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 sounded close to begging, and I hated that I hesitated for a long moment, wondering what was really going on. But in the end, I thought of Reagan. I still didn’t know why he wanted to work for his father’s campaign or why Trent hadn’t immediately recognized his talent and snapped him up for the job, but he’d spilled enough over the past week that I could guess how things had gone, and imagining it had the same shriveling effect on my respect for my friend as the Nebraska cold was having on my balls.
Brant wasn’t Reagan, no… but I sure as hell wasn’t Trent Wellbridge. Brant deserved a chance, just like Reagan did.
“I think that’s a great idea,” I said with a confidence I didn’t totally feel. “I’ll be arriving in Honeybridge tomorrow, probably late, so we can discuss details the day after. Reagan’s going to be busy doing family stuff, so I think you’ll be a big help handling press at some of the events.”
“Fuck yeah. And… the paycheck?” he prompted.
I frowned. “There’ll be a salary commensurate with what the other junior PR associates make. If you want details, I’ll put you in touch with Margot in HR.”
“Cool. And…” He hesitated. “You’ll tell Mom?”
“I can, but don’t you want to tell her yourself? You’re twenty-eight, kiddo. I’m sure she’ll be proud—”
I could practically hear Brant’s eye roll. “Nah. She freaks out about nothing. It’ll be better coming from you.”
“Alright. I… I love you, Brant. I’m glad that the retreat worked for you.”
“Yeah.” He laughed lightly. “See you soon, Dad.”
Three Dads in one conversation? This was good, I told myself. This was really good. My other priorities might be skewed after this week with Reagan, but Brantleigh was right at the top where he’d always been.
Since it was too cold outside for a conversation with Thalia, I got back on the bus. As usual these days, Reagan drew my attention like a lightning rod, but for the moment, he seemed to be engrossed in something on his tablet while Layla was busy with her laptop. I nodded to McGee, who was resting on his bunk, and hurried to the bedroom in the back. As I engaged the call, the replacement driver started the engine to keep us moving east.
“Hi,” Thalia answered in her usual clipped tone.
It only took a minute for me to explain Brantleigh’s new plan, but I wasted at least ten more attempting to calm her fears about the situation while reminding her that our son was an adult. I wasn’t sure why dealing with my ex-wife always left me feeling like a frustrated failure while calming Reagan made me feel ten feet tall, but that was another thing I’d have to puzzle over later, once I was back in the privacy and quiet of my penthouse in the city. For now, I promised to check in with Thalia again from Honeybridge and ended the call with a sigh.
I gave the bed a longing look. This day had felt a week too long, and I wanted nothing more than to curl up, preferably with Reagan in my arms. I’d missed him last night when he’d been sleeping off his headache, not just because I’d wanted to touch him but because I’d wanted to talk to him, too. I appreciated his fresh perspective on the world, which was often so different from mine.
For now, though, I had work to do, and I didn’t like the idea of leaving Reagan alone to cater to Layla’s every whim.
The more I thought about her treatment of him, the more I wondered about it. Layla was a good manager—at least according to her staff—and even Reagan agreed that her team was loyal and devoted. But was this another situation where I hadn’t gotten involved and Layla had been keeping something from me? Or was it a personal issue with Reagan—irrational resentment that he’d taken her spot on the first half of the trip, perhaps, or that I’d heard his ideas for social media campaigns before she’d had a chance to impress me with hers? Stroking her ego and reminding her that I respected her skills and authority as vice president might go a long way to fixing the situation… if I could get over my instinctive urge to jump in front of Reagan every time she said anything, like I was protecting him from one of those feral beavers back in Honeybridge.
“There you are,” Layla said when I walked back out. She offered me a smile and nodded to the spot next to her in the booth. “Come join us. I was just tasking Reagan with researching local media contacts in and around Honeybridge so we can invite them to a meet and greet.”
Just that quickly, I forgot all my good intentions.