3. Garrett
GARRETT
Andrews International Security, all of whom I met in Vegas, snuck us out the back of the building through the underground garage wearing a variety of expressions—some amused, some indifferent at seeing me with Emerson.
She was quiet on the hour-long trip to Ironwood, a suburb outside of Chicago that Colt, Roan, Tom, and I call home.
It’s like any small town with nosy neighbors, your typical businesses along Main Street, and festivals and traditions that add a certain kind of charm you can’t find anywhere else.
We didn’t gate our road to keep our neighbors out; we did it to minimize our interactions with the ones looking to make a quick buck with a tabloid or tourists coming in for the day.
The people who live in Ironwood don’t care that I’m the lead singer of a rock band or that Colt is the shortstop for a professional baseball team.
They still expect us to donate to their cookie fundraiser and ask to wash our cars when we drive past the grocery store parking lot so they can get new jerseys for the football team.
We usually donate enough to cover whatever the event is but they never expect it—and that makes all the difference.
Colt stood out there last year and made sure they didn’t leave any watermarks on the paint of his truck before handing them a check that had the team whooping and dancing with sponges still in hand.
Instead of packing it in, the boys doubled down, their smiles wide and infectious as they washed every last car with enthusiasm and gratitude.
“We’re here,” I tell Emerson as I pull up to the front gate, her eyes lifting from her phone to gaze around.
Punching in the code, I wait to enter, the gate imposing as it swings open before clanging into place when we pass. This is a private road, and we have security that patrols the area because even though Ironwood is quiet, we’re not foolish enough to think emboldened fans won’t try to get to us.
“I’m going to need a driver,” Emerson mutters as we pull into my driveway and park, and she drops her phone into her purse. I’d met Emerson before Vegas, but that trip had been an immersive experience.
She was relaxed and sexy and while she was obviously still a force to be reckoned with, she had this softer side that’s completely absent at the present moment.
“I’ll get you a driver.”
“I don’t need you to fix it for me, North. I can make my own arrangements.”
“Maybe I want to take care of my wife.”
“Careful, Garrett, you have no idea what you’re setting yourself up for…” The intonation of the words has my dick hardening and my gaze dropping to her lips.
“I’ll take my chances.”
I grin and she snorts, the tension easing just a little. The phone call from her father had derailed any and all progress I’d made at alleviating the stress I caused from dropping by her office.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I want to kiss you.”
“And?”
“And I can’t get a read on you and I’m pretty attached to my balls.”
“Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not a poet, Mr. North.”
“I’ve been known to string a few lines together,” I reply, turning in the driver’s seat and leaning just over the invisible line that divides her half of the car from mine.
“Garrett?”
“Hmm?”
“Kiss me.”
Threading my fingers through her hair, I breathe in the expensive scent of Emerson’s perfume as I press my lips to hers. The fervor of earlier has been replaced with a sensual exploration of tongues and lips that has me wanting to reverse out of the driveway and take her away from prying eyes.
If only.
“If you don’t stop, someone is going to come out here looking for us and they’re going to get an eyeful.
” Her lips curve up against mine. “Roan I could handle seeing me naked, but I don’t think Tom would be able to look me in the eyes again, and I really don’t want to deal with that kind of stress on top of everything else right now. ”
I know she’s trying to rile me up, but a flash of jealousy burns bright at the mention of my best friend seeing her in a compromised position. Absolutely the fuck not.
“As your husband, I promise to provide any and all stress relief you require.”
“Sweet talker.”
“You better believe it, Miss Andrews, and I’m all yours.”
EMERSON
The conversations happening in the living room come to an abrupt halt the second Garrett and I enter. Tom, Roan, and Theo, Garrett’s assistant, stare at us with varying levels of interest, and under normal circumstances, I’d play into their curiosity—make it a game—but we don’t have time for that.
And honestly, I’m exhausted.
I can work eighty hours a week without batting an eye because it’s what I do. Even the wildest curveballs are manageable simply because they exist in that professional space.
But there’s nothing professional about the way Garrett’s mouth has been between my legs, his fingers and cock inside me.
It was so much simpler when it was just sex.
“Evening, gentlemen,” I say breezily, my high heels clicking along the hardwood, making a beeline for the brown leather couch and commanding the room.
“I love your shoes,” Theo mock whispers, raising his eyebrows for dramatic effect.
“Thank you,” I say sweetly. “Your boss seems to like them too.”
Garrett makes a choking sound behind me as Roan snickers and Tom drags his hand down his face.
“Garrett,” Theo yells, “I love your wife.”
That earns another round of comments from everyone before Roan grabs the notepad on the coffee table and settles back into the recliner.
“While I’d love to shoot the shit all night, we have a fuckton to manage.”
“Did you hear that, Garrett? We’re a fuckton to manage.” I smirk and Garrett winks before strolling over and taking a seat beside me.
“Worth it,” he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear. I want to call him out on it, but Tom takes the opportunity to get us back on track and that’s probably for the best.
“What’s the backstory?” he asks, his gaze sliding from me to Garrett and back.
“We were secretly dating prior to Vegas and decided to make the most of our trip,” I supply, glancing at Theo who is typing furiously on a laptop he pulled from the messenger bag on the floor.
His dark hair is longer on the top but styled perfectly, the collar of his shirt starched and his slacks devoid of wrinkles despite the late hour. He’s the yin to Garrett’s yang—a dynamic I’m looking forward to seeing in action.
Des fits effortlessly into my world—he looks like he belongs—although in this room, the only one who doesn’t fit is Garrett in his jeans and T-shirt.
And I kind of like that.
Go figure.
“And the real reason?” Roan asks pointedly.
Garrett opens his mouth but I cut him off, my hand landing on his thigh as a warning. “We were in Vegas and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Annulment?” Tom asks, but Garrett shakes his head.
“We’ve agreed to a six-month, public arrangement that allows me to provide some positive press for the band.”
“And what does Emerson get out of it?” Tom’s voice is dangerously low.
Always the protector.
“I get to show my father and the corporate world at large that marriage is not for me and I don’t need to play into such an archaic institution.” To Tom, I belatedly add, “No offense, Oakey.”
“None taken.” His lips twitch as Roan releases a heavy sigh.
“Oakey?” Garrett asks.
“Tom Oakden. Oakey.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Tom says and Theo snorts out a laugh as Roan tries to bring us back to focus.
“Okay, six months. You’re living here?”
“Yes, because someone had to show up at my office and we had to be escorted out the back to avoid being mobbed.”
“Forgive me for wanting to visit my stunning wife while she takes over the world.”
“Stop that,” I hiss which earns me a lopsided smile from Garrett and a snicker from Theo.
“You gonna make it six months?” Tom deadpans and I have to count backward from five before I can respond.
“That’s the plan.”
He nods, and mentally I add but only because Garrett’s promised to make it up to me in orgasms as soon as everyone leaves.
“Are you commuting to the office every day?” Tom frowns. “I could take you, but you’re going to need a security detail.”
“I don’t need a detail.”
“Yes, you do,” Roan says, his expression serious. “We have no way to gauge what’s about to happen. You’re a power couple, but because you are worth more than the rest of us combined, the story will undoubtedly explode.”
A part of me hoped that we might be able survive the next six months as close to under the radar as possible, but the look on Roan’s face says that ship has sailed.
Shit.
“I’ve survived this long without a babysitter,” I snark, Garrett’s hand covering mine in support. It should make me mad but it does the opposite, my heart rate slowing just a little as I push down the outrage.
“Well then, consider it a favor,” Tom says thoughtfully. “Samson is trying to find a spot out here to get his girls settled. This would give him a chance to make it happen. He did good work at the gala with Kat, and he’s eager to prove himself now that he’s officially a member of our team.”
“And it’s already leaked,” Theo says, holding up his phone. “Descending North frontman marries billionaire heiress in Vegas.”
Forcing back the growl that wants to escape, I don’t take my eyes off the man who has always felt more like my uncle than an employee or coworker. He’s the man I call Oakey because Isla and I thought it sounded silly and it just stuck.
He’s been around for birthdays and holidays and watched me grow up. I trust him and I like Samson.
But that’s not the point.
I’ve managed to avoid being in this situation since I started working at Andrews International. I pride myself on my tenacity and fortitude, and it feels like it’s all slipping away from me because I’ve never needed anyone to protect me.
“Fine.”
“I’m sorry,” Garrett whispers as he intertwines our fingers, and I hate that I’m no longer capable of hiding my frustration.
I’m better than this.
“Garrett will have one as well when both of you are together unless things change and there’s need for an immediate assignment.”
“Please let it be Grimm,” Roan mutters with a shit-eating grin.
“Why?” Garrett asks as Tom’s eyes slide to Roan as well.
“Because that guy is stone-faced and it’ll drive you nuts.”
“Why are we even friends?” Garrett complains as Roan lifts a shoulder and lets it drop.
“Dunno, but technically you’re paying for our friendship right now and I’m working overtime.”
“Ouch,” Theo chimes in, then with a thoughtful expression dips his head and adds, “also same.”
“I hate both of you.”
“Aww, technically I’m contractually obligated to be here too,” I coo, trying to pretend it’s not the truth. Garrett’s expression is playfully offended, but the emotion in his eyes is unreadable.
“We will work on this and I’ll contact your assistant so we’re all on the same page,” Roan says. “I’ll draft a statement for your approval in the morning, and I’ll get it to the outlets that have been vetted.”
“Thank you,” Garrett replies as the other three men stand with brief goodbyes and promises to be in touch.
I should probably say something, but I can’t seem to find the words.
Or the fucks required to be polite.
And the worst part is now that we’re alone, the last thing I want to do is fuck at all.