1. Garrett
GARRETT
PRESENT DAY
As far as first wives go, Emerson Andrews is a ten.
Unfortunately for me, I don’t rate that high.
Grinning, I step onto the elevator at Andrews International, my Illinois Blues ballcap pulled down low as I watch each floor illuminate, my smile growing the higher it climbs. The building is elegant, marble tile and magazine-worthy décor highlighting the kind of clientele that grace these halls.
Elite.
Powerful.
Much like the woman I’m about to see.
My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it. I already know it’s going to be bad news—fake news—but it’s all the same. My lead guitarist has gone off the rails and he’s trying to bring the rest of us down with him.
Not fucking happening.
Hence why I’m here.
Avoiding eye contact, I navigate the floor until I locate the entryway to her office, the door shut and two desks blocking my path. The first is occupied by a pretty girl probably in her early twenties who gapes at me when I walk up.
“Is Miss Andrews in? She’s expecting me.”
“She’s on a call,” she stutters but I’m already moving past, thankful that the second desk is vacant.
“Sir! You can’t go back there!”
With two quick raps on the door, I turn the handle and push my way inside, not able to close it before the girl follows me in, her face flushed and her eyes wide.
“Let me get back to you this afternoon,” Emerson says, her gaze bouncing from me to her assistant and back as she places the phone back on the receiver.
“Miss Andrews, I’m so sorry. He just—”
“I’ll bet he did,” she muses, the corner of her mouth twitching as she gives the girl a sympathetic smile. “I’ll deal with him, Quinn, but please try to resist his charm next time.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dipping her head, Quinn leaves in a hurry, the door closing with a snick as I turn back toward Emerson.
My wife.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of having you in my office?” she starts, her cream-colored blouse fitted perfectly across her tits and those red fucking lips begging me to kiss them. “Especially considering you’ve been too busy to answer your damn phone.”
Annoyance drips into her tone as she takes me in, my attire about the same as it was when we’d been in Vegas.
Dark jeans, fitted black T-shirt, and boots.
Sometimes I like to throw in a vintage band shirt but not today. Much like her lipstick, this is my proverbial armor.
“I thought we could talk in person.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re not secretly hiding the annulment in your back pocket?”
“You wanna check?” I grin and she smirks and fuck she’s hot, her presence commanding behind that desk. It makes me want to fall to me knees and hike up her skirt so I can pleasure her while she’s ruling the world.
“What are you doing here, Garrett?”
Damn.
Not Mr. North.
Not Rockstar.
Garrett.
“What if we don’t go through with the annulment?” When she opens her pouty lips to argue, I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m asking for six months.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even hear why.”
“I don’t need to know why.” She lowers her voice and glances at the door.
“I married you because I’m a woman of my word and rather enjoyed the ambiance of Vegas.
A woman can have fun on vacation but this”—she waves her hand around—“is my legacy. I’m not fucking it up because you think the smolder works in real life. ”
Ouch.
I can’t hide my amusement even if the words did hurt more than I’d like to admit. But that’s just Emerson.
Fierce.
Unapologetic.
Badass.
I love the power she exudes—the way she captivates every room she walks into simply by existing.
“Please?” I ask, trying the smolder she’s allegedly not fond of, but she only glares and I can’t help but chuckle. “It might be fun.”
“Sex on vacation is fun. Picking up my fake husband’s dirty socks is not fun.”
“First of all, sex is always fun.”
“Why do men always say that? The number of orgasms women experience during sex versus men is wildly disproportionate.”
“Sounds criminal.”
“It is.”
“While that may be true,”—I let my lips curve up into a wolfish smile—“I’m confident that your experience in Vegas was remarkably different.”
“That’s the only reason I haven’t thrown you out of my office, Mr. North.” Her reply is saccharine sweet, those red lips distracting me in a way I truly cannot afford right now.
Later.
“What if I tell you I really need this? Not as Garrett North, lead singer of Descending North, but as Garrett, the guy who just loves music and a quiet life in a small town outside Chicago. I chose to be in the spotlight and I know that puts me under a microscope but…” I sigh and look away, gathering myself before turning back and letting her see the vulnerability written all over my face. “That’s not what this is.”
“And what is it, exactly?” The question is direct, but there’s an underlying softness to it too, a curiosity and perhaps a little sympathy.
Pulling out my phone, I open the text thread from my assistant and hand her the device, watching as her brows furrow slightly as she scrolls up through all the articles Theo has sent me in the past two days.
“I’m not saying I haven’t had my share of fun on tours,” I admit openly as her dark eyes slide up to meet mine, “but the lies and rumors Darren is spreading are doing more damage than we can counter.”
“You need a better lawyer.”
“Emerson, we were a family—me and the other guys in the band. But he’s trying to ruin everything we stand for. Right now his focus is the band as a whole and me, and I’m trying to keep it that way. Maverick has a daughter, and I can’t have her exposed to any more of it than she already has been.”
“And what do you think staying married to me is going to accomplish?”
“Our marriage is still under wraps.”
“You’re welcome,” she says wryly.
“But it’s only a matter of time before someone catches wind of it.
” I motion between us. “I could ignore Darren’s fuckup while we were in Vegas, but my phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I’ve been home.
I need the stability. The band needs the stability, and if nothing else, it will shift the focus to me. ”
“And you think that being married to me is going to help that? One reporter with access to the Internet will find a long list of men I’ve attended events with—rarely duplicates.
One with more ambition will be able to track down any number of partners who will claim I’m a coldhearted bitch who kicked them out of bed the second we both got off. That’s not what you’re looking for.”
“So, you’re saying I’m something special then, Miss Andrews?” I tease, dropping into one of the high-back chairs in front of her desk as I try not to let my jealousy show. “Because I’m pretty sure I woke up every morning next to you in Vegas.”
“Vacation rules,” she says simply, lifting one shoulder and letting it drop.
“I see.”
“This”—she waves her hand around—“is still not vacation.”
“I promise to pick up my own socks.”
Ignoring me, she continues. “I’m not going to change my life around for you or want to hear about your day. How can that possibly help you? Don’t you want more for yourself? My work is my life. I’ve dealt with enough criticism in the last decade about it, but this is who I am.”
“I’m not asking you to change who you are. I’m asking for a favor.”
“Garrett, do I look like I’m a woman interested in granting favors?”
“No, but you are a woman who might benefit from a short-term commitment that helps alleviate the nagging about your love life.” I watch as she opens her mouth and then closes it, her cranberry-red lips pursing.
“I’ll grant your divorce in six months and you can claim you tried to make it work—that we were happy but we’re better off as friends. ”
“You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
“Bold choice seeing as my uncle had one at his desk.”
“Shit,” I bite out but she waves her hand.
“It’s fine. He’s retired, married, and living his best life as a Pappy.”
“I’m glad he’s doing better.”
“Me too. But—”
Whatever she was about to say is interrupted by a hasty knock and the entrance of a guy in business attire who looks like he moonlights as a bodybuilder.
“Miss Andrews,” he says, his eyes sliding to me for only a second before returning to hers. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a crowd forming outside the building. Security has been called, but Mr. Oakden is still on vacation.”
Emerson’s nails click against the desk, the sound jarring in combination with the whirring of the computer.
“You brought a crowd?” The accusation is sharp and I wince.
“I didn’t, I swear. I was careful.” And I was because I know how fast things can escalate. How did they know I was here?
“Des, what is the thing I value most at Andrews International?” she asks, her nails poised against the wood.
“Loyalty.”
“And if that is compromised?”
“Immediate termination.” He answers as if by rote, unfazed, while I feel like I’m about to start sweating.
“Des, this is my husband, for the time being, Garrett North.” She delivers it so casually I can’t stop my eyebrows from shooting into my hairline, unlike Des, who remains completely expressionless.
“Mr. North.” Des nods but doesn’t offer me his hand.
“Nice to meet you.” I smile but he doesn’t return it, just the slightest twitch of his mouth to say he’s amused by this turn of events.
“I need you to reschedule my next two days. I’ll work remotely from Ironwood tomorrow. It’s too much to try and handle from here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Des replies, typing something on his phone as she continues.
“I need you available for the next seventy-two hours. Get ahold of security and find out when the paparazzi showed up. We need to know if someone followed him or if they were tipped off by someone in this building.” Glaring at me, she adds, “See? I’ve been married to you for five minutes and you’re already fucking up my system. ”
“You say the sweetest things,” I tease as she shoves papers and a laptop into an oversized bag that probably costs more than my daily driver.
“You’re on my shit list, Rockstar.”
“I’ll make it up to you later.”
“You can’t deliver the number of orgasms this is going to require.”
“Try me,” I fire back, keenly aware that Des has not moved.
Or reacted.
“Des, I need you to erase the last three minutes from your memory.”
“Already done.”
“Good. Now please make sure Quinn gets a refresher course on who is allowed into my office on any given day.” Standing, she looks at me and then back to the man privy to the inner sanctum of her life here.
“Until I can get the details hammered out, you did not see Garrett here today and you do not know that we’re married. Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you. Now go treat yourself to something nice. I have a feeling you’re about to earn it.”