Page 188

SEVEN

LIV

“No, I don’t want Johnson coming up from the farm team. Get me someone else. No. I’m not doing another Jasper.” I lean against the door which connects Beckett’s and my office and sigh as I listen to him talk. He hangs up the phone shortly thereafter, and then I hear the tapping of his fingers against his cell phone. “The damn podcast, they just don’t get it.”

Beckett and this podcast. It’s three women who discuss the books they’re reading and their dating lives. They aren’t rich or famous, but their podcast has higher ratings than the Langfields one, and because of that, Beckett has become obsessed with listening to every episode, trying to figure out how to make his podcast better.

It’s annoying.

And honestly pointless. They don’t share the same demographic at all. Men listen to Beckett and the guys, women listen to The Darlings . Including me and the girls. We love The Darlings . Not that I’ll ever tell Beckett that. He’d force us to sit and listen to every one of his episodes and tell us why his is better.

You think I’m joking? He’s done it. Multiple times.

“Siri, remind me to talk to Man Bun about buying matching sailboats. Also Siri, give me the pros and cons of sailboats versus a yacht and find me the nicest one.”

“Will do, Bossman.”

I groan in frustration as I push off the door and walk into his office. “You taught Siri how to refer to you as Bossman?”

My husband smirks. “You jealous that Siri is using your nickname for me?” He pushes back from his desk and holds out his arms. He doesn’t realize how worked up I am though. How annoyed he’s making me. The man never stops, which means I never stop. I’m tired. When will my husband get tired? Please tell me it will be sometime in the next decade because I can’t keep up much longer.

I drop into a chair and cross my arms. “When are you going to appoint a new COO for the Revs?”

Beckett drops his arms. “What’s the rush?”

I stare him down. “You can’t keep doing two jobs. You’re now the CEO for Langfield Corp. Someone needs to take over your responsibilities. You have a podcast that you’re weirdly obsessed with, the most important job for your family company, an oversized dog that needs walking, five children who would like your attention, an oddly competitive relationship with Cortney Miller, and let’s not forget your self-proclaimed title as matchmaker.”

Beckett tries to hide his smile, but even as he swallows, his lips irritatingly lift up in the corners. “You forgot the most important job of mine.”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling, my head falling back completely. “Please tell me you didn’t let Delia convince you to be on the board of that charity she’s been talking about.”

I take out my phone to text my best friend, but my husband stands up and walks over to me, reaching for my phone before I can pull up her contact. He places it on his desk and leans back against it, peering down at me with warmth in his eyes. “No Livy, I didn’t say yes to her.”

“Yet,” I grumble.

“It’s for a good cause,” he says softly.

I glare at him, and he chuckles, then holds up his hands. “Fine, I promise, no more board positions.”

My leg bounces as I wait for him to continue.

“But no, the job you forgot—the most important one might I add—is being your husband.”

Rolling my eyes, I mutter ironically, “Wasn’t aware I was a job.”

Beckett pushes forward, his hands landing on both sides of my chair, caging me in. Then he tugs me closer, so we’re nose to nose. “You know what I mean. You are the most important thing in my life, Mrs. Langfield. I’m sorry if I’ve been too busy.”

It’s not just that, though. There’s this niggling in my belly. A worry forming like a loose thread on a ball of yarn that I can’t help but tug. I should be careful. I’ve tugged on those strings before and my entire life unraveled. But I refuse to live like that ever again. If my husband has taught me anything in our last five years of marriage, it’s that I’m allowed to have feelings. Sometimes they’re pissed off. Sometimes they’re angry. But most of the time, the man makes me extremely happy because I’m secure in telling him exactly how I feel. It’s taken some getting used to, but now that I’ve started, I’ll never stop.

“It’s not just that you’re busy, Beckett. It’s that it feels like you’re still looking for some great adventure that we’re apparently not giving you.”

Beckett’s eyes narrow and he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, so I hold up a finger to silence him. “The podcast, the extra jobs, all of it feels like maybe you are searching for one more great thing , but we’re in the great thing right now. I know your brothers are all just entering the next phase of their lives, having babies, getting married, and we don’t have some big moment every few months to focus on, but that’s because we’re in the happy. And damn it, I want to enjoy it. I’ve been doing the same damn job for years, and you don’t see me complaining. Would a promotion be nice? Maybe do something other than clean up everyone’s messes. Sure. But I am content because we have a good life. Why can’t that be enough for you?”

My husband gives me a slow nod and pushes back, leaning against the desk again. “You’re right.”

“I am?” I was ready for him to argue. Or to kiss me maybe. The man keeps me on my toes, that’s for damn sure. “I mean, yes. I am. I know that.”

Beckett laughs. “I’m sorry if I made you think you and the kids aren’t enough. You’re my world, Livy.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, I know that. I just want you to work less.”

“Because you want my attention?” he says in that growly tone of his he rarely uses anymore unless we’re alone.

I lean forward in my chair and grab my husband’s tie, and he falls forward, his arms landing on my thighs this time. “No, baby. I know I always have your attention.” I lean in and kiss him because my mouth is already watering just from his proximity moments earlier. It’s not a sweet kiss. I’m still holding his tie with one hand, and with my other one, I reach around and fist his hair, controlling. Sometimes that little aggression is all I need to feel better. And I know he loves it, so I don’t hesitate to exercise that control whenever he pisses me off.

Beckett groans against my mouth, and his hands squeeze my thighs.

I bite down on his lip, and press another kiss to them before pushing him away, breathless and slightly dazed. “Hire someone for the job. Tonight.”

“And if I do?” he says, running his thumb against his lip appreciatively. “Will we go home and celebrate?”

I smile as I push to a stand. “Nope. I’m going out with the girls.” I pat him on the chest and press one more kiss to his lips. “But when we enter this office again tomorrow I want a new COO appointed. Got it?”

Beckett’s chest vibrates with another growl and he grabs my hip, pulling me close again. The move sends a thrill shooting straight through me. As much as I enjoy exercising some control, I love when my husband becomes unhinged in his obsession for me. The rest of his obsessions are tiring, but his need for my affection, for my body, will never grow old. “You seem wound up, Livy. Let me take care of that before you meet the girls.”

I blink innocently at him. “But someone could walk in.” I glance back at his office door, which is shut, but the one connected to mine is open.

“Can I tell you something, Livy?”

I twist my lips and hum.

“In all the years we’ve worked together, I’ve never had you right here in my office. How is that possible?”

“I’m very professional.”

He chuckles and trails the backs of his fingers against my cheek. “That you are. Used to drive me nuts in your tight skirts with your hair up in a bun, barely glancing at me when I called you into my office.”

My body hums with desperation as I think of Beckett even noticing me back then. Back when I was still miserably married to someone else. When I thought the man in front of me was nothing but an asshole put on earth to drive me mad. I had no idea he was obsessed with me. To this day it still seems improbable.

“What drove you nuts about it?” I tease, tipping my chin up to meet his gaze.

His expression is rueful, contemplative. “That I couldn’t touch you.” His voice is deep, his warm breath hitting my lips with his words.

“Where did you want to touch me?”

Beckett leans forward and his lips brush against my cheek as he brings his mouth close to my ear. “ Everywhere .” His growled words in my ear send a shiver through my body. “I wanted to ask you to sit your pretty ass down on my desk; I wanted to push your knees wide open and see what you were hiding underneath that prim and proper attitude.”

“It was probably spanx,” I mutter honestly.

Beckett leans back quickly, his eyes darkening as he glares at me. “Hate those ducking things.”

I press my palm to his cheek, stroking softly. There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t be surprised by the way this man loves me. That I won’t revel in it. Even when he pisses me off, I’m still caught off guard by the easy way he expresses how he feels when it comes to me or the kids.

“I’m not wearing them right now,” I say with a smile.

Beckett’s tongue sweeps across his lips and his eyes dip down, like he’s trying to figure out what I am wearing. “Lace?”

I shake my head.

“Silk?”

I giggle. That’d be the day. Silk ain’t hiding anything. I’m a working mom, practical is the name of the game here. “Nope.”

“Guess I’ll just have to inspect.”

“Is that one of your many jobs as CEO?” I say, my tone full of whimsy.

“Yes. Need to make sure my employees are comfortable.” His hands roam my body, one reaching up and cupping my breast and squeezing, the other skating down my hips and around to my ass. “Are you comfortable, Livy? Is there anything I can do to make this job better for you?”

“I’m sure you could add a few perks.”

Beckett’s smile is devious. “Like a diet coke every afternoon hand delivered to you with a kiss.”

Warmth floods me at not only his words, but at the way his fingers move expertly under my shirt, beneath my bra. “You already do that.”

He drags his tongue across my collarbone and pulls at the tie on my shirt. As soon as the knot breaks free, he slides the fabric off my shoulders and then tosses it onto the chair behind us. “I do, don’t I? How about rides to work?”

I arch a brow. “That’s not the kind of ride I want.”

“Patience, Livy,” Beckett says as he dips his hands beneath my skirt, reaching around to find the zipper. “First I need to see what kind of panties my employee is wearing.”

“Oh right, because you need me to be comfortable.”

“Oh, you’ll be comfortable alright. In about two minutes you’ll comfortably be lying back on my desk while your knees rest on my shoulders.”

“ Yes.”

Beckett smiles at my desperation and then drops down to his knees, pulling my skirt with him. I can’t help but laugh at the horrified expression that takes over his face though. “What the hell is this?” he says, pulling at the control top stockings I’m wearing.

“I’m not wearing any panties,” I tease.

Beckett rolls his eyes and sighs. “The excitement of that statement is completely lost when you’re hiding your curves beneath this.” He pulls at the stockinged fabric and hisses when it barely gives. “Where’re my scissors?”

I jump backward. “You are not cutting my stockings! I’m going out after this.”

Beckett grumbles as he crawls forward on his knees, reaching for my hips. “Not in these you aren’t.” He pulls down on the control top around my hip.

“So you’d rather I not wear panties or stockings when I go out to a bar tonight with the girls?”

“Fuck no,” Beckett growls.

I laugh. “Just put your mouth to work and stop worrying about my control tops. They make me happy.”

Beckett licks his lips, and from the ground, he looks up at me. His hands are still on my hips, and I’m stuck in place because the stockings have only made it down to my ankles. “Fine, but only because if you’re happy, I’m happy.” He motions for me to lean down on him and then helps me out of my stockings. “Now tell me where you’ll be most comfortable.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to be eating for a while.”

My thighs clench in anticipation and I glance at his desk and then his chair. “Desk,” I say. When I stalk over there, he smacks my ass as I pass him, causing me to squeal.

“That’s my good wife; be loud for me, okay?”