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)
If I could get Thatcher alone for just five minutes and talk to him, I might be able to resolve things. Thatcher had stood up for me when Brant was about to make a comment about Chris Acton, and that had to mean something, right? He trusted me. He believed in me. Surely he’d understand that extenuating circumstances had led me to… throw his son against the side of a building, pin him there against his will, and scream in his ear.
In public.
Fuck, even in my own head, I couldn’t make it sound forgivable, so how could I convince Thatcher to forgive me?
At four in the afternoon, just as the sky was turning pink from early sunset, Layla arrived back at the house. Alone.
“Where’s Thatcher?” I asked immediately… and maybe a bit rudely since Layla was running her hands through her hair like she’d had a rough day, too.
“I couldn’t say.” She dropped heavily into a chair. “He took off after the event and had McGee bring me back.”
Had Thatcher not come back because he didn’t want to face his son? Or me?
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Shit.”
“Yes, well.” Layla gave me a sympathetic smile. “I can’t speak to what Thatcher is thinking, of course. He didn’t seem happy when he left, but I’m sure that’s not entirely a result of your incident with Brantleigh today. There’s also a clusterfuck in Madison that’s very stressful. The organizer of one of the original press tour stops we tried to cancel is throwing a fit because PennCo won’t be there, and I’m sure Thatcher is as worried as I am that it’ll generate bad press just when we’re emerging from the Nova catastrophe. It’s critically important for the business that we send someone, tonight, but of course, most of my team back in New York is still recovering from the flu or scrambling to keep things going while we’re short-staffed. You’re the only one who’s free… but then, you’ve got your family obligations.”
She said nothing more but watched me expectantly.
“Are you… asking me to go?” I wondered.
“If you could, I’d really appreciate it.” Layla gave me a hopeful look. “I do think it would go a long way toward… let’s say, smoothing things over after whatever that was between you and Thatcher’s son earlier today.”
I bit my tongue until it hurt at this reminder. After standing up for myself in such a huge way earlier, the realization that I was still the tiniest cog in the PennCo wheel, the guy who could be kicked off the tour and sent to Madison on a moment’s notice, was hard enough to swallow. The fact that Layla was the one doing the sending, when I hadn’t forgotten Terrance’s list of grievances or forgiven the way she’d treated me on the bus, was like swallowing jagged, broken shards of glass.
But I hadn’t decided what my next career goal was going to be, now that I wouldn’t be working for my father’s campaign, and I was unsure of my future at PennCo, so I definitely didn’t want to burn bridges. More than that… she was right. I’d fucked up today, and maybe this was the way to smooth things over with Thatcher and give him the space to deal with Brant however he needed.
“Okay,” I said in a low voice. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Excellent! I already got you a room at the hotel for tonight, and Alena sent a bunch of marketing materials and event credentials that will be there when you arrive. The plane is on standby, and I’ll let the team know.” She walked out of the room with her phone to her ear, leaving me gaping after her.
If there was already a waiting plane, a hotel room, and event credentials in my name, why had Layla made it seem like I had a choice in the first place?
I would never understand her, I decided as I rubbed my tired eyes and trudged upstairs to pack, but I’d said I was going, so I would.
McGee drove me to the small private airport outside town, where the company jet waited to whisk me to Wisconsin. He spent the whole ride darting glances at me in the rearview with a furrowed brow. “You don’t look so hot, princess,” he said after the fifth time I caught him.
“Pfft. Says the man with the busted nose. The good news is those black eyes really hide the crow’s feet.”
The jab had no force behind it, but I must really have looked tired because McGee didn’t comment. Instead, he asked, “Does Thatcher know about this little trip?”
I shrugged. “I figured Layla told him… or she would, once he got back. I haven’t seen him since… you know. Earlier.”
“Fucking Brantleigh,” McGee sighed.
Yeah, and fucking me. Reagan Wellbridge, you stupid fucker, I thought for the first time in nearly a week. If only I’d known then just how much worse things could get.