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)
“Are you sick? Would you like to go back to the bus? Are you… Did I… If you’re pissed off, say so.” I folded my arms over my chest. “I’ve told you to speak freely with me often enough, haven’t I?”
“Yes, but…” He opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I’m letting you do the talking. You’re the boss, and this is your show. I’m being polite. Respectful.”
“Fuck politeness. You’re polite with them.” I jabbed a finger toward the dining room. “Not with me.”
Reagan stared at me like I was speaking gibberish… which, okay, was a fair assessment.
“Have I ever asked you to be polite and respectful with me?” I clarified, leaning in to pin his gaze. “Since when have I given you the impression that I want you to stand back meekly like a good little foot soldier?”
His nostrils flared, and his lips tightened. “You didn’t, exactly. I just realized…” His voice trailed off.
I grabbed his upper arms. “What?”
The scent of his soap and aftershave swirled between us, clean and crisp. It brought a wave of sensory memories with it from New Year’s Eve. I could almost taste this scent on his skin.
“I fucked up, and I know it, okay?” he said at last. “You were angry with me, or annoyed, or… whatever, and I get it. I told you not to worry about Chris. I told you it’d be all softball questions. I told you to smile and be friendly. And then he came after you. He tried to gotcha you. He tried to get you to comment on your personal life.” The outrage on Reagan’s face burned nearly as hot as my earlier jealousy had… and made me feel far better than it reasonably should have. “I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
“That’s what’s bothering you? You… think I’m angry?”
Reagan lifted his chin. “Obviously. You’ve barely spoken to me since then. And I get it. You knew better than I did. I fucked up, as usual. I need to learn when to keep my big mouth shut and remember I’m better at smiling for the cameras.”
It was said in his voice, but those were his parents’ words. I’d heard Patricia and Trent talk about Reagan as an irresponsible kid, a directionless young man who didn’t take things seriously enough, all the while plastering his handsome, youthful face all over Trent’s campaign.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to say, and in that silence, Reagan looked away and shuffled his feet, revealing insecurity miles deeper than I’d ever suspected in a man who usually glowed as brightly as he did.
It was shocking.
It was infuriating.
And then, suddenly, I knew exactly what needed to be said. Exactly what he needed to hear.
I leaned even closer. “You listen to me, Reagan Wellbridge,” I said in a voice too low to be overheard. “Whatever the fuck voice you have right now in your head? It’s wrong. Do you understand? Dead. Ass. Wrong.”
His gaze flew to my face.
“First of all,” I continued, “you didn’t fuck up. You liked Chris. You believed the best of him. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.” A benefit of the doubt that no one had ever shown Reagan himself, I thought but didn’t say. “That’s a good thing. That’s an incredible thing.”
Reagan frowned.
“Second, I was going to be on guard with the reporter no matter what you said. Because I don’t give reporters the benefit of the doubt.” I met his eyes. “My comportment around the media is on me.”
“But you trusted me,” he whispered, “and I—”
“Did exactly what I trusted you to do, which is to give me your best. Your best work, your best advice, your best… you. I don’t trust you to be perfect. Jesus, Reagan. Who’d ever hold someone to that kind of standard?”
He swallowed without speaking, but we both knew the answer, and I deeply regretted every second I’d spent hearing Trent and Patricia sigh about Reagan without speaking up.
Never again, I promised myself.
“And third,” I said, “what did I tell you yesterday? You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. You’re talented. And dedicated. And savvy. And good with people. You’re…” Beautiful. Irreplaceable. Important. “You’re good at a hell of a lot more than smiling for the cameras. So even if you do make a mistake someday—make the worst fuckup in the history of fuckups—you don’t for one second let that cause you to dim your damned light.”
Those gorgeous aquamarine eyes were so wide it might have been funny… if the moment hadn’t felt so significant.
“I don’t want to embarrass you,” he whispered.
My chest burned like every inhale had to pass through jagged glass. There was something incredibly wrong with this sassy, cocky man second-guessing himself. “Never. You will never embarrass me. You couldn’t.”
“Oh, I assure you,” he said ruefully, “I—”