26. Emerson
EMERSON
“Miss Andrews?” Des says, poking his head into my office. “Mr. Ellis is here to see you.”
“Roan?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Send him in.” Belatedly, I whisper, “And stop calling me Miss Andrews.”
Des is gone before I can see his reaction, Roan’s large form replacing my assistant in the doorway. He’s dressed in an expensive navy suit, his hair carefully styled, and sporting a red power tie that says he means business.
Oh, good.
“What can I do for you, Roan?” I ask, motioning to the seat on the other side of my desk. He takes it, his elbows on the armrests as he steeples his fingers.
He looks contemplative and I’m not sure if he’s actually feeling that way or if it’s for show. Either way, his presence has me on edge.
And I don’t like it.
“Garrett doesn’t know I’m here,” he starts evenly, the pause after the statement making me narrow my eyes.
If he thinks he can intimidate me in this little stare down, he’s got the wrong woman.
“Talk faster before we have a problem, Mr. Ellis.”
My voice is cold because while I don’t think he’s trying to suggest anything illicit, there’s no chance I’ll be stepping out on my husband.
And he can kick fucking rocks for even making me go down that line of thinking.
“No need to be hostile.”
“You haven’t seen hostile.”
This gets a small smile from him as he drops his hand into his lap and relaxes into his seat. “It’s hard to articulate what I need to tell you because of your relationship with Garrett.”
“Roan—”
“Garrett met with the band.” After a beat, he adds, “Without Darren.” Interesting. “Realistically, the steps we’re taking now should’ve happened months ago.”
“Hence the power tie.”
He looks down at his chest and grins. “I was feeling lucky walking into that meeting today.”
“Winner’s attitude,” I praise because I have a pair of high heels for just such occasions as well.
“Despite the band agreeing on what needs to happen, this decision is crushing Garrett. It’s bigger than the name and the music and the status. It’s him. He’s the face of Descending North and he’s gutted.”
“We’ve…talked about the topic,” I respond cagily because while I’m sure Garrett has confided in Roan about the band, our conversations about it feel too private—too vulnerable—to repeat.
It’s not my place, and I can’t tell if Roan’s surprised by my admission or not.
“He’s going to need support, Emerson, and I’m not saying this because I think you’re incapable of being there for him. I’m telling you because I don’t think he wants me or Colt right now. It’s always been the three of us but he’s different with you.”
“Roan…” I lean forward because what is he saying?
Holding up his hands, he sighs. “I know. That’s why I’m here. Your marriage.” He pauses and holds my gaze, saying the things we cannot say out loud before continuing. “Be careful with him. I don’t know what else to say besides that.”
His words from earlier now make perfect sense.
“It’s hard to articulate what I need to tell you because of your relationship with Garrett.”
Because he didn’t know how to say please don’t hurt my friend because he wants you to comfort him but your marriage is fake and you may not feel obligated to fulfill that role.
“And what if you’re wrong? What if this is all for nothing?”
“I’m not.”
“How do you know?” I press because I don’t want to be responsible for holding Garrett up while he weathers this storm.
Not because I don’t care about him—but because I do.
Because this is serious and I don’t know if I can or want to be the one to shoulder the emotional load that’s the restructuring of Descending North.
Dammit.
Roan doesn’t get to answer before a message lights up my screen.
But he does smirk.
The bastard.
GARRETT: How late are you working tonight?
EMERSON: Why?
GARRETT: If it’s late I might just drive out there
GARRETT: Shit came to a head with Darren
“I’ll leave you to it.”
“Smug is not a good look on you, Mr. Ellis.”
“No, but it is fun sometimes.” He’s halfway to the door before he turns back and looks at me. “Thank you and for what it’s worth, you’re good for him.”
And then Roan is out of my office as another message comes in.
GARRETT: I know I sound needy as fuck but I just want to be with you right now
EMERSON: Is it because you need a solution or sympathy because you know I’m not good at the latter
GARRETT: I think I need a distraction
A distraction.
Twin reactions course through me as I reread the message—relief because I can be a distraction.
But it’s followed by the faintest sense of disappointment that a distraction is all he wants.
Isn’t that the best-case scenario?
Without overthinking it, I grab my phone and wait for Des to pick up.
“Miss Andrews?”
“Reschedule my afternoon and tell Samson to have the car ready in thirty.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He disconnects as I start shoving things into my bag.
Because no matter what Garrett wants or doesn’t want, he needs me.
My husband needs me.
And I’ll be damned if I let him down tonight.
I expect to find Garrett halfway through a bottle of whiskey, but the house is quiet when I walk through the door. My heels click along the hardwood, the sound echoing as I move around the first floor and head for the stairs when I find no sign of him.
The door to the master bedroom is cracked, and a sliver of light shines through the space. Taking a breath, I push inside and find Garrett propped against the headboard in jeans but no shirt.
Like he wanted to get undressed but got too tired to finish.
“Hey,” he says quietly, looking up from his phone. He tosses it to the side and scrubs his hands over his face. “I’m sorry I made you leave. I just—”
“I’m here now,” I tell him, closing the door behind me and slowly unbuttoning my blouse, his dark eyes dropping to watch me ease the satin off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
“Yeah…” He swallows hard as I walk slowly toward the end of the bed, my arms behind me so I can ease the zipper from my skirt down until it pools at my feet.
“Take your pants off,” I purr, sinking one nylon-covered knee onto the mattress and then the other.
“You look fucking incredible,” he rasps as he fumbles with his belt and jeans, his eyes glued to my red bra and panties, black thigh highs, and heels.
“And it’s all for you…” I let the words fall seductively from my lips as I lower to my hands, my hips and breasts swaying as I crawl to him. “Is this what you want?”
Dipping my head, I ghost my mouth over the head of his cock still covered by the thin material of his boxers, making his hips buck as he releases a heavy breath.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” I tease, raking my nails up his thighs and under the legs of his boxers.
“Fuck.”
“You do love this lipstick…” I make a show of licking my tongue over my bottom lip as his part, his hands fisting the comforter on either side of his hips.
“It drives me crazy.”
Gripping the fabric of his boxers, I pull them down his legs, the movement a little awkward but worth it when his cock slaps against his stomach, precum already dripping from the tip.
“You’re not even going to make me work for it.” I pout, my palm wrapping around his length to stroke him. He grunts and I twist my wrist to make him do it again. “Guess I’ll have to tease you then…”
With some help, Garrett shimmies lower on the bed, his head resting on the pillows and his body spread out for me.
And it’s time to play.
Starting at his chest, I press soft kisses and quick nips of my teeth, my tongue soothing the sting as he watches me, his eyes hazy with lust and need, and I’m thankful it’s replaced the sadness I expected to find.
Taking my time, I lick over his nipples, drawing little circles with the tip of my tongue before moving down, dragging my nails over his sides before sinking into his hips. I want him in sensation overload before I even take him in my mouth.
I want him out of his mind.
And I want to give him quiet.
“Emerson,” he pleads, his muscles taut and his cock straining.
“I love when you’re desperate,” I admit, sucking the head of his cock into my mouth and hollowing out my cheeks. He curses and his hips buck, trying to force more of him between my lips.
And I let him, allowing myself to work my way down his shaft until he hits the back of my throat as I grip him at the base.
Picking a torturous rhythm, I watch him from beneath my lashes, a man just trying to hang on a little longer even as his body is strung so tight he’s liable to snap. It’s glorious, his fingers tangled in my hair as he tries to lead but he’s not.
We both know that.
Because I want more.
Wetting the tip of my finger with saliva, I slide it over the sensitive skin between his legs until I reach his hole.
His hand tightens in my hair as he groans and swears, a light sheen of sweat coating his skin as I work him over, adding pressure and circling the tight pucker of skin before he explodes.
Garrett comes on a roar, his cock buried in the back of my throat as I choke down his release, sucking and stroking him until he’s collapsed back against the sheets.
“Fuck, I don’t think I can move.”
“That’s a shame considering I was just getting started,” I tease, moving up his body to straddle his chest.
“Just give me a little time to recover,” he says, his palms resting on my thighs as he takes me in.
“You’ll have plenty of time for your cock to recover, and I have the perfect thing to keep your mouth busy while we wait.”
“Is that right?”
“It is and you know from personal experience that I have no problem with recovery time.”
He chuffs out a laugh that turns into a growl as I unhook my bra and let it fall to the bed, leaving my breasts bare and aching for him.
“Then get the fuck up here and let me have a taste.”