“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.”