by Meghan March
“Consider it done.”
My temper cooling slightly, I cross over to him, lean up on my tiptoes, and press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a good man, Logan Brantley. A really good man.”
His cheeks flush red, but he smiles. “And don’t you forget it, Holly Wickman. You call me if you ever need anything.”
He turns and grabs a slip of paper off the workbench and scribbles his number down with a fat pencil. “Nashville ain’t too far, and if you need me, I’ll be there. Just say the word.”
I’m not sure how to take that, so I just say, “Thank you. I’m glad my car died at this particular gas station.”
“Me too, honey. Me too.”
I’m at a crossroads in my life, both literally and figuratively. I can head southwest toward Nashville and hide behind Boone or Tana’s gates. Or I can head northeast, into the shitstorm surrounding my husband. A shitstorm that I helped make worse on a personal level because of what I shared with Mama.
I think about what Creighton said to me just before we hung up last night.
“I support you, Holly. So whatever you decide is best for you, I’m going to support that too.”
As pissed as I am that he didn’t tell me about Homegrown, I owe him the same thing—my support. I ran from him twice before, but this time I’m running straight to him. I’m not saying I won’t ask him what the hell he was thinking by not telling me, but this isn’t a game.
It’s the fight of my life.
Holly isn’t answering my calls, and I’m about to lose my shit. If she runs again, I have a feeling I might not be able to find her so easily this time. I’ve been trying to reach her for hours, and if I don’t get a response in the next twenty minutes, I’m going to start tracking her credit cards.
We were already in lockdown when the article in the Wall Street Journal went live. Some poor red-faced associate came in holding a printout of the article and the piece in Yammer. It’s safe to say that I shouldn’t be meeting Holly’s mother anytime soon, for both our sakes.
I’m pacing the conference room, calling Holly again, when the door is shoved open.
“Honey, you called?”
I drop the phone from my ear when Holly struts in, suitcase in tow. Every head in the room swivels toward her.
“Don’t you know how to answer your phone, woman?”
“Oh no, he didn’t.”
The words are whispered, and I think they come from an associate at the end of the long table. Rather than annoying me, his words remind me that my office is not the place for this discussion.
Stalking across the room, I stop in front of my wife. She should be spitting mad, but she’s smiling. That’s almost more disconcerting.
“Hey, baby. I missed you,” she says.
“Everyone out,” I order, and the room clears within sixty seconds, partners and associates alike shuffling by us without making eye contact.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, wondering if Holly is going to drop the act and go for the jugular the moment we’re alone. But instead, she says something completely unexpected.
“I support you, Crey. Whatever decisions you made about what to tell me or not tell me, I’m assuming you made them for a reason.”
“Holly—”
“I’m not done.”
My lips quirk up into a smile. “Then by all means, please continue.”
She straightens her posture, and I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m disappointed that you didn’t tell me about Homegrown, but I’m assuming you had a reason for not telling me. So instead of running to Nashville like I was told, I decided it was time to show you that I know how to run to you just as well as I know how to run away. So here I am. This shitstorm wouldn’t exist if you’d never met me, and my place is right beside you while we wade through the muck.”
Hearing her say those words unleashes something fiercely proud and protective within me. “You’re a hell of a woman, Holly Karas.”
“Because of you, I’m starting to believe that.”
I lift both hands and frame her face. “Fuck, am I glad to see you. And for the record, if you’d run back to Nashville, I would’ve come after you again. Every time. Until you tell me to stop. And probably even after that.”
Threading my fingers through her hair, I lower my lips to hers.
“Like I’d ever tell you to stop,” she whispers before I take her mouth with mine.
When Holly leans up on her toes, hands gripping my shoulders, I pull my lips away and untangle my hands from her hair.
“Might as well just climb me.”
I drop my hands and cup her ass, lifting her and carrying her to the conference table. Lowering her onto a section not covered in papers, I lay her back and skim my lips up her neck, my teeth scraping along the tendons. Her moans break the silence of the conference room, and all I want to do is fuck her until neither of us can walk.
The conference room door swings open.
“Seriously, Crey? We don’t have time for this right now.”
Cannon doesn’t even bother to clear his throat to give us a polite warning or look away when we break apart.
“Get the fuck out,” I growl.
“You pay me too much money to let you fuck around when we need to be fixing shit.”
Holly wiggles out from underneath me, and my body is not happy to have her go.
“Cannon, I don’t believe we’ve formally met in person.”
She rounds the table and holds out her hand, not showing the slightest concern that he walked in on us. My wife has nerves of steel, and I find that sexy as hell—just like I find everything about her.
Cannon shakes her hand, a small smile on his face. “Nice to meet you, Holly.”
“I’d say likewise, but I don’t really like you. Actually, I kind of think you’re a jerk. And now I know for sure you’re a total cock-blocker.”
Having never been faced with a woman like Holly before, Cannon stiffens and his eyes cut to me. The look on his face says, Do something, man.
I raise my eyebrows in response, clearly communicating, Not a fucking chance.
“Well,” Cannon says, dropping Holly’s hand and clearing his throat, “we really need to continue our strategy session so we can get this issue handled. We’ve got less than twenty-four hours before you’ve got to stand up in front of a room full of investors, and we need a solid explanation.”
“There’s nothing more to strategize at this point. The investors aren’t stupid. They deserve more than a solid explanation. They deserve the truth, and that’s exactly what I’m going to give them.”
“Fuck, Crey. The truth? That you lost your fucking mind over a piece of ass, so you married her and bought her goddamn record label because you didn’t like that they were bullying her around?”
Holly’s harshly drawn breath pierces the momentary silence before I surge across the room. My fist flies before I even consider what I’m doing. My knuckles crack against Cannon’s jaw, sending pain rocketing from my hand up my arm, but I don’t fucking care because all I want is for him to shut his goddamn mouth.
Cannon stumbles back, reaching out to the paneled wall to keep from falling on his ass. “What the hell, man?”
“You’re fired. And you’re fucking lucky I don’t kill you.”
“Creighton, wait.” Holly’s voice is quiet, but firm. “He’s clearly an idiot, but he’s your best friend.”
“Which is why he’s not dead.”
“Crey—”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Cannon.”
“No, Cannon, open it and apologize. And then maybe my husband will give you your job back.”
“No fucking way,” I say, my tone deadly serious. The man is lucky he’s still breathing. No one talks about Holly like that.
But my former best friend ignores me and shoves off the wall. Wiping the back of his hand across his face, he looks to Holly.
“I’m sorry, Holly. I apologize for run
ning my mouth like a jackass.” When he looks at me, he says, “I’m just looking out for you, Crey. I swear, I just didn’t think. And that’s how the press is going to see it too. We just need to be prepared.”
I open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself again, but Holly comes toward me and lays a hand on my arm.
“You can’t fire him over this, Crey. Hit him again, maybe. But then go take him out for a beer and get back to solid ground. He’s just looking out for you, and he’s been important to you for a lot longer than I have. I won’t be the reason that breaks. So, figure your shit out.”
Then she looks to Cannon. “But if you ever call me a piece of ass again, I’ll immortalize you in a song, and I promise, you will not like how it ends. And that’ll be after I take my best shot at knocking your perfect freaking teeth out.”
Turning back to me, she adds, “I’m going to go back to the penthouse now to try to finish up these songs and do damage control with Chance. I’ll be waiting when you’ve finished up your meetings. I actually feel like blowing off my diet and cooking tonight. So make sure you bring your appetite.”
She leans up on her tiptoes once more, and I decide that it’s one of my favorite moves. Her lips press lightly against mine. My hand curves around her hip, anchoring her to me.
When she lowers back down to her heels, I release my hold on her. “I’m glad you’re here, Holly. Really fucking glad.”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Her lips curl into a smile, but it’s still not quite as wide as the one I saw on her face on Country Dreams. Once this is all over, I’ll make sure she has even more to smile about.
“Is your kitchen stocked?”
I nod. “Yes, but I’ll have a car take you home.”
She doesn’t argue. “Okay, Crey. I’ll make something that’ll keep, no matter how late you get home.”
Warm contentment settles in my chest. This is an entirely new feeling for me. Working as a team, supporting each other.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can, baby.”
Her smile as she leaves the room only ratchets up that contented feeling, lacing it with determination to put this behind us as quickly as I can so we can move forward.
When the door shuts behind her, Cannon grips his jaw with his hand and cracks it. “One more meeting with the lawyers. You lay out whatever plan you’ve got. They’ll tell you it’s inadvisable. You’ll decide, fuck it, I’m CEO and therefore I can do whatever the fuck I want, and you’ll do it anyway.” He stills his movements and pins me with the blue eyes I’ve known since boarding school. “Is that about how this is going to go?”
I grin. “Yes.”
“Then let’s get it over with quickly so you can get home to the wife.”
I hold out my hand, and he shakes it. “Sounds good.”
I’m going all out tonight. Fried chicken, cornbread, baked beans, steamed broccoli, and cherry cobbler. I know, the broccoli is the odd man out, but it’s my nod at attempting to stick to my nutrition plan.
I’ve got Elle King cranked up, and I’m bobbing along to “America’s Sweetheart” when I feel him behind me. I have no explanation for it. Crey just has a presence, and apparently it’s one that my body is absolutely and completely attuned to.
“Hey, baby. Hope you’re hungry.” I lift the chicken out of the boiling oil and set it aside to drain before I turn to face him.
“Goddamn, I don’t know what smells better—you or the chicken.”
I snort. “I’m going to assume that’s a compliment and just roll with it.”
He leans down to press a kiss to my lips. “It is. And I’ll be having you for dessert.”
I haven’t had an orgasm since the one that I had during our phone sex last night. And damn—has it really only been one night? My body is wound so tight that you couldn’t prove it by me.
“That sounds fabulous.”
Crey turns and sets his briefcase on the bar stool, and I can’t help but smile at the fact that he didn’t set it down before he came to me. He removes his coat, lays it over the briefcase, and comes to stand beside me at the stove.
“What are you feeding me, woman?”
“Are you in caveman mode now? See woman, she cook. She must feed man,” I say in my best caveman voice.
“If you want to play that game later, I’ll drag you back to my cave.”
I shake my head, a laugh spilling from my lips. Even in the midst of this shitstorm, we’re laughing and joking. That means something, right? How you limp along during the bad times means so much more than how you glide along during the good ones, right?
“You’re crazy, Crey. And I love that about you.”
He leans down and this time, sweeps my hair aside and brushes kisses along my neck. I try to swallow back the moan, but it escapes anyway. Even so, reality intrudes.
“Baby, I’ve got hot oil on the stove. You need to let me finish frying the chicken, and then we can pick this up.”
He growls—growls—before backing away. “You already open a bottle of wine?”
“Nope. Left that to you. I’d probably pick something that clashed horribly with the masterpiece we’re about to eat.”
“You realize I don’t give a shit if you picked the wrong wine, don’t you?”
“I know, but still. I didn’t want to start drinking without you. Your wine is the good stuff, so I probably would’ve had one glass, and it would’ve been so delicious that I would’ve needed another glass. And maybe another. Especially after this disaster of a day. And then you would’ve come home to burned-to-crap fried chicken, hard-as-a-brick cornbread, sloppy baked beans, squishy broccoli, and flambéed cherry cobbler.”
Crey pauses in his reach into the wine fridge. “You made all that?”
“Uh-huh. And it’s going to be fabulous.”
“Well, damn. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just eat it. And then me. After.”
I snap my mouth shut. I can’t believe I just said that. Wait—yes, I can.
Crey lifts the bottle of wine from its rack and closes the door. “Oh, baby, you feeling neglected? Because I’ll eat that sweet pussy of yours for days.”
A shiver of awareness shoots through me. “Days aren’t really necessary. I’d settle for a really vigorous hour.”
Crey’s grin should qualify him as the sexiest man alive. Those sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, and his square jaw, every feature is beautifully accentuated by his smile.
“Damn. You are one sexy son of a bitch. You know that, right?”
If possible, his grin widens. “Well, if I didn’t, I do now.”
“I’m suddenly not very hungry.”
The grin morphs into a lazy smile. “Patience, baby. Patience. Besides, a man only gets to eat like this once in a while, and I’m not missing out on my shot. But I think dessert can wait until after.”
“Deal. Let’s eat. Fast.”
There are so many things we need to talk about, but I decide they can wait until morning. Tonight, I just want to revel in the good, and pretend none of the bad exists. It’ll all be waiting for us in the morning.
But tonight . . . tonight we only get once. I’m not going to waste it.
At noon the following day, I stand on a podium, the Karas International Inc. logo emblazoned on nearly every surface in the huge auditorium. The room is filled to capacity; it’s standing room only. There’s nothing like gossip to bring every interested body out in droves.
But today, they’re not going to get gossip. Today, they’re going to get the truth.
“Welcome to Karas International’s Annual Investor Day. As chairman of the board and chief executive officer, it’s my pleasure to welcome you. I’d like to open with a statement that will address what I’m sure is a matter many of you have come seeking answers about—the purchase of Homegrown Records by an independent entity owned by me personally, which prompted a lawsuit filed by a shareholder on behalf of Karas
International. The suit alleges that as a company executive and member of its board, this purchase breaches my duty of loyalty both to the company and to you, its shareholders.”
A few whispers start in the audience, and I can tell it’s because no one expected me to confront this issue head-on. Which amuses me, because I’m Creighton fucking Karas. Head-on is what I do.
“I’d like to be the first to tell you that the allegations contained in that suit are complete and utter bullshit. The purchase of Homegrown was not in any way made to usurp an opportunity that would have been appropriate to our company’s current or contemplated business portfolio, nor would it have been beneficial to Karas International. For the record, Homegrown has already cost me over thirty million dollars of capital infusion just to keep the damn thing running.”
The whispers in the audience begin to grow in volume, which annoys me. “If you’ll hold your comments until the end, I’ll take your questions until you don’t have any more. But I’d appreciate your courtesy so I can finish my statement.”
A hush instantly falls over the room, and I continue.
“However, I will agree that the proper procedure to avoid any hint of impropriety and to forestall any grounds for the allegations supporting the suit would have been to have the independent members of the board of directors vote on the transaction. I’m sure you’re wondering why I didn’t go that route, and I only have one answer for you. Have you ever been so absolutely in love that you’ve stopped thinking about practicalities entirely?”
A titter rolls through the room, and I pause for a moment to let them absorb my comment before I continue.
“I’m a man in love with an amazing woman, and while that argument will not hold weight in a court of law, in a court of public opinion, I think it makes perfect sense. The purchase of Homegrown was meant to be a surprise belated wedding present for my new wife, so I acted quickly, and perhaps without thinking things through in my normal logical fashion, because I wanted to do it before my beautiful, intelligent bride realized what I was doing.”
