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As of today, Pennington Industries was no longer the safe haven it usually was. Not while Reagan Wellbridge, his distracting breathy gasps, and his sexy, hidden tattoo were on the premises. It hadn’t taken more than two minutes of him blushing and frowning and existing across a conference table for me to realize that the one-night stand we’d shared had only made my crazy, inappropriate attraction to him flare hotter.
The temptation of yanking him out of his chair, pushing him against the wall, and demanding to know why he’d disappeared while I was in the shower had been nearly overpowering. I’d wanted to punish him for the astonishing, live-wire jolt that paralyzed my lungs in the brief moment our eyes met and the way his casual comment—Sorry to break it to you, but there are some things in life you don’t control, and you don’t get to have a tantrum about them—had been replaying in my head nonstop. I’d wanted to kiss him until I understood why his frigid indifference—not even deigning to look at me when I spoke, as if he hadn’t sobbed his cries of release into my hot skin and begged with those gorgeous eyes for me to fuck him—had made me irrationally angry when I should have been glad.
It was no secret that I liked control. Craved it. Yet my control had been missing since the moment I’d spotted those eyes beneath a mask the night before. I had two weeks to go and find it again.
I yanked the zipper on my bag closed, threw on my coat, and, after a pause, grabbed the box of natural supplements I’d allowed January to foist on me. I’d made the mistake of telling her I had a headache earlier, and she’d gone into a full-on flu-fighting frenzy. I hadn’t argued because I’d rather gag down the witch’s brew tinctures she’d provided than explain the truth—No, January, it’s not the flu. I have a headache because I spent last night fucking an employee who also happens to be the son of an influential politician. Yes, I said son. Because I’m bisexual. Surprise!
Once I made it into the elevator, I closed my eyes and leaned against the mirrored elevator wall.
This goodwill trip felt like overkill, especially given my aversion to flying, but I employed a team of talented people for a reason, and it wasn’t my habit to question their expertise—especially not someone like Layla, who’d been in my life longer than my second ex-wife, for Christ’s sake, and had earned my trust a dozen times over.
Putting a thousand miles of road between me and a certain pair of aquamarine eyes had clinched the deal.
At least Layla’s team was responding to the crisis like a well-oiled machine, so I had no doubt that the tour would run equally smoothly. And sharing the bus with Layla wouldn’t be difficult. We’d known each other long enough to respect each other’s privacy and boundaries, which was why we’d remained friendly through multiple project launches, our combined three divorces, her drunken attempt to make a pass at me a few years back, and my gentle-but-firm rejection on the grounds that I had no interest in dating anyone… especially an employee.
A policy I told myself I was still upholding since what Reagan and I had done was nothing as tame as dating.
Thankfully, Layla knew me well enough to know that interpersonal relationships were not my forte. She wouldn’t hold it against me when I wasn’t in the mood to socialize or chat about non-work topics.
All in all, this was probably the closest thing to an actual vacation I was going to get, at least until Brant returned my calls. January would be proud.
My phone rang as I stepped out into the cold winter darkness behind the building.
“January,” I said after accepting the call.
“Sir, I’m down in PennCo accounting. I’m afraid we’ve had another three flu cases.” Her voice was more harried than usual. “They’re dropping like flies.”
While I was fighting sleep deprivation, I was grateful not to have any flu symptoms. Leaving town was looking better and better. “Check with the Facilities people. If they think it’s safer to close the office and let folks work from home for a few days, I’m fine with that.”
McGee waited by the door of the bus and lifted a hand in greeting. “Boss,” he said quietly. “Baggage is loaded, and your guest is on board. We’re good to go when you’re ready.”
I nodded. “January, we’re about to pull out, but keep me in the loop when you hear back from Facilities, okay?” I said as I climbed the steps into the bus’s interior. McGee had already ensured that the space was warm and the interior lights were on, and I knew without checking that my things would already have been unpacked in the back bedroom.
Just a few of the advantages of being in control.
“Wait, Thatcher,” January said before I could disconnect. “I’m calling because one of the sick employees is Layla. I practically had to forcibly restrain her, but it’s simply not safe for her to go with you.”
I frowned. Hadn’t McGee said that my “guest” was already on board? “If Layla’s not coming, then—?” I demanded.
A small movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I spun in place. Beyond the full-sized black leather couches in the lounge was the kitchen area, including the table with booth seats where I usually took my morning coffee. And there, pressed into the corner of one of the benches, looking wary and uncertain and like he was very much hoping not to be noticed, was the man I couldn’t help noticing.
Aquamarine eyes met mine and held.
The headache in the center of my forehead throbbed.
In my ear, my assistant continued her very rational explanation for this turn of events. “—Layla didn’t want you to go alone, and the rest of the PR team is either sick or on vacation, but I’ve been getting regular reports on Reagan from Stephen, just like you asked, and Stephen says the guy’s really bright and hardworking. And since you’ve known him for years, I figured there’d be no problem—” I barely heard any of it.
“January.” My voice sounded strange to my own ears. Calm and pleasant when I felt neither. “I need to go now.”
“Oh.” A suspicious pause. “Boss, are you feeling sick? You took your supplements, right?”
“I’ll be in touch later,” I said in lieu of an answer. Without taking my eyes off the man who’d turned my whole damn life on its head in less than a day, I disconnected the call.
Reagan and I stared at each other for a long moment as I slid my phone back into my pocket. I was dimly aware of McGee clambering onto the bus behind me, the shush as he closed the curtain that separated the driver’s area from the living area, the click click click of him fiddling with something on the dashboard before we departed. I knew he was probably waiting for me to take my seat since it wasn’t safe to stand while the bus was in motion, but I couldn’t make my body move. Half of me was ready to climb back down the steps and call this whole thing off.
Reagan straightened in his seat and lifted his chin in the air defiantly. “I don’t bite unless provoked.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Pardon?”
