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“In fact, I have. Took my supplements last night as directed,” I said smugly.
“Good. Please keep doing it.” She hesitated. “Listen, Layla called. She said she tried calling you a little while ago?—”
“She might have. My phone was off during my speech, and I haven’t checked messages.”
“Figured. Look, this isn’t an emergency, in my opinion?—”
“What isn’t?”
January sighed. “Someone from marketing contacted Layla and said Reagan wanted login credentials for PennCo’s social media accounts?—”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “I authorized Reagan to get those credentials. I assumed since Layla was sick, I’d have time to circle back and explain our plan to her later.”
“‘Our plan,’” January repeated. “Yours and Reagan’s?”
The way she put our names together made warning bells go off in my brain. I instinctively glanced at Reagan, who was chatting with McGee outside the door to the bus. A grin lit up his handsome face as he explained something to my driver, hands gesturing wildly. Whatever he was saying had McGee nodding seriously.
“Yes. Reagan came up with some great ideas for handling our social media, both to mitigate the Elustre PR crisis and to improve our brand awareness in general. I want Layla’s buy-in before we tackle any Elustre content related to the launch or the PR crisis. But I made the executive decision to have him move forward with some generalized content. Problem?”
“Not from me,” January said. “Sounds logical, and you’re the boss. But Layla expressed concerns… about Reagan.”
“What concerns?” My voice came out sharper than I’d intended.
“Well… Our security team’s investigating who sent Nova the shirt, but it’s not gonna be easy. Apex Athletics has been sending us samples from the launch for months now. Theoretically, anyone at PennCo or Apex—even several former employees—could have gotten their hands on one, printed it with that cheesy slogan, and shipped it off. Unless Nova’s people at Rumblefeld Talent come forward with info or we find a note on someone’s computer that says, ‘To do this week: send shirt to Nova Davidson and unleash PR shitstorm,’ there won’t be hard evidence. So they’re looking at who’d have motive instead.” She hesitated. “Obviously, any disgruntled former employee might have done this as revenge. But Layla pointed out that this was also the sort of thing someone would have done if they were trying to convince the company to implement a social media strategy. She’s suggested that Reagan could have done it.”
McGee jogged up the stairs into the bus, and Reagan turned toward me, catching me full force with his grin.
My god, he was beautiful. A walking wet dream. A thousand pounds of snarky intelligence in one lithe, sun-kissed package. Sharp as a blade, sometimes. Prickly as a hedgehog. Insolent. Provoking. Undisciplined, according to his father—and, no, I did not sit around exchanging fatherly frustrations with Trent Wellbridge, but that didn’t mean I’d never heard him say it. It would be pure arrogance for me to believe that I knew some deeper, truer version of Reagan after sharing space with him for less than a day—and a bed for a night, my brain helpfully reminded me.
But I remembered the way his face had lit up while he was outlining his plan to me earlier. His honest frustration at not having his voice heard. The compassionate, practical things he’d said about Brantleigh.
And I simply couldn’t believe he’d have done what Layla seemed to be suggesting.
“That’s a terrible accusation to throw around with no proof,” I said, allowing anger to bleed into my tone.
Reagan’s grin faded at whatever expression he saw on my face, and he frowned. I shook my head, waving him off, but he walked toward me instead.
“That’s what I said,” January agreed. “In her defense, she backed off immediately, and she’s probably half out of her mind between the flu and her meds. Alena told me she was already stressing about the Elustre launch even before this Nova thing because she wants to impress you, and she really doesn’t want to let her team down. Now she’s trying to fix this stuff from her bed while you and Reagan go off to save the day. She’s probably feeling left out and proprietary and worried.”
I understood this. Layla was the head of PennCo, and Elustre was her baby. It had to be killing her not to be on the front lines. And still…
“I sympathize, but I will not condone her or anyone else throwing around accusations. Is that understood?”
Reagan’s eyebrows lifted as he wandered close enough to overhear. “What’s happening?” he stage-whispered. “Who’s accusing someone? What’s going on?”
I ignored him.
“I’ve known Reagan Wellbridge for a long time,” I told January. “And I can tell you with confidence that he’s a silver-tongued, provoking little shit. But he’s not a liar. He’s not manipulative. And he’s not a person who’d callously put someone else’s livelihood at risk for his own gain. He didn’t do this.”
Reagan froze in shock as I walked past him toward the bus stairs.
“Good enough for me,” January said briskly. “I’ll make sure Layla knows.”
“No. Thanks anyway, January, but I’ll make sure she knows.” I ended the call, then paused with my foot on the bottom tread. I half turned and found Reagan exactly where I’d left him. “Get inside before you freeze your ass off.”
Reagan blinked out of his stupor and followed. “I don’t… What the hell was that about?”
“Get in here and I’ll tell you.” I turned to McGee once I was inside. “Did you get me khaki pants?”
