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)
And then, as only Patricia Wellbridge could, my mother made it ten times worse.
“Reagan, dear, take Mr. Pennington’s bags upstairs and show him to his room while I help get Layla settled in the guest house.”
Thatcher’s eyes met mine as the heat of embarrassment crawled up my neck. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, keeping the sarcasm volume as soft as possible while still allowing it an escape.
I moved back toward the door to fetch the bags McGee had deposited in the entryway. The expression on McGee’s face was understanding and kind, which only made my humiliation more complete.
Once I had his bags in hand, I turned toward my boss. “Right this way, sir,” I bit out.
Chapter Sixteen
Thatcher
Reagan refused to look at me as we made our way upstairs.
Perhaps that shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was, given all that we’d said to each other the night before and the way we’d avoided each other most of the day. Maybe he’d intended for us to simply disappear from each other’s lives as suddenly as we’d crashed together. But seeing the way his parents had treated him when we’d arrived—his mother commanding, his father flat-out ignoring him—had raised my protective hackles, and I wanted to somehow reassure him that I cared about his feelings and was on his side…
Which was difficult when he was pretending I didn’t exist.
It was immature, I decided, which was probably why everyone said it was a bad idea to date someone so much younger. And it was pretty fucking ironic that Reagan was behaving this way after making remarks about my parenting skills. Reagan had no idea what it was like to raise a child. He also knew exactly why I blamed myself for Brant’s behavior. So how dare he cast judgment on me for feeling responsible? Furthermore, Reagan’s parting shot last night—accusing Layla of thinking inappropriate thoughts about me—was the pot calling the kettle black, not to mention completely off base and, once again, immature.
And I was going to tell him so. As soon as he deigned to look at me.
“You going to give me the silent treatment for a matter of minutes, hours, or days? I’d like to know so I can plan accordingly,” I said drily as soon as we were alone.
Reagan’s chin lifted a fraction, but otherwise, he pretended not to hear.
“You’ll be in JT’s room here on the right, Mr. Pennington.” His voice was crisp and scrupulously polite. Patricia would be so proud. “There’s an en suite bathroom that should have plenty of supplies, but if you need anything, Rosalia is usually in the kitchen and will be happy to help. I’m sure you’ve met her before. She’s the one who keeps this place running.”
He sounded like an automaton as he led me into the room and set my bags down on the crisply made bed. “I assume dinner will be served at seven. I suggest freshening up quickly unless you want to hear Patricia’s passive-aggressive statements about busy schedules leading to the downfall of the American family.”
I nudged the door closed behind me and moved closer to him, but he sidestepped around me and reopened the door. “See you at dinner,” he said stiffly before escaping across the hall to his own room.
I stared after him, torn between feeling bad for his obvious discomfort and feeling annoyed at his petulance.
Before I could follow him and insist upon talking it through, my phone buzzed.
“Yeah,” I snapped.
Brantleigh’s familiar voice immediately reminded me to take a calming breath. “Dad. Hey. Are you picking me up or are you going to text me a location so I can get there myself?”
“A location?” I repeated. “I don’t understand. Are we meeting somewhere tonight? Didn’t we say we’d talk first thing tomorrow? You got the schedule of events January forwarded you, yes?”
“I did. But I thought… I mean, I’m working for you now, right? I figured you’d get me a room wherever you’re staying. God knows there’s no Four Seasons anywhere near this backwater, but I’m not picky. I could make do with a Marriott.”
I literally shook my head like I was trying to clear away buzzing mosquitos. “I’m not at a hotel, and from what I gather, all the hotels in the area are at capacity because of the festival. I’m staying with the Wellbridges. So are Layla and, obviously, Reagan.”
“Oh.” Brant paused a beat. “Then I’ll meet you at Patricia’s?”
I rubbed a hand over my forehead. “I thought you already had a place to stay.”
“I’m booked at the retreat for another week, yeah, but… Dad, they turn the electricity off every night at eleven so the molecules won’t disrupt your sleep. My phone hasn’t been fully charged in a week. And the internet is too weak to stream anything.” He sounded pained. “If I’m working for you, don’t I get treated like any other employee?”