35. Emerson
EMERSON
“Three of the properties need some serious work before we can list them,” Des says through the speaker as I listen, respond to an email, and try not to bark at Nico to drive faster because we’re late getting home.
Garrett’s house.
Not home.
Shit.
I thought I had more time but we hit traffic leaving the salon, and it just seems like I can’t catch a break.
Tonight is a scheduled event, sure, but I’ve also been looking forward to it.
It’s a local artisan gallery—a mix of veteran artists and new talent all mingled together with local farm-to-table food and craft liquor and beer.
It’s high-end without being overly pretentious, and proceeds from the auction items will benefit art programs around the city. I won’t bid on any of the items—just hand over a check outright—but I will leave with a couple of things from the artists themselves.
Will they just go to my apartment or do I display them in Ironwood for the short time we have left and then take them?
Both options feel icky so I push it from my mind for now.
“Who can we contact?”
“I left a message with Sundown Realty. There’s not a whole lot of concrete information on who owns or is running the operations beyond who they’ve hired locally to do the work and maintenance.
They seem to be dominating a good portion of Tennessee and actually originated in Blackstone Falls as far as I can tell,” Des says, the clicking of his keyboard echoing down the line.
“Call Isla and ask her who she knows,” I reply, my mind reeling with who could be behind something like that without having their name plastered all over the news.
“On it.”
“How’s the new girl?”
“She’s good.”
“Make sure you offload what you can to her. I think she’s been bored in the afternoons, and if she’s willing to take on extra tasks, that opens you up for other things.”
“I’m working on it.” He pauses. “I’m a little gun-shy after Quinn,” he admits. “I know that blindsided everyone but I—”
“It’s not on you. Let me handle it. Royce and Tom are on it. I need you to focus on what we have going on, okay?”
“Of course.” He clears his throat as he continues clicking away. “Last thing—I’m sending over the files for Monday’s meeting. I made notes with bullet points so it should cut down on the prep work, but I also flagged one section for you to look at.”
“Thank you.” I nod as his email comes through. “Is that it?”
“Yes, have fun tonight.”
“You too. Do you and Theo have big plans?” I ask even though it’s none of my business.
“Good night, Miss Andrews,” he says with a chuckle as Nico pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park.
“Good night, Des.”
“Miss Andrews, we’re here,” Nico says, turning around in his seat. “Do you want me to wait, or are you going with Mr. and Mrs. Oakden?”
It takes my brain an entire five seconds to process that because for my whole life Tom Oakden has been Oakey—courtesy of my cousin and me—rarely Mr. Oakden.
And now he has a wife.
Life is so weird.
“Can you text Tom and tell him I’m running late? Ignore the growl—that’s how he says he loves me.”
Nico chuckles as he climbs out of the front seat, and I manage to shove all my work stuff into my bag as he reaches my door and holds out his hand.
“Have fun tonight, Miss Andrews.”
“Thank you, and tell the girls we said hi.”
“I will.”
We say good night, my heels clicking on the walkway as I shoulder my bag, the front door opening before I’ve even had a chance to turn the knob.
And wow.
Hair still wet from his shower and dressed in a white T-shirt, sweatpants, and no socks, Garrett looks edible.
“Hey, you’re—”
Dropping my bag to the floor as I kick the door shut behind me, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body against his.
“Don’t touch the hair,” I mumble as I lick and nip at his lips, kissing him breathless because I need the contact and the wildness before we’re available for public consumption.
Meetings and phone calls and last-minute issues never bothered me before, but somehow having a hot-as-sin rock star for a husband at my disposal has me aching for constant stress relief.
It’s a problem.
But it’s a problem for another day.
“Em, we’re gonna be late but fuck, you taste good.” He grunts as he pulls back, his eyes wild and hungry.
“Do you think they’ll miss us?” I purr, rocking my hips against his before sliding my hand between us and into his sweatpants.
“Fuck, baby, we can’t.” The words are followed by a hiss as I squeeze and stroke his length, his cock hard and throbbing in my palm. Dragging his hands over his face twice, he growls and then wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls it from his pants.
Fingers curled in a loose fist, Garrett guides my chin up, his gaze locked on mine as he presses a lingering kiss to my lips. “Later.”
“Promise?” I tease, nipping at his jaw.
“Yes.”
With more restraint than I want to admit, I finally move away from my husband, giving us both the space we need to compose ourselves. Otherwise, I’ll be naked and bent over the counter when Tom and Kat get here.
And I really can’t have that.
“How’s my lipstick?” I ask, trying to distract us as Garrett’s dark eyes rake over me.
“It’s perfect.” With a wolfish grin, he adds, “I’ll have to try harder next time.”
“Promises, promises.”
“Uh-huh, now get upstairs, Miss Andrews, and get dressed before I cancel our plans and fuck you on every god damn surface in this house.”
“That’s not the threat you think it is.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll make you break the news to Theo, and he’ll be pissed because he and Des are, and I quote, ‘spending a quiet evening together.’”
“Well, at least someone is getting laid,” I grumble as I climb the stairs, but I don’t get very far before Garrett’s chest is pressed to my back, his palm splayed against my belly.
“You just have to be patient, Miss Andrews.” With his breath hot on my neck, I shiver as Garrett pulls me tighter against his body. “Because I’m going to fuck you in that dress before peeling it off you and devouring every sinful inch of your naked body.”
“You should have a taste before we go.”
He chuckles, the sound low and raspy. “It’s never just a taste with you, Em. It’s never enough.” I’m just about to protest when his fingertips find the hem of my skirt. “But maybe if you promise to be a good girl just this once…”
Just this once.
Just for him.