Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I’d mentioned to Reagan earlier that I hated small talk, and he stuck by my side the whole time, effortlessly smoothing my way without ever talking over me or trying to make himself the center of attention. He was charming and informative, polite and gracious. He even had the rare ability to code-switch and sound less like a yacht owner from Maine and more like a textile factory manager from the Midwest.
It took me a while to remember that he’d grown up doing this with his politician father. Reagan Wellbridge had practically been raised in front of the press. Granted, it had been small-scale early on, only local media in and around Honeybridge, but then Trent had moved up to a state senate position. Now, as an influential politician with an eye on the governor’s office, he and his whole family, including Reagan, were under a larger national microscope.
It was no wonder Reagan was a master at glad-handing.
As we carefully extracted ourselves from the crowd and headed back to the tour bus at the outer edge of the convention center lot, January called, so I waved Reagan on ahead before answering.
“Good timing,” I told her. “Just finishing up here.”
January’s voice was dry. “It’s almost as if I have a way of knowing your schedule. How’d it go?”
“Great. I feel like we did a good job, and we met almost all of the people on Layla’s key contact list. How’s the flu situation?”
“Two more people down, but so far, it seems mostly contained to PennCo. I authorized people to work from home, as you suggested. And personally, I’m pushing supplements and fluids, just like I’m sure you’ve been doing. Right?”
“In fact, I have. Took my supplements last night as directed,” I said smugly.
“Good. Please keep doing it.” She hesitated. “Listen, Layla called. She said she tried calling you a little while ago—”
“She might have. My phone was off during my speech, and I haven’t checked messages.”
“Figured. Look, this isn’t an emergency, in my opinion—”
“What isn’t?”
January sighed. “Someone from marketing contacted Layla and said Reagan wanted login credentials for PennCo’s social media accounts—”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “I authorized Reagan to get those credentials. I assumed since Layla was sick, I’d have time to circle back and explain our plan to her later.”
“‘Our plan,’” January repeated. “Yours and Reagan’s?”
The way she put our names together made warning bells go off in my brain. I instinctively glanced at Reagan, who was chatting with McGee outside the door to the bus. A grin lit up his handsome face as he explained something to my driver, hands gesturing wildly. Whatever he was saying had McGee nodding seriously.
“Yes. Reagan came up with some great ideas for handling our social media, both to mitigate the Elustre PR crisis and to improve our brand awareness in general. I want Layla’s buy-in before we tackle any Elustre content related to the launch or the PR crisis. But I made the executive decision to have him move forward with some generalized content. Problem?”
“Not from me,” January said. “Sounds logical, and you’re the boss. But Layla expressed concerns… about Reagan.”
“What concerns?” My voice came out sharper than I’d intended.
“Well… Our security team’s investigating who sent Nova the shirt, but it’s not gonna be easy. Apex Athletics has been sending us samples from the launch for months now. Theoretically, anyone at PennCo or Apex—even several former employees—could have gotten their hands on one, printed it with that cheesy slogan, and shipped it off. Unless Nova’s people at Rumblefeld Talent come forward with info or we find a note on someone’s computer that says, ‘To do this week: send shirt to Nova Davidson and unleash PR shitstorm,’ there won’t be hard evidence. So they’re looking at who’d have motive instead.” She hesitated. “Obviously, any disgruntled former employee might have done this as revenge. But Layla pointed out that this was also the sort of thing someone would have done if they were trying to convince the company to implement a social media strategy. She’s suggested that Reagan could have done it.”
McGee jogged up the stairs into the bus, and Reagan turned toward me, catching me full force with his grin.
My god, he was beautiful. A walking wet dream. A thousand pounds of snarky intelligence in one lithe, sun-kissed package. Sharp as a blade, sometimes. Prickly as a hedgehog. Insolent. Provoking. Undisciplined, according to his father—and, no, I did not sit around exchanging fatherly frustrations with Trent Wellbridge, but that didn’t mean I’d never heard him say it. It would be pure arrogance for me to believe that I knew some deeper, truer version of Reagan after sharing space with him for less than a day—and a bed for a night, my brain helpfully reminded me.
But I remembered the way his face had lit up while he was outlining his plan to me earlier. His honest frustration at not having his voice heard. The compassionate, practical things he’d said about Brantleigh.