Page 91 of All Tied Down

“I left a message with Sundown Realty. There’s not a whole lot of concrete information on who owns or is running the operations beyond who they’ve hired locally to do the work and maintenance. They seem to be dominating a good portion of Tennessee and actually originated in Blackstone Falls as far as I can tell,” Des says, the clicking of his keyboard echoing down the line.

“Call Isla and ask her who she knows,” I reply, my mind reeling with who could be behind something like that without having their name plastered all over the news.

“On it.”

“How’s the new girl?”

“She’s good.”

“Make sure you offload what you can to her. I think she’s been bored in the afternoons, and if she’s willing to take on extra tasks, that opens you up for other things.”

“I’m working on it.” He pauses. “I’m a little gun-shy after Quinn,” he admits. “I know that blindsided everyone but I⁠—”

“It’s not on you. Let me handle it. Royce and Tom are on it. I need you to focus on what we have going on, okay?”

“Of course.” He clears his throat as he continues clicking away. “Last thing—I’m sending over the files for Monday’s meeting. I made notes with bullet points so it should cut down on the prep work, but I also flagged one section for you to look at.”

“Thank you.” I nod as his email comes through. “Is that it?”

“Yes, have fun tonight.”

“You too. Do you and Theo have big plans?” I ask even though it’s none of my business.

“Good night, Miss Andrews,” he says with a chuckle as Nico pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park.

“Good night, Des.”

“Miss Andrews, we’re here,” Nico says, turning around in his seat. “Do you want me to wait, or are you going with Mr. and Mrs. Oakden?”

It takes my brain an entire five seconds to process that because for my whole life Tom Oakden has been Oakey—courtesy of my cousin and me—rarely Mr. Oakden.

And now he has a wife.

Life is so weird.

“Can you text Tom and tell him I’m running late? Ignore the growl—that’s how he says he loves me.”

Nico chuckles as he climbs out of the front seat, and I manage to shove all my work stuff into my bag as he reaches my door and holds out his hand.

“Have fun tonight, Miss Andrews.”

“Thank you, and tell the girls we said hi.”

“I will.”

We say good night, my heels clicking on the walkway as I shoulder my bag, the front door opening before I’ve even had a chance to turn the knob.

And wow.

Hair still wet from his shower and dressed in a white T-shirt, sweatpants, and no socks, Garrett looks edible.

“Hey, you’re⁠—”

Dropping my bag to the floor as I kick the door shut behind me, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body against his.

“Don’t touch the hair,” I mumble as I lick and nip at his lips, kissing him breathless because I need the contact and the wildness before we’re available for public consumption.

Meetings and phone calls and last-minute issues never bothered me before, but somehow having a hot-as-sin rock star for a husband at my disposal has me aching for constant stress relief.