AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If my face got any hotter, I would have to leave the room and throw myself into the snowy parking lot.
“Because I’m his PR assistant for this trip,” I said haughtily. “He might need a rescue.”
“Right.” Chris cocked his head. “So what’s it like working for the Thatcher Pennington? Some people claim he’s an asshole. Others say he’s fair but incredibly demanding.”
Apropos of nothing—and inappropriate as fuck—a memory of Thatcher’s voice saying, “Come for me. Now,” flitted across my brain as it seemed to do on a regular basis.
I cleared my throat. “Er… not really? He has high standards for himself, but he’s very gracious and…” I swallowed. “It’s good. I’m learning a lot. It’s especially nice being out of the office, getting to meet people across the country.” All of that was true. I mentally nodded in self-approval.
Chris narrowed his eyes. “That was a bullshit PR response if I ever heard one. Straight from the Trent Wellbridge playbook.”
I let out a surprised huff of laughter. From twenty feet away, Thatcher turned his head and met my eyes as though he’d heard me. I quickly looked back at Chris before the reporter could see me mooning in Thatcher’s direction.
“The truth is, it’s been strange working with him,” I told Chris honestly. “I’ve known Thatcher for years as a, uh… family friend, but it’s different interacting with him as a boss. He’s a brilliant entrepreneur—which, you’re right, makes him a bit intimidating—and this opportunity to travel with him feels a little bit like a second job interview.” I smiled winningly. “I want to learn from him, to impress the hell out of him. I also don’t want to let him down or put my foot in my mouth.”
I shrugged, suddenly feeling put on the spot. While it didn’t seem like Chris was pressing me for insider information, it still felt awkward to discuss Thatcher in this way with another person, especially someone I’d slept with before, so I quickly added, “You might have heard from Layla that I was only put on this tour because there was a serious flu outbreak at the office. Normally, Thatcher’s very hands-off at PennCo, and since I’m new to the company, I haven’t worked closely with him until now. It was an unexpected opportunity.”
Chris nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve researched the man quite a bit. His second wife was very vocal, post-divorce, about how career-driven Thatcher is, probably because his parents always pushed him to succeed. I remember her saying, ‘Thatcher cheated on me with Pennington Industries long before I was ever unfaithful.’ She claims he’s a very cold man.”
“Cold? Thatcher?” I demanded, incredulous. “No way.”
“Interesting,” Chris said. “So you’re saying she lied?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say fuck yes and to add my opinion of the beautiful woman who’d been fucking her tennis coach while wearing Thatcher’s ring, but I caught myself at the last moment, shocked at how close I’d come to giving Chris a hell of a sound bite. Jesus, Reagan.
“Not at all,” I said smoothly. “Thatcher and I have never discussed his marriages, so I have no idea what he was like in a relationship.” And I never would. “But I can tell you that the Thatcher Pennington I know is generous, hardworking, and caring. He’s dedicated to his company, yes, but he’s just as dedicated to the people who work there as he is to making a profit. He recognizes the power he has to impact things on a global scale. Sustainability, for example.”
Chris’s lips twitched. “Nicely done. But… off the record,” he said, leaning closer. “What’s it like working and traveling with someone so damn gorgeous? I would be all over that if he wasn’t so damn straight.”
I barked out a laugh. “No comment.”
He groaned and waved a hand. “I swear you used to be more fun than this, Reagan. Then you spend ten days on a bus with the CEO, and suddenly, you’re a corporate drone spouting off PR talking points. What have they done to you?” Before I could answer, Chris leaned closer—too close—and added in a teasing murmur, “But I could forgive you for that… if you make time for me in Honeybridge. C’mon. Let’s grab a drink and catch up.”
I assumed “catch up” was code for more boat house action, which definitely wasn’t going to happen. Thankfully, before I could give him a stammered, hedging response, Thatcher appeared at my side.
“Reagan.” He picked an invisible piece of lint off his shirt. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need your assistance. Now.” He glanced at Chris and firmed his jaw. “You’ll find Reagan is extremely busy with work. I doubt he’ll have free time in Honeybridge, especially since he’ll be spending part of his time with his family.”
Chris’s smile slid away, and his lips tightened. “That’s disappointing, but we all have our jobs to do,” he agreed. “Speaking of my job, I was hoping to schedule another sit-down with you in Honeybridge—not about the Nova situation,” he added before Thatcher could speak.
Thatcher stepped closer. The familiar, warm scent of him reached my nostrils, and I gritted my teeth to keep from letting my eyes close. “I’m sure we can sit down again. Contact Layla, and she’ll find you some time on my schedule. And speaking of Layla…” He turned to me. “She just called. It seems she chose not to change her flight, and she’s waiting for us to pick her up at the airport. Here in Omaha,” he added when I continued to stare at him blankly.
“Oh,” I managed. Determined as I’d been not to get any closer to Thatcher over the next twenty-four hours, this should not have felt like such a blow. But deep down, I’d still craved that time where it was just the two of us. One last hurrah when we could speak and look at one another freely.
Thatcher dipped his chin, and the look in his eyes—banked rage—spoke volumes. “I’m afraid we need to cut our time here short and go pick her up. Then… we’ll head to Honeybridge.” He reached out a hand to Chris. “See you there.”
I mumbled a goodbye to Chris, our host, and two of the other executives I’d met, but I couldn’t remember any of it. By the time we boarded the bus in the freezing cold parking lot, I was shivering with nerves more than cold.
McGee greeted us at the door to the bus, his usual smirk missing. “The fuck is this nonsense?” he demanded before glancing over our shoulders as if looking for someone else. His eyebrows dipped together for a split second before he focused back on the boss.
“I take it you got my message,” Thatcher said.
McGee nodded, but he was frowning at me. “Take Reagan to the back, boss, and warm him up. You want coffee or tea?”
I shook my head, but before I could speak, Thatcher did.
“Reagan’s not cold. He’s probably wondering, like I am, what the fuck Layla James was thinking.” Thatcher’s voice shook with anger, but still he helped me out of my coat as I unzipped it almost without realizing he was doing it. “I told her to change her flight. Told her directly?—”
“You don’t want to hear this,” McGee said grimly, “but I’m not surprised. I also wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t cancel Reagan’s flight back to New York. She wants to be alone with you, boss. She wants to start something. And I know you said that you’ve already told her you’re not into that, but that doesn’t mean she heard you. Maybe she thinks things are different since you divorced Heather, and she’s given you an appropriate time to recover. But Layla seems like the sort of person who capitalizes on opportunities, and this tour is an opportunity. One she doesn’t want to give up.”
