Page 2 of All Tied Down

My father had it—true, soul deep, forever love.

And he’d lost it.

My mother died when I was young, and Gene Andrews never recovered—never married or even dated. His romantic life was confined to a mere chapter of my life, never to be reopened again. It left a mark on me, the kind where it starts as merely a statement.

I’ll never settle for anything less…

But then it turned into something unrecognizable—something dark and cynical—when my aunt cheated on my uncle, leaving him when my mother died for the other man. It’d wrecked us.

All of us.

My Uncle Cullen, my dad, my cousin Isla, and me.

While my uncle withdrew from everyone, building our empire and nearly dying at his desk to avoid ever being hurt again, my father doubled down on loving me and providing a happy home.

Isla broke the mold first, running off to Tennessee for a much deserved break, but then one month turned into forever. My best friend and the girl who I always thought of as a sister never came back.

Instead, she stayed in a small town surrounded by cotton fields and dirt roads to marry a hulking and wildly hot mechanic who treats her like a queen. Hell, even my uncle found love again once he packed up and followed Isla to Clementine Creek.

Their lives make sense away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

But that’s not for me.

If men can have transactional, mutually beneficial sexual encounters, why can’t I? The last thing I want or need is some guy at home wondering if I’m working late.

News flash, I work late every night.

“Are you afraid I’ll win?” Garrett prods, his cheek pressed against mine as he whispers in my ear. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to handle being tied down?”

“I’m not afraid of anything, Mr. North.”

“Then prove it.”

The challenge is delivered with a slow grin, the one that’s just as taunting as my declaration, and the little voice inside my head screams at me to walk away.

But I didn’t become Emerson Fucking Andrews from walking away.

“Fine, Rockstar, you’re on.”

1

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.