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)
“Two—? Layla…” Thatcher took a deep breath and let it out. “I truly appreciate the work you’re doing on this, but I’m sure this isn’t necessary. Last time the media wrote an unflattering piece about PennCo, you got the legal team involved, and that was incredibly effective—”
Layla’s cheeks colored. “Thank you, Thatcher.”
“—so I’m not sure why we can’t go that route now. Wait for the media focus to settle down, like it always does.”
She nodded like she’d expected this. “We could get Legal involved, certainly, and we will, but…” She tilted her head. “I think you may be underestimating the seriousness of the situation. This crisis has come at the worst possible time for the launch. Our partners are rightfully concerned about our company’s reputation taking a hit. We can’t take a wait-and-see approach. Not on this. We show everyone in our industry that PennCo’s leadership is rock-steady. Remind them that we’re a game-changer in the market. Make sure the media has sound bites that reflect our talking points. And we need to do it now.”
Thatcher nodded slowly. “That makes sense, in theory. But you’re the face of PennCo, Layla—”
“I am. But to be blunt, Thatcher, I need your help. I know everything there is to know about PennCo Fiber, but you are the face of Pennington Industries. Your reputation and instincts are unimpeachable. And you make people believe what you’re saying.” She grinned. “Remember that time we were pitching to Dudley Partners, back when PennCo was just getting started? Someone in their office blew a fuse, shorted out the power to the conference room—”
“And we had to do the presentation in the dark.” Thatcher shook his head, remembering. “No projection screen, no nothing. And they wouldn’t postpone…”
“So you did an interpretive dance!” Laughing, Layla leaned over and grabbed Thatcher’s forearm. “While I held the flashlight.”
“Not quite,” Thatcher said dryly. His eyes flicked down the table toward me, then away. “I merely… gestured a bit to illustrate key points on the data tables—”
“You sold it, Thatcher. Everyone at the meeting thought, ‘A guy like that is someone I want to partner with.’ And that’s exactly the energy that we need to deal with this PR crisis. Together, we can do a better job than either of us could alone. We’re a good team. Trust me.”
Thatcher sighed. “It’s not a question of trust but timing. Two weeks is…” He rubbed his thumb over his lips thoughtfully as if deciding how to finish that sentence, and now that I was looking at the man, I found I couldn’t look away. He seemed tired. A little unhappy, a little resigned, but mostly just full-on exhausted, like he hadn’t seen a bed since—the soft hotel mattress, the frantic slick-slick-slick as our sweaty bodies undulated together, the feel of his large hand wrapped oh-so-deliciously tight around my cock. The vision was so fucking powerful I sucked in a breath.
The sound wasn’t loud—no one else seemed to notice—but Thatcher’s penetrating gaze swung toward me like he alone had heard it. His gaze focused on my mouth for a fraction of a second, and then he turned away.
He cleared his throat. “You know, the more I think about it, two weeks sounds perfect.” He gave Layla a firm nod and managed a tired smile. “I trust your judgment.”
Layla’s answering smile was beyond relieved. More like thrilled. “I’d hope so,” she teased. “Considering I’ve been your friend and chief flashlight holder for… how long now?” The hand still resting on his arm squeezed the muscle there.
It was a simple gesture. Friendly. No one, including Thatcher, seemed to notice. But it sent a tidal wave of unwanted, unexpected jealousy washing through me, so forceful I had to slide my hands under my thighs against the urge to walk over, forcibly remove those squeezy fingers, and declare, “Mine!” in front of everyone.
Not mine, I told myself firmly. In no realm. Not even a little.
“For as long as anyone can remember.” Thatcher gave Layla a soft smile, then sobered. “It’s going to be a logistical nightmare, though, coordinating this kind of travel on short notice,” he warned. “Winter storms will make it even more complex—”
“Leave that to me and my people.” Layla swept her free hand down the table. “We’ll have everything ready by the end of the day, and I’ve already cleared my schedule.”
“That’s not necessary,” Thatcher insisted. “You said it’s my presence that counts most and that you’re at a critical stage with the launch. With so much to coordinate, surely we shouldn’t both be out of the office—”
“Nonsense.” Squeeze, squeeze. “Team effort, remember? I’ll be on hand to help write your speeches and make sure you’ve got a background on everyone you meet at the events so you can focus on doing your own work and handling your meetings remotely. Let me take care of everything else.”