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Reagan’s eyebrows drew together. “Why do you think you’re responsible for the way Brantleigh is?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “Because I’m his father. Thalia and I, we raised him.”
“So?”
“So… we took a wrong turn somewhere and fucked up. It turns out I make a better CEO than parent. I can fix a complex global supply chain issue, but I can’t fix my kid.”
I snapped my jaw shut, shocked I’d exposed so much of myself to him after vowing to keep him at a professional arm’s length.
“Have you considered maybe giving yourself a break? Letting him fix himself? A twenty-eight-year-old is capable of that, you know,” he said softly. I wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself or Brant. “I told you before, there are some things in life you can’t control…”
I lowered my chin and glared at him. “I’m not. I’m just trying to give him what he needs.”
He laughed ruefully. “It’s funny how parents say that but never seem to get that what their kid needs is independence and respect.”
I frowned. “Reagan, do your parents—? I mean, I know Patricia and Trent can be?—”
In an instant, his face closed off, his eyes going flat and hard. “Oh, hard no.” He held up a hand. “Too weird. I’m not talking about my mommy and daddy issues with their friend who’s also my boss.”
He was right. About all of that. Fuck. Talking to him was so easy my control kept slipping.
“Back to work.” Reagan squared his shoulders and grabbed his computer. “Before we arrive in Kansas City and you get too distracted to pay attention to me.”
God. I sincerely hoped something in Kansas City would make me too distracted to pay attention to Reagan. I was beginning to doubt whether such a thing existed.
“Give me a minute,” I told him, digging my phone out of my pocket so I could let Brant know I was thinking about him.
Talking about my son had made me want to get in touch with him that much more. I’d heard what Reagan said, and I appreciated his compassion, but I couldn’t let it go. Maybe now that Brant was at his yoga retreat, away from his usual environment, he’d be more likely to reach out.
Me: Hey, how’s it going?
Like I didn’t already know? I deleted the message and restarted.
Me: Hope you’re enjoying the retreat. I’m here if you want to talk.
And if he didn’t want to talk? I deleted the message again.
Me: Hope you’re enjoying the retreat. Please reply and let me know you’re okay. We can chat about some career ideas when you’re ready. I love you.
I noticed Reagan watching me over the top of his laptop with way too much sympathy in his gaze and realized he could probably see Brant’s name on the top of the screen. I forced myself to hit Send before overthinking further.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I slid my phone back into my pocket and focused on Reagan’s laptop. “What’ve you got?”
“Right. So…” Reagan sank his teeth into his bottom lip, and my cock throbbed at the nervous gesture. But the moment he began speaking, his excitement about the topic overtook his nerves, and I found myself every bit as captivated by what was being said as by the man saying it.
Admittedly, I was expecting something less professional, more abstract, and certainly with less understanding of PennCo’s business needs. When Reagan immediately began explaining the specific requirements of a social media strategy for textile manufacturing, along with some of the challenges inherent in an industry that still struggled with modernizing in many ways, I scrambled to adjust my expectations.
“Social media is pervasive,” he said. “Obviously. We all know that. But it took corporations a long time to realize that by creating parasocial relationships with their brands, they could impact brand loyalty, expand subversive consumer education, and tee up the younger generation before their own consumer habits have been truly established. The opportunity here is tremendous. Let me show you some conversion data from a campaign that Spandex did a few months ago.”
As he clicked through several slides of charts and graphs, explaining the graphs while highlighting the nuances of the various social media posts that triggered each outcome, I could tell just how much time and effort had gone into this pitch.
“And you showed this to Layla weeks ago,” I interrupted. “This exact presentation?”
“Yeah. At first, she seemed really impressed. Asked loads of questions about all my ideas. She said no, but I was hoping she’d change her mind once she got to know me a little better. That she’d trust me a bit more. But… well, you heard her at the meeting yesterday.” Reagan scrunched his nose. “Nataly told me afterward that the last marketing director quit because he was so frustrated about this same issue, so… fuck. I don’t know anymore.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “And it really sucks, if you want to know the truth, because social media could legit save the day with this Elustre situation, and I have data that backs that up. Meanwhile, Layla’s side-eyeing me like she’s a fucking flat-earther who thinks I’m showing her doctored pictures from outer space, and…” He cut himself off. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I swear, I usually do a better job at being professional?—”
I huffed out a laugh.
