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Reagan got busy with his tablet while tearing into a granola bar. I took another sip of coffee before pulling my phone out to message January about the change of plans. After a few minutes of texting back and forth with her while Reagan chewed savagely, the bus door opened, and McGee climbed aboard in a blast of frigid air.
“Package from corporate,” he said, tossing a large vinyl mailer bag at Reagan. “Laundry will be ready at four. And I got a menu from a cute little sandwich shop around the corner we could try for lunch or dinner.” He set a small flyer on the table between the two of us, which was when he must have sensed the tension in the air. Instead of asking what was up, he rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath that sounded like “stupid fuckers,” and closed himself off in his bunk.
Reagan ripped open the vinyl shipping bag with a pleased little “Oh!” and began stacking Elustre garments on the table. I tried to look away, but it was unexpectedly entertaining to watch as he sorted items into piles, apparently based on how much he liked them.
He took out a shirt and sucked in a breath as he stroked the fabric. “Like butter,” he murmured to himself. “Hell yeah. I’m stealing this at the end of the trip.” Meanwhile, a pair of compression shorts earned a disgruntled expression and a muttered “Ew. Sexy online, garish in person.”
“Anything we could wear on the slopes?” I asked.
His face lit up, earlier frustration forgotten. “Yes. In fact, I know exactly what kind of shot I want to get with this piece,” he said, putting his hand on a sharp green-and-blue patterned running shirt. “You’re going to wear it as a base layer under your other stuff.”
As he excitedly tapped notes into his tablet, I let out a slow breath. It had only taken me a few days of a cross-country press tour to learn that seeing Reagan Wellbridge happy improved my own mood exponentially and that the happier he was, the happier I wanted to make him. Like so many things with Reagan, this was easy and natural… and torture.
Thankfully, Reagan finished his breakfast at the same time McGee emerged from his bunk and collected his supplies to begin cleaning the common areas of the bus. Reagan quickly pulled on his coat, exchanged pleasantries with McGee—a too-sympathetic comment about high altitudes being absolute murder on skin that showed early signs of aging and a muttered “don’t get lost in the snow, kiddo”—and left to find a ski shop. While McGee got to cleaning, I focused on my task list for the morning.
Item one: check in with Layla.
Though I’d spoken to Layla since we left town, so far, I’d managed to keep our contact brief and direct. She had what Reagan called a “raging case of FOMO” from missing out on the tour, so she’d wanted to postmortem every event in detail—who I’d spoken with, what we’d said, how much she wished she could have been there to make some point Reagan and I had missed—but I’d firmly shut this down. For one thing, I’d written up memos about each event and meeting, so further discussion would be a colossal waste of time. For another… I hadn’t been feeling particularly warm toward Layla since she’d made those accusations about Reagan, despite her repeated, abject apologies and assurances that it was all a misunderstanding.
This was a perfect example of why this connection with Reagan was such a problem. Being protective was one thing, but allowing it to skew my objectivity and make me side-eye my loyal vice president and friend was another. My goal for this morning was to rectify that.
Layla answered my call on the first ring.
“Thatcher! I was just about to call you.” Her voice through the phone speaker was so warm and excited McGee’s shoulders tensed, and he gave me an incredulous look that I ignored. “I have excellent news.”
“I assume it’s today’s media summary,” I said. “Reagan already showed me, and I’m very pleased.”
“Well… yes,” Layla agreed after a brief hesitation. “That, obviously. You’ve been doing a wonderful job—not surprising since I’ve known how brilliant you are for decades now, but I do feel terrible that you were thrust into it all on your own.” She laughed lightly. “And that’s the excellent news—you won’t have to go it alone anymore! I’m feeling so much better that I’ll be flying out in just a few hours to join you for the Vail meeting tomorrow.”
“Oh.” I tried to sound pleased, told myself that objectively I was pleased, though disappointment was a hard jab to my solar plexus. Not only had I looked forward to spending the day tomorrow with Reagan, but I’d let myself forget that his presence on this tour was only meant to be temporary. Priorities, I reminded myself. “That’s great.”
“I expected a bit more enthusiasm,” she teased. “I’ll be taking over a good bit of the socializing for you, after all.”
I chuckled half-heartedly. “Obviously, I’m glad you’re feeling better. I was concerned about you. I’m just surprised since I hadn’t heard that you’d gotten a negative flu test yet.”
“Well, I haven’t officially. But I’ve been fever-free for two days, and I’m barely coughing anymore. Besides, the flu test requirement isn’t a corporate policy; it’s something January came up with, and January works for you,” Layla said with certainty. “She’ll make an exception if you ask her to.”
“I put January in charge of handling this situation with the facilities people, and I make it a habit not to override January unless absolutely necessary,” I found myself saying, glad Reagan wasn’t around to comment on my abrupt about-face. “She’s holding everyone in the office to the same standard, so please confirm you’re well by getting a negative flu test before you fly.”
“Alright,” she agreed. “I’ll stop on my way to the airport. Oh, and when I get to Colorado, I’ll fill you in on my strategy for closing Zen Activewear. I spoke to Ron in Sales yesterday, and I’m prepared to negotiate hard with Martinez?—”
“Hang on,” I interrupted. “Tomorrow’s a social event, not a formal meeting. I think it would be more appropriate to treat this like an initial conversation rather than a negotiation.”
“Ron and I think it’s better to fast-track it. A win like signing Zen would help shift the focus toward the future of Elustre. We desperately need that right now, Thatcher.”
Despite my goal of smoothing things over with Layla, I found myself frowning at the phone. “Take a breath. Negotiating from a position of desperation is a bad deal. Besides, media reports about Nova have all but disappeared?—”
“Only because Nova’s been quiet all week,” she broke in. “She’s playing a show next weekend, and as soon as she shows her face, the images from New Year’s Eve will resurface. Plus… I’ve gotten an initial report from Nova’s people at Rumblefeld Talent Management. Apparently, the shirt she wore just showed up in a package with some other articles of Elustre clothing, and they didn’t save the packaging. None of the garments were labeled from any fashion brand, so we’re no closer to finding out who did this. I’m not suggesting we panic, but we need to keep our momentum going.”
“Let’s talk specifics when you get here,” I said. “You might feel less anxious when you see how we’ve been running things. As far as I’m concerned, we’re well on track, thanks to your team setting up this tour, and our meeting tomorrow will be the cherry on top.”
“We’ll make sure it is,” she agreed. “Oh, before I go, will Reagan be taking care of his own travel arrangements back to the city, or should I ask my assistant to make them?”
I stretched my neck from side to side and tried not to catch the eyeballs McGee was giving me. “Those arrangements won’t be necessary. Reagan’s been a true asset, and I’d like him to stay and support the tour. You’ll be impressed with his ability to put people at ease and speak eloquently about PennCo and our products without sounding like a sales pitch. And I’d love for the three of us to discuss some future plans for our social media accounts. I’m seeing some good interaction on the content Reagan’s put out there already.”
There was silence for a few beats. The only sound was McGee’s cleaning spray and paper towels swishing over nearby surfaces.
“That’s… an option,” she said cautiously. “But Thatcher, we can discuss our social media accounts later, and there’s no reason to have three people on this tour. I’m more than capable of doing whatever Reagan’s been doing for you.”
