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)
He turned on his heel and walked out after his father, never lifting his eyes from the ground.
The scotch in my stomach turned sour as I followed.
The meal was two hours of eye-opening performances, not only by the politicians in the room but also by Reagan himself. There was no hint of hurt or anger in his polite demeanor. He was all cheer and charm, easy flirtation and eager attention. He said nothing of interest but nodded intently when spoken to. His smile never faltered.
I hated every minute of it.
This was the Reagan I’d known for years. The Reagan I’d thought I’d known. Handsome but shallow. Courteous but aimless. Adorably sexy but hopelessly immature.
If I hadn’t spent the last week cataloging his expressions, listening to his thoughts on a variety of subjects, and obsessively replaying them in my head every damn night, I might still believe his act was genuine. But the Reagan I’d come to know was opinionated, and snarky, and endlessly interesting. His charm and flirtatiousness were warm and friendly—a way to make connections rather than a defense mechanism. My Reagan’s smile lived in his beautiful eyes.
Worse than seeing him retreat behind his polite facade was that I could see now how much it cost him to maintain it. His cardboard smile was limited to the lower half of his face while those aquamarine eyes that lived hook-deep in my soul remained shuttered.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to ball the pristinely pressed tablecloth into tight fists and yank with all my might, sending crystal and china crashing to the floor. I wanted to wrap Reagan up in my arms and carry him from the room like some movie hero while the music swelled and the credits rolled.
And then what? What the hell could I offer Reagan that was better than what he had now? A romance built on secrecy and half-truths with a man who’d managed to drive away his own son, his two ex-wives, and most of his friends?
So I stayed calm and silent… and watchful.
“Patricia tells me you’re a friend of the family,” the white-haired woman on my right said, leaning close enough to waft expensive perfume my way. “Are you here for the festival?”
“In part. There’s also a small investment summit in town where I’m making an appearance since I invested in a local business last summer.” I shrugged. “Reagan suggested it, and there’s a reason why he’s handling the entire social media arm of my company. He’s absolutely brilliant.”
“Reagan works for you?” Her face lit up. “How lovely. I know he’s been doing campaign appearances for Trent, and I must admit…” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I had some concerns.”
I paused with my wineglass halfway to my lips, then set it down. “Really.”
“Mmm. It’s not healthy to keep your adult children dependent the way they have with Reagan. An article in the Times a few years ago suggested that seeing your children as problematic and flawed could be a destructive, self-fulfilling prophesy because you end up catering to that narrative rather than trusting them to find their own solutions to problems. That’s precisely what Trent and Patricia have done. I’m not sure they realize it.”
I glanced over at Reagan and caught him staring at me. As soon as he saw me glance in his direction, he turned away and nodded at whatever his mother was saying, fake smile firmly in place. My chest tightened. “Yes,” I murmured. “I… I see your point.”
After finishing dinner, I managed to make my excuses and retire to my room sooner than was polite. Falling asleep before Reagan came upstairs was the only way to keep myself from sneaking into his room and begging him to share his bed—and his body—with me.
As soon as I woke the next morning, I busied myself with a run on the trail around Lake Wellbridge—also known as Kiss Me Quick Lake, if you fell in the Honeycutt camp—and out of habit, I took several partial selfies of myself in Elustre wear to post on social media. Thankfully, I stopped myself before sending them to Reagan to post. Considering we pretty much weren’t currently speaking to each other, I assumed he wouldn’t welcome texted selfies.
When I returned to the house, I showered, dressed, and threw myself into work in the privacy of JT’s borrowed bedroom until it was time to meet Brant.
January wasn’t surprised by my call and jumped right into work mode with me. The only hint she knew something was off with me was when we were wrapping up the call and she hesitated before asking me one final question.
“So… how’s it going with Reagan?”
“What do you mean?” I snapped, responding without using my brain first. As soon as my own clipped tone hit my ears, I closed my eyes in resignation. “He’s fine. It’s going fine.”