Page 17 of All Tied Down

“Fuck,” I bite out, embarrassment not at the things I’ve done but at having dragged Emerson into this. I knew it would get worse before it got better but this is too much. “I’m sorry,” I tell her.

“You’re an adult with a past, Garrett. Everybody has one.”

“I know but⁠—”

“If I cowered every time someone wanted to fuck with me, I’d be in a god damn crater.” Swiping through her phone, she turns it to me and I wince as I take in the picture of a much younger me doing a body shot off a girl at an after-party. Darren had captured the moment on his digital camera, and I know that because he showed all of us the ones he’d gotten throughout the night once we were back on the bus.

“I was...”

“Having fun?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“Who hasn’t done a body shot at some point in their lives?” She rolls her eyes and sets her phone down and now I have questions. “As long as it was consensual and everyone was of age…” she trails off waiting for my confirmation.

“She was. It was. All of it.” The words come out in a rush but she nods.

“Then it’s a nonissue. Watch it and be vigilant but don’t let it rule your life. He pulled this up from years ago because that’s what he has to work with.” She lifts one shoulder and lets it drop. “We’d just have to pull any of his recent mug shots.”

“She’s right,” Theo says.

“Talk to Tom if you need to do some digging.”

“So you’re not just trying to get rid of me?” I tease but she doesn’t smile.

“I wouldn’t still be in your house if I was.” The comment would be comforting, but the expression on her face is absolutely lethal. “The only thing worse than bullies are cowards, and I don’t tolerate either.”

“Have I mentioned I really like your wife?” Theo stage-whispers and Emerson winks, but he’s onto something because I really like my wife too.

7

EMERSON

Once breakfast is finished and cleaned up, Theo and I talk logistics and schedule a time later when Des can join us for a call to make sure the next two weeks remain a seamless transition. Garrett tries to seem aloof, but I can tell he is taking it all in, his fingers tapping against his thigh in a rhythm only he can hear.

It’s one of my favorite things about him—the freedom to indulge in something that makes him happy no matter where he is. Just that little tap, tap, tap when there’s an entire performance playing out in his head.

It seems far more exciting than what I’m doing on any given day.

Isla and I only ever traveled from our apartments up to our offices, unless we were actually going somewhere that required plane tickets and hotel reservations.

Even when I was first starting, I only left Andrews International on my personal time, which arguably wasn’t much. That work ethic is the reason rumors of nepotism never held any weight. Isla and I were always first in, last out.

Being a woman in a male-dominated field is hard, but gaining respect when your name is on the building is worse. Exhausting.

And now with Isla and my Uncle Cullen officially retired, the pressure weighs heavily on me to maintain our legacy—to continue being a badass even on the hard days.

Especially on the hard ones.

And now, on top of everything else, I have to commute from Ironwood to Chicago a few days a week, like I have any time for that.

The knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts as I move from the kitchen to the front door, pausing long enough to confirm Samson is on the other side before pulling it open.

“Morning, Mrs. North,” he says without flinching as I give him a pointed once-over. In his late twenties, the single dad is dressed in a tan suit with a white button-down shirt that’s open at the collar and shiny black shoes that I’m sure match his belt.

He looks put together.

Professional.