Page 3 of All Tied Down

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.