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“Oh my god.” Reagan glanced at me in a panic, jumping off the sofa to put some distance between us. “Thatcher, Chris Acton is here. And he brought camera people.”
“Oh, good.” I stood, too. “Chris, hey, good to see you again.” I shook the man’s hand and nodded at his companions. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. I know Wisconsin in January isn’t the ideal place to be for an interview.”
He smiled and gripped my hand. “I’d have flown to northern Alaska if you’d asked. It’s not every day I get an exclusive like this.”
Reagan shot me a worried look before he reached out to shake Chris’s hand, too. I bit back my jealousy by remembering the taste of Reagan’s skin was still on the tip of my tongue.
“Come on in and let me know what your crew needs to get started,” I said, gesturing to the seating options of the sofa and chairs or nearby dining area. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I strode into the bedroom Reagan and I had claimed, retrieved a charcoal sweater from my suitcase, pulled it on over my shirt, and managed to count to five in my head before Reagan followed me. “Why is Chris here?” he demanded in a low voice.
“Because I agreed to another sit-down. Didn’t I mention it?” I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You want to watch, or you want to rest in the bedroom?”
“I believe you know the answer to that question,” Reagan said. He carefully smoothed the front of my sweater. “When have I ever left you alone with Chris Acton or any other media outlet for that matter?”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “We’re both stronger when we’re together, aren’t we?”
He frowned. “Well, yes. Obviously. But be careful?—”
I wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him thoroughly, cutting off his protest and leaving him dazed. Excellent. “Let’s go.”
Once Chris’s crew had me miked up and seated, Reagan grabbed a bottle of water from the minifridge and moved away to sit near McGee off camera.
Chris took the chair next to where I sat on the sofa. “Just a reminder, the video will be edited with your approval and be available on our website and YouTube channel. According to our agreement, it will be distributed widely on social media. If there’s interest from other news outlets, we will, of course…”
I listened with half an ear while I glanced over at Reagan again. He looked concerned, and I could tell he was asking McGee if he knew what this interview was about. McGee grinned and leaned in to bump Reagan’s shoulder. I could read his lips when he said, “Trust the boss.”
When Reagan looked back over at me, I shot him a wink that only seemed to make him more nervous.
Chris began with an easy question. “Why are you here in Madison, Wisconsin, this week?”
“My partner came here on business and ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. I came to be with him.”
Reagan choked on the water he’d been drinking and spent a long moment coughing before getting himself under control.
I smiled at him. “He’s still recovering,” I confided to Chris.
Chris grinned. After McGee had put the two of us in touch—and I had my suspicions about precisely how McGee had gotten the man’s number in the first place—he’d agreed to my specific requests. In exchange, I’d agreed to tell Chris about Nova Davidson.
“No problem,” he said easily. “Now, Thatcher, you once said you could never see yourself marrying again. Would you say this current partner of yours has caused you to change your mind?”
I glanced back at Reagan and made sure his eyes were on me when I responded. “Without a doubt. Yes.”
The blue eyes I loved widened… and widened… and widened. What are you doing? he mouthed, looking a bit panicked.
“Would you care to elaborate on that?” Chris asked. “Perhaps tell us who the lucky man is?”
“Not really, no. I don’t want to put him in the media spotlight by naming him in an interview. But I do want him to know that he’s more important than anything related to my job or company. He is, and always will be, my priority. I want a future with him by my side. And when he needs me, I will always be there for him.”
Reagan’s eyes shimmered, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.
Chris nodded. “You sound very protective.” He paused meaningfully. “In fact, you sound like a man in love.”
“No doubt about that,” I said, still laser-focused on the man across the room, the man who had thrown my lonely, controlled world into chaos and then put it back together again with light and color. His face was a delightful deep pink, and I imagined how warm his skin would feel against my lips. “I love him very much.”
As agreed, Chris moved on to asking questions about the company. He started with questions about the new social media activity PennCo had shared recently.
“According to this morning’s press release, PennCo Fiber has a new social media director.” Chris’s eyes shot to Reagan.
