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)
“Ding, ding, ding. You might decide that an in-person bus trip—so cozy, just the two of you, with plenty of opportunity to show your dedication and brilliance—would be the perfect way to handle a PR crisis. You might be righteously pissed when little Reagan Wellbridge, the most peon of peons, steals your thunder.”
“He didn’t steal—” I began hotly.
“Obvs. But from Layla’s point of view? She was sidelined in the playoff game. And she thought the dude you were taking was, like, the team mascot, except it turned out the guy could throw a perfect spiral. Suddenly, you’re giving him the nuclear launch codes for the social media shit and ruining the big reveal of her strategy. And then, when Layla finally joined you, you were like, ‘Nah, I’m keeping Reagan with me ’cause he’s just so talented. Screw your seduction game.’”
As the truth of what he was saying hit me, I concentrated on breathing in and out. I’d recognized parts of this before—January had told me plainly that Layla was feeling replaced, and I’d realized on my own that Layla resented having her social media ideas upstaged by Reagan’s, but hearing it laid out like this was eye-opening. How had I not seen it before?
“Fuck,” I said succinctly.
“Yep. That about sums it up,” McGee agreed. “So what are you gonna do now?”
I laughed weakly and closed the window to spare McGee the frigid temperature. “About Layla? I was already planning to speak to her about her management style. I’ll be looping HR in on that meeting. About Reagan…?” I shook my head. “This is yet another thing I’ll be apologizing for next time I see him. He tried to tell me some things about Layla the other day, but I was too concerned about the propriety of him tattling on his boss to hear him out. Fuck,” I said again. “How long is he gone? When will he be back?”
“I don’t think he’s coming back to Honeybridge. He’ll probably fly back to New York when the event is over. He said something before he left, like, ‘Thatcher has enough to worry about. Tell him I agreed to go, and I’ll see him back in the city… if he wants to.’” McGee pulled into the Wellbridges’ long driveway. “So do you want to?”
“Yeah,” I said without hesitation. “Yeah, I want to. I need to make sure he’s okay, and I…” I cleared my throat. “Thalia thinks I’m in love with him.”
“Oh, does Thalia? Well then.” McGee sounded way too amused. “I’ve known you were in love with him since Colorado—hell, since day one back in New York—but nobody listens to McGee.”
I shot him a glare. “Smart-ass. Let’s get on the road tomorrow. We can be back in New York before he arrives.” I no longer cared about anything other than clearing the air between us, and I couldn’t do that if I was stuck here or still caught on a highway somewhere between here and there. I wanted to pick him up at the airport and take him back to my apartment. I wanted to show him the way the city looked when its glittering lights spread out beneath my penthouse window.
McGee grinned as he shifted the car into park. “Fuck yeah. We ride at dawn.”
I managed a slight laugh as the decision settled my heart a bit, though I still wished I was a person capable of hopping on a plane and simply flying to Madison to tell him how much I… cared.
I still found myself tripping over the other word, even in my own mind. I wasn’t normally this hesitant. I usually knew the way forward and took it. But right now, what I knew and what I needed were at odds. Once Reagan and I had talked, once he was in my arms again, once we’d figured out what the future would look like and I was confident I wouldn’t make the same mistakes I’d made, then I’d be able to say the word that was pulsing in the back of my brain. I’d be able to say it… and mean it.
When we entered the house, I found Patricia and Layla sitting in the living room, chatting happily over a bottle of wine, as though they hadn’t noticed how the whole damn world had gone colder the minute Reagan left town.
“Thatcher!” Layla twisted in her wingback chair and greeted me with a smile that, since my eyes were now open, I saw was probably too wide and friendly. “I was going to ask Patricia to send out a search party in a little while.”
Patricia patted the sofa beside her. “Come sit. We missed you at the festivities today, though I know you were busy with your Investment Summit and spending time with Brantleigh. Er… Reagan mentioned Brant was a bit under the weather? He’s been napping upstairs for hours.” The knowing look in her eye suggested she’d heard about the altercation outside the Tavern but was trying to be discreet.