfortable expression she donned when asked about it directly. Then again, maybe she’d stolen it. With Amelia, Emmett quickly learned not to rule anything out.

The drone itself was something Emmett would never dream of getting his hands on, nor did he want to. Technology in general wasn’t his forte, and drones were as mysterious as the Bermuda Triangle as far as he was concerned. The only thing he understood about this model was that it came with a highly sensitive heat-mapping camera, and that’s how they’d managed to fell five Chehwinoo in just under two weeks. Amelia would send the drone out into the Basin, coasting above the treetops to search for areas of intense cold. When they found one, it was just a matter of suiting up, heading out, and sticking to the plan. They’d reduced monster-hunting to a nearly infallible science: Amelia monitoring the creature’s movements from inside the vehicle with the drone, Sam and Nyla luring it with fire into a clearing where Emmett and Aaron were waiting, perched in the back of Ephraim’s truck with rifles at the ready. They were the best shots out of everyone present and were usually able to make a clean kill in less than three bullets. If that failed, Tyler was often on standby with a much larger gun, hunkering down in the brush so that the creature wouldn’t notice him right away. Luckily, the fail-safe was almost never needed, since Tyler spent most of his days travelling between Somerton and Chicago to tend to a very-pregnant Chia.

It was efficient and effective, but they all knew it wouldn’t last for much longer. The knowledge weighed heavily, hovering like a dark shadow over their group, looming closer with each passing day.

November weather in Wisconsin was cold. The closer they got to December, the less likely it would be for the drone to distinguish between supernatural cold and a winter wind. Despite their progress in taking care of the creatures with minimal bloodshed, they were no closer to figuring out why this was happening and how to stop it. It was wearing on all of them, Emmett could see it plainly. Sam’s jokes were strained and got fewer laughs, Aaron’s patience was running thin, Tyler hardly smiled anymore, Amelia spoke less, and Nyla had formed a constant wrinkle of worry between her brows.

That last one unsettled Emmett more than anything else. In all the years he’d known Nyla, she’d never been fazed by stress. Not visibly, anyway. They needed a breakthrough, and they needed it now.

Aaron alighted from the truck bed, landing on the hardened dirt ground with a decisive thud just as Nyla reached him, her golden hair shining rosy pink as the sun reflected off her locks. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into him, pressing a relieved kiss against her forehead. Emmett considered teasing him, but he let it drop. He’d needle Aaron later when they weren’t a few seconds away from freezing.

“Have you gotten anywhere with Stamkos yet, Am?” Nyla asked, sinking into Aaron’s side. Amelia shook her head, grimacing.

“He’s not an easy man to get an audience with,” she said, her words dripping in annoyance. “I think George has had more luck than I have, but not by much.”

Emmett resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Adrian Stamkos showing his face in Somerton wasn’t something they’d anticipated, but after the initial shock, they’d seen it as an opportunity. While the Chehwinoo was still active, it wasn’t safe for people to be in the Basin. S&S’s factory was putting a lot of people in harm’s way, and the higher ups had no idea they were sending their employees into the lion’s den. Aaron had suggested a stop-work order to be issued by the town, but George didn’t have the authority. He was only the interim sheriff until a new mayor was elected and could sign the necessary forms to make his position permanent. Without a mayor, their hands were tied. Tyler spoke to Kelley about the issue, but that came with its own problems. With the Wildlife department breathing down their necks, pushing for a proper investigation of the Basin’s fauna, Kelley had to meticulously plan her every move. Issuing a stop-work order due to present dangers in the Basin would give Wildlife the excuse they needed to go over Kelley’s head and seal off the area while they took samples.

That left one feasible option: convincing Adrian Stamkos to pause his building plans.

‘Feasible’ was a bit of a stretch, but it was the only option that didn’t result in a surge of preventable deaths. If they could sit down with Stamkos, persuade him to put his plans on hold for just a short while, it would give them the breathing room they needed to finally put an end to the Chehwinoo’s reign of destruction. Asking a billionaire to voluntarily throw away tens of thousands of dollars in construction delays based on their word alone was its own obstacle, one they would need to face if and when they secured a meeting with the man in charge.

Emmett pressed his lips together, forcing himself to remain quiet. He wasn’t great with the intricacies of corporate negotiations, but he’d done some research. Every night that he wasn’t exhausted from a hunt, he was online, watching taped interviews and press releases with Adrian Stamkos. The man was impressive, and he certainly knew how to charm a crowd, but Emmett’s digging rewarded him with the more accurate image of Stamkos’ character shown in lesser known appearances and candid recordings. He was ruthless. Cold. Uncaring. He was a businessman, and the only thing that mattered to him was maintaining his image and profit margins. Getting him on their side was a hail Mary, and not one that he expected to work. Still, they had to try, didn’t they?

A moment of silence passed, heavy and thick.

“Come on,” Aaron announced suddenly, interrupting the cloud of doubt that was quickly gathering. “Let’s go back to the Willow. It’s almost time for supper. We’ll relax, get a hot meal, and come at this again with fresh eyes.”

Wordlessly, everyone followed Aaron’s instructions. Emmett wasn’t prone to envy, but Aaron was a hard man not to idolize, just a little. Leadership oozed from his pores, and he had the skills to back up his attitude. Worse, he had an impeccable sense of style. He almost rolled his eyes at himself for even thinking it, but it was true. Emmett didn’t care how he looked as long as he was comfortable and could get his work done, but he couldn’t deny that spark of irritation every time Aaron walked into a room looking like he’d stopped by on his way to a movie set. Even now, with his hair wind-tousled and pink colouring his nose and cheeks, covered in winter gear, he managed to look sleek and not just a little bit sexy. It was an infuriating test of patience.

Climbing into the driver’s seat of Ephraim’s truck, Emmett took a deep, heavy breath. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him until his head hurt; from the beginning, Nyla did her best to keep Emmett on the periphery of the chaos. He had his ailing father to worry about, and Nyla could handle things with the group of friends she’d collected along the way. Now, though, Emmett chose to insert himself in the thick of it.

After the night that Sam drove his truck into the lake, Emmett committed to seeing this thing through. He trusted Nyla to reach out to him when she needed to, but why bother? If Emmett was here, actively helping them investigate the Chehwinoo mythos, she wouldn’t need to reach out. He’d be ready and available whenever he was needed.

The toll on his nerves was more than he expected, and it was bearable most of the time. Emmett just needed a minute alone to collect himself and he’d be ready to tackle the next step. Whatever that might be.

Sending a text to Nyla letting her know about his planned detour, Emmett brought the rusted truck to life and pulled away from the shoulder of the road, heading directly for the Coffee Corner and some much-needed caffeine.

Well, this was turning into a clerical nightmare.

Callie gulped the final dregs of her latte with a grimace. It had long since cooled, leaving a thin, gritty film of vanilla bean foam coating her tongue after she swallowed. Shaking herself free of the unpleasant aftertaste, Callie put her tablet down on the passenger seat and heaved a sigh.

Two hours. She’d been parked in the lot outside Somerton’s lone cafe, the Coffee Corner, for two hours, poring over every document she could find related to the Lichen House acquisition. Between the stacks of paper files she’d swiped from the office and her notes and electronic folders, her borrowed vehicle looked like a tornado ripped through an office supply building. It was chaos, but organized chaos. By the time she’d finished her BLT, Callie had a deep understanding of the case ahead of her. To her relief, the paper trail for this contract was strong, with nearly every detail meticulously recorded by Orville (a miracle, really). To her frustration, it was largely useless.

Orville had burdened her with a monumental task, one that would require a combination of herculean effort and divine intervention to overcome. Their clients, the couple who’d purchased Lichen House, had a vision. They wanted to turn the property into a combination bed and breakfast and museum while preserving the history of the site, which wasn’t an easy ask in and of itself. Their first hurdle, and the one that brought them to Orville in the first place, was obtaining the right to renovate the old buildings. That took a year. Then, they had to come up with a renovation plan that was approved by the town council while also satisfying their original image of the business. Callie counted no less than six contractors that were consulted, hired, and subsequently dismissed before settling on the company currently in charge, a process that took another year. Once all was said and done, the Lichen House contract had a longer shelf life than some of the paralegals Orville hired.

Now, they should be celebrating. Everything was in place to begin renovations, and on Callie’s side of things, she need only handle the myriads of permits required in the hospitality industry. Liquor license, health inspector, electrical evaluation, all of these were agreements that Callie had done before. It should’ve been easy. In her mind, it was. Callie let herself daydream about a life where Orville was already retired and she was reshaping the business into what she wanted it to be; less a hodgepodge of legal grunt work and more targeted, specialized caseloads. She’d bring back some of the employees that Orville’s cantankerous attitude drove away, building a team that she both trusted and respected.

Better yet, a team that respected her. She damn well knew Orville didn’t.

All of that, everything Callie was working toward, now lay in the hands of a corporate titan, one that couldn’t care less about Callie’s hopes and dreams: Adrian Stamkos, the figurehead of Stamkos & Stein Pharmaceuticals.

It wasn’t personal, Callie knew. She’d worked with enough mid-size companies to understand that business politics were impersonal and cutthroat by nature. Adrian Stamkos didn’t bear her any more ill will than a McDonald’s cashier does a Shake Shack line cook. Likely, Adrian Stamkos was completely unaware of Callie’s existence, let alone the strife his business was causing with her clients.

Callie wouldn’t be in this position if Stamkos & Stein had just waited another month or two before releasing their concept images of the new plant. Through blood, sweat, and tears, Callie convinced their clients that the plant wouldn’t affect the appeal of Lichen House. It was too far away, hidden by the thick and impenetrable wilderness crowding the Basin. They likely wouldn’t know the plant was there, let alone be negatively influenced by its presence.

Then the photos came out.

It was an intentional marketing move, one that Callie had seen before. S&S was getting backlash from the locals, delaying their building process. To counteract the bad press, their marketing team released idealized images of the final product, looking like some futuristic space station in the middle of the woods, cradled harmoniously amongst trees and wildlife alike. It was new, innovative, and unlike anything anyone in Somerton or Hatfield had seen before.

It was also a load of corporate bullshit.

Eco-structures were becoming more and more popular in the tourism industry, but in pharmaceuticals? No chance. It was impractical at best, and malfunctioning at worst. S&S knew their audience and they played to it, offering empty promises and false comfort along with a blueprint that would never see the light of day. After all was said and done, the factory up and running, it would be too late. Anyone curious about the original plans, the designs that had pacified them in the early stages, would be met with a wall of vague excuses ranging from budget cuts to incompatible landscapes. Capitalism – one, honesty – zero.

Callie knew that all too well, as did her clients. When the campaign began, they’d done a deep dive into the public permits already acquired by S&S. The information they found, coupled with their research on noise pollution and corporate expansion, resulted in no less than twenty frantic emails to Callie and Orville. If they were going to keep this contract, their biggest and longest-standing to date, something had to be done. It was now up to Callie to figure out what.

Bang!

“Orville, what the fuck are you— oh, shit.”

The angry words were preceded by a hard smack on the driver’s side window, startling Callie into fumbling her phone onto the floor of the car. She shrieked in tandem with her jump, throwing herself as far away from the window as she could.

“Callie? What are you doing here?”

The voice registered at the same time a face appeared in the window, and suddenly Callie’s tongue-tie had nothing to do with her fright.

Emmett Coady. Bricklayer, son of Lichen House’s interim groundskeeper, and the hottest man Callie had ever laid eyes on.

“Emmett!” Callie exclaimed in surprise, realizing belatedly that he probably couldn’t hear her. The window was still up. Emmett’s voice carried, but hers definitely didn’t. Cheeks flaming, she used the manual crank to lower the window and braced herself for the strangely intoxicating scent of pine and gasoline that accompanied Emmett wherever he went.

Callie wasn’t used to feeling so unsettled by a man. Orville liked his female employees to be mild, meek, and subservient. Callie’s family hailed from Louisiana, and she went to school in New York. Mild and meek were not words most people would use to describe her. Through sheer force of will, Callie had tempered her fiery attitude into a hard outer shell of calm confidence that, while Orville didn’t approve, he didn’t object to either. Yet, whenever Emmett looked at her, Callie couldn’t help but feel like he was seeing past that shell. The sensation made her squirm.

God, was he hotter now? How the hell did he get more attractive since she’d last seen him?

“Hey, Emmett,” she tried again, praying her voice was steadier than her heartbeat. Emmett was her age, tall and broad, with piercing brown eyes that peeked out from beneath dark brows. Callie spent more time than she cared to admit examining Emmett’s eyes; they were some of the only parts of himself he left uncovered. His clothes were heavy, tattered, and stained from work. His black hair was cropped short, mostly hidden beneath a baseball hat bearing his company’s logo. His chin was obscured with thick stubble that was always visible, even after a recent shave. ‘Sexy’ probably wasn’t the first word that came to mind when most people saw Emmett Coady, but those people simply weren’t looking. Not like Callie was.

“Hey,” Emmett raised an eyebrow questioningly, and Callie realized she’d been silently staring for much longer than was proper. She blushed harder. “Sorry for the scare, I thought Orville was here to harass Dad again.”

“Oh, no,” Callie swallowed, trying to get herself under control. She was a lawyer, damn it all. If her more aggressive clients didn’t intimidate her, Emmett Coady’s unfair jawline shouldn’t. “Orville’s out of town on a business trip. I’m just… trying to tie up some loose ends.”

“You’re still going ahead with the renos?” Emmett frowned, his expression troubled in a way that made Callie’s stomach flip. She was almost annoyed at herself. Not everything the man did had to make her heart skip. “I thought the new owners weren’t happy with this S&S bull.”

“They’re not,” Callie agreed, finding her confidence again and relaxing into the conversation. “That’s why I’m here. I’m hoping to speak to Adrian Stamkos, unofficially, and see if we can’t work something out. There must be some assurances he can offer local businesses. He can’t alienate everyone.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” Emmett said, rolling his eyes bitterly. Callie bit the inside of her cheek, wondering at the familiarity of his reaction. It was almost like he’d met Stamkos already, but why would that be the case? Emmett had no reason to interact with the head of S&S. At least, none that Callie knew of. He worked for the company heading the Lichen House renovations, but that was a distant connection to the head of a pharmaceutical empire. “You heading back to Hatfield soon? Or do you have time for a coffee?”

Elation and shock struck Callie in equal measure. Their employers were closely intertwined— Callie through the Lichen House contract, Emmett through his father and employer— so she wasn’t naive enough to assume he was asking her on a date per se. Still, any excuse to spend time with Emmett was good enough for her.

“I’d love that,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager. From the way Emmett’s face lit up, she thought she succeeded, or, if she didn’t, he wasn’t put off by her enthusiasm.

“Great,” Emmett opened her door for her, stepping aside so she could get out, “I’ve got another half an hour before I need to get back to work. I could use a distraction.”

“Tell me about it,” Callie said, sighing. She alighted from the car, removing her black velvet beret and shaking her hair loose. It was cropped to her chin in a severe bob, the shorter style leftover from the summer months. “I’ve got a headache just from reading through all this crap.”

“I take it negotiations aren’t going well?” Emmett fell into step beside her, walking just slightly ahead so he would reach the door first. Callie smiled in gratitude as he held it open for her.

“Not so much,” Callie confirmed. “The concept images really pushed Tara and Ed into a tailspin. They know a ploy when they see one.”

“Downsides to working with people who know what they’re doing,” Emmett said sympathetically. “How’s Orville taking it?”

Callie grimaced, schooling her features just in time for the barista to call them to the front. She ordered a tea and waited while Emmett ordered a black coffee for himself and a slew of other drinks. She raised an eyebrow.

“You caught me on a group coffee run,” he explained. Callie opened her mouth to apologize, tell him not to be held up on her account, but Emmett silenced her with a withering look. “They can wait, Cal. I’m allowed to take a few minutes for myself.”

Well, shit. Did he have to say it like that? Her stomach did a backflip at the stubbornness in his tone, and Callie once again had to stop herself from physically rolling her eyes at her reaction. Emmett was hot, yes, but she was a grown woman, not a crush-addled schoolgirl.

Emmett accepted the tray of drinks from the barista, balancing it in one hand while he passed Callie her tea. He caught her staring warily at the precariously placed tray, and answered her unspoken concern with a wink.

Okay, a grown woman she may be, but she still had a crush.

Emmett walked them to a booth near the window, facing away from the main dining room. Callie slid into her seat gracefully; she was used to being hyper-aware of her movements in client meetings, but she was typically more relaxed on casual outings. With Emmett, though, she was very aware of her body and the space she took up. Maybe she should just ask him on a date, get the rejection over with so she could focus on her real reason for being in Somerton. The idea fizzled almost as soon as it sparked; the theoretical sting of disappointment was already too much for Callie to swallow.

“Orville is… Orville,” Callie said, suddenly remembering that she hadn’t answered his question before they ordered. “I think he was expecting it. He said he was going to retire when the Lichen House contract is finalized, and it’s turning into our longest negotiation in company history. Doesn’t seem like a coincidence.”

Emmett scowled, crossing his arms over his chest with a displeased grunt.

“I don’t know why you still work for that prick,” he groused. “Everyone knows what he’s like. You’ve got more than enough experience to get a job with a different firm.”

Callie took a deep breath, already feeling the exhaustion of having to defend her choices. Everyone always said the same things to her: just quit, find a new job, report Orville for his behavior. They meant well, but…

“Orville owns the only firm from here to Madison,” Callie argued. “If I left, I’d have to move.”

“Why not start your own firm?”

Something on her face must’ve given away her irritation, because Emmett uncrossed his arms and softened his tone.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to give you career advice,” he said, lips quirking in a small smile. “I just hate that Orville gets away with treating you the way he does.”

Callie released her breath, trying to dispel her instinctive annoyance.

“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted, taking a sip of her tea. “The problem is that everyone in the area who needs a lawyer has already hired Orville. There aren’t any clients left for me, and I’m not sure I’m cutthroat enough to start poaching.”

“You wouldn’t need to poach,” Emmett said. “I meant what I said: everyone knows what Orville is like. I bet if you offered an alternative, clients would flock to you.”

It wasn’t a bad notion, but it wasn’t quite that straightforward. Many of Orville’s clients were elderly, set in their ways. The newer companies hired internal representation or remote freelancers. Callie might be able to attract some of their existing clientele to follow her, but not nearly enough to justify upending her career. No, waiting for Orville to retire, while exhausting, was better for her in the long run.

“Thanks, but it’s really not that simple,” Callie said, hoping he wouldn’t push. Emmett was the kind of man who either didn’t pay attention to the more nuanced aspects of career politics, or he didn’t care. If he wanted something, he went for it. If he thought something, he said it. He’d crash and burn in the legal field, but as a person, his attitude was refreshing if irritating at times. “How’s your dad? I dropped by to pick up some documents on my way in but I didn’t get much of a chance to catch up. He looks well.”

“For the most part,” Emmett agreed, easing back into his chair and accepting her change in topic without protest. “His leg is getting worse. I keep trying to convince him to get a walker, but he’s a stubborn geezer.”

Callie laughed.

“You need to let him think it was his idea,” she suggested. “He’ll be a lot more open to it.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Emmett asked, bewildered. Callie pressed her lips together to suppress another laugh.

“It’s not as hard as it sounds,” she said. “You just need to frame it in a way that makes it seem like you’re hyping up his ideas. ‘Hey Dad, I was thinking about what you said the other day and you’re right, I worry too much. You can still be fully independent, and I need to respect that. Didn’t you say something about getting a walker to help you move around easier when I’m not here? I think that’s a great idea. I can pick one up for you on my way home from work.’ That’s a little ham-fisted in terms of actual application, but it works as an example.”

Emmett was quiet for a moment, considering her words.

“Alright, I think I get it,” he mused. “Let me try. ‘Hey Cal, I was thinking about what you said earlier and you’re right. Orville absolutely knew this Lichen House contract was going to be extended. Didn’t you say something about starting your own firm? Great idea.’ How’s that?”

Callie’s encouraging smile snapped into a frown, her brow raising in his direction.

“Seriously?” She rolled her eyes. “Ha ha, very funny.”

Emmett just shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Callie deliberately ignored him, trying to swallow too much of her tea at once and nearly choking on it instead. The scalding liquid burned down her throat, making her eyes water.

Hot and irritating. Ironic, given her present company.

A buzz sounded from Emmett’s jacket pocket, and he broke his smug eye contact to read the message. His face grew solemn, and he deflated a bit as he stood. “Sorry Cal, I’ve gotta get going. Seems I’m needed.”

Callie checked the time on her phone, slipping it into her pants pocket as she stood too. “No worries! I need to get to the Willow before reception closes. I’m sure Nyla would stick around if I needed her to, but I’d rather not impose.”

Emmett’s step faltered, recovering quickly. He cocked his head to look at Callie in trepidation. “The Willow? Why?”

Callie moved to get the door for Emmett, but he beat her to it.

“I’m in town for a few days,” she answered easily. “Adrian Stamkos isn’t an easy man to get a meeting with. I wanted to be flexible with my schedule so I have the best chance at fitting into his. Nyla said she always has extra space, so I figured I’d stay there.”

“You were talking to Nyla? Recently?”

The urgency in Emmett’s voice took Callie aback as she tried to place it. Nyla and Emmett were friends, that was no secret. She’d even been a bit jealous, embarrassingly so, when she’d first found out how close they were. But Callie quickly abandoned that jealousy after spending a small amount of time with them. Now, Nyla was happily in a relationship with Aaron Klein, and Callie could see how committed they were to one another even after only a brief chance encounter at the gas station between Somerton and Hatfield. So, why would Emmett be nervous about her talking to Nyla?

Not that he would care what Callie thought about his relationship with Nyla. At least, she had no reason to think he would. As long as they’d known each other, Emmett never expressed any interest in Callie.

“Not since she borrowed Orville’s flamethrower,” Callie said. “I guess she did make the offer last spring, but I thought… well if she doesn’t have room, I’ll just go to the motel—”

“No.”

The vehemence in Emmett’s tone startled Callie into stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Callie turned, blinking at Emmett in surprise.

“I’m sorry… did you say ‘no’?”

“I said no,” Emmett affirmed. “Callie, now is not a good time to be stirring things up around here. Nyla’s been dealing with a lot since the factory was announced. You shouldn’t bother her with your work on top of everything else she’s got on her plate.”

A spark of something— anger, spite, defiance— seared the back of Callie’s throat. She stepped closer to the window, where they wouldn’t be in the path of customers heading to the front entrance.

“I’m not,” she insisted. “I only want a place to stay. My work is separate.”

“Is it?” Emmett pressed. “You know as well as I do that Nyla isn’t exactly celebrated around here. How is it going to look if you show up, badgering Stamkos about his project, and you just so happen to be staying at the Willow?”

Callie understood Nyla’s position in Somerton well. Everyone did. The town hated her, due in no small part to ex-sheriff Bill Hannaford’s influence, and made no attempt to hide it. Callie hated how unfairly Nyla was treated, even before they’d met. She also understood there was nothing she, or anyone else for that matter, could do about it. Once a small town made up their minds about someone, no earthly force would be able to change them. Staying at Nyla’s property wasn’t going to make anything worse, at least.

“It’s a lodge, Emmett! No one is going to connect my meeting with Stamkos to Nyla. That’s absurd.”

“A lodge that’s currently closed and owned by a woman who’s known to go to unreasonable lengths for her friends.”

Callie snapped her jaw shut, biting her tongue before she said something she’d regret. Emmett waited for her to relent, his expression unyielding. She counted to three, carefully composing her response to be free of venom.

“Well, I appreciate your concern, but I would rather talk to Nyla about this.” Callie deliberately checked the time on her phone screen. “I need to get going.”

“You need to go home.” Emmett’s voice hardened, crossing his arms over his chest. Callie blinked in shock, the urge to argue with him warring with the bewilderment at Emmett’s seemingly unwarranted reaction.

“I can’t,” she said slowly. “I need to secure this contract, or Orville will work himself into the grave.”

“You can sort it from Hatfield,” Emmett insisted, shuffling around her with assertive movements. He put his hand between her shoulders, carefully but firmly pushing her toward her vehicle. Callie was so shocked that she let him, her brain running like mud. “Adrian Stamkos probably won’t listen to you anyway. Save yourself the trouble and send him an email he can ignore.”

“Excuse me?” Irritation and offense loosened Callie’s tongue. She dug her heels into the gravel, forcing them both to a stop. “Are you saying that because he’s an asshole, or because you don’t think I can handle my job?”

“He’s an asshole,” Emmett said quickly. “And you have better things to do with your time. Outside Somerton.”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to dictate how I spend my time.” Callie planted her hands on her hips, all of her nervous babbling gone in favor of her annoyance. Emmett may be attractive, but that wasn’t an excuse to get away with whatever he wanted. Even if his attitude did make him clench his jaw in a way that made his cheekbones stand out.

Damnit, Callie. Focus.

“I’m not arguing with you about this, Callie. This is a fool’s errand.” Emmett turned away from her and headed toward a rusted old pickup that Callie recognized as belonging to Ephraim. “Adrian Stamkos isn’t a problem you can solve over dinner, and Nyla has too much to worry about with S&S. She doesn’t need you adding to it. Leave it alone.”

“All the more reason for me to stay,” she snapped. “If Nyla’s being affected by this build, then having another business on her side will only help her cause!”

“And push her further into the role of town scapegoat!” Emmett barked back. “She’s been through enough, Cal. Good intentions or not, you’d be more of a help if you’d just leave.”

With that, Emmett hauled open the driver’s side door of the truck. He didn’t hop in yet, waiting to see what Callie would do, expecting her to listen and drive Orville’s car back the way she’d come. Maybe he was right, and she should do that; clearly there was more going on here than she originally thought. But Callie was never good at following orders.

Her blood burned hot with indignation, churning uncomfortable feelings in her stomach. Before she knew what she was doing, Callie had her phone in her hand. She dialed, pressing the speakerphone icon and waiting as the rings sounded. One, two, three, four.

“Willow Lodge, we’re not accepting reservations at the moment but if you’d like to leave your name—”

“Nyla? Is that you?”

Callie spoke pointedly, keeping her tone light for Nyla’s sake but boring a glare in Emmett’s direction. He met her gaze steadily, silently warning her to stop.

“Callie? Hey! Oh my God, how are you?” Nyla’s voice lost its elevated professionalism, dissolving into her normal cadence. “If this is about the flamethrower, I need it for just a little bit longer if that’s alright?”

“Totally fine,” Callie said with a deliberate smile. “I was actually wondering if you were busy this afternoon. I’m in town and I was hoping to stop by to discuss some things.”

Emmett’s glare soured, realizing she wasn’t going to be intimidated out of this. Callie held his accusatory look, daring him to try to stop her again.

“Sure! I’m here for the rest of the evening. We won’t be alone if that’s okay. I’ve got some friends here, and Emmett just went out for a coffee run but he’ll be back soon. It’s a full house, honestly. But if it’s business, we can always go into the office.”

“Emmett?” Callie repeated in surprise. “I thought he was working today?”

“Work? No, he’s on PTO until next week.” Callie quirked her brow at him from where she stood, filing the lie away for future examination. “Why? Have you been talking to him?”

“Just assumed,” Callie said, shrugging. To any of the other customers in the lot, Emmett and Callie probably looked insane. They were locked in a silent standoff, Callie on the phone disproving at least two things Emmett told her and Emmett warning her with his body language to drop whatever thread she was pulling. She had no intention to, of course. “I’ll head over now then, if that works.”

“Of course! I’ll see you soon!”

Callie dropped her phone into her pocket, still holding Emmett’s glare. She used her key fob to unlock her vehicle, the unassuming beep sounding off like a war horn. Without allowing Emmett to speak, Callie returned to her car and, still seething, pulled out of the cafe parking lot and headed in the direction of the Willow.