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“I think that’s a great idea,” I said with a confidence I didn’t totally feel. “I’ll be arriving in Honeybridge tomorrow, probably late, so we can discuss details the day after. Reagan’s going to be busy doing family stuff, so I think you’ll be a big help handling press at some of the events.”
“Fuck yeah. And… the paycheck?” he prompted.
I frowned. “There’ll be a salary commensurate with what the other junior PR associates make. If you want details, I’ll put you in touch with Margot in HR.”
“Cool. And…” He hesitated. “You’ll tell Mom?”
“I can, but don’t you want to tell her yourself? You’re twenty-eight, kiddo. I’m sure she’ll be proud?—”
I could practically hear Brant’s eye roll. “Nah. She freaks out about nothing. It’ll be better coming from you.”
“Alright. I… I love you, Brant. I’m glad that the retreat worked for you.”
“Yeah.” He laughed lightly. “See you soon, Dad.”
Three Dads in one conversation? This was good, I told myself. This was really good. My other priorities might be skewed after this week with Reagan, but Brantleigh was right at the top where he’d always been.
Since it was too cold outside for a conversation with Thalia, I got back on the bus. As usual these days, Reagan drew my attention like a lightning rod, but for the moment, he seemed to be engrossed in something on his tablet while Layla was busy with her laptop. I nodded to McGee, who was resting on his bunk, and hurried to the bedroom in the back. As I engaged the call, the replacement driver started the engine to keep us moving east.
“Hi,” Thalia answered in her usual clipped tone.
It only took a minute for me to explain Brantleigh’s new plan, but I wasted at least ten more attempting to calm her fears about the situation while reminding her that our son was an adult. I wasn’t sure why dealing with my ex-wife always left me feeling like a frustrated failure while calming Reagan made me feel ten feet tall, but that was another thing I’d have to puzzle over later, once I was back in the privacy and quiet of my penthouse in the city. For now, I promised to check in with Thalia again from Honeybridge and ended the call with a sigh.
I gave the bed a longing look. This day had felt a week too long, and I wanted nothing more than to curl up, preferably with Reagan in my arms. I’d missed him last night when he’d been sleeping off his headache, not just because I’d wanted to touch him but because I’d wanted to talk to him, too. I appreciated his fresh perspective on the world, which was often so different from mine.
For now, though, I had work to do, and I didn’t like the idea of leaving Reagan alone to cater to Layla’s every whim.
The more I thought about her treatment of him, the more I wondered about it. Layla was a good manager—at least according to her staff—and even Reagan agreed that her team was loyal and devoted. But was this another situation where I hadn’t gotten involved and Layla had been keeping something from me? Or was it a personal issue with Reagan—irrational resentment that he’d taken her spot on the first half of the trip, perhaps, or that I’d heard his ideas for social media campaigns before she’d had a chance to impress me with hers? Stroking her ego and reminding her that I respected her skills and authority as vice president might go a long way to fixing the situation… if I could get over my instinctive urge to jump in front of Reagan every time she said anything, like I was protecting him from one of those feral beavers back in Honeybridge.
“There you are,” Layla said when I walked back out. She offered me a smile and nodded to the spot next to her in the booth. “Come join us. I was just tasking Reagan with researching local media contacts in and around Honeybridge so we can invite them to a meet and greet.”
Just that quickly, I forgot all my good intentions.
I glanced at Reagan, who was sitting in his usual seat. He made a point not to raise his eyes to meet mine. “Actually, Reagan’s from Honeybridge,” I said. “Between that and his dad’s position, he probably already knows the key contacts there.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “I didn’t realize.” And she probably hadn’t given him a chance to volunteer the information either. “That works out well, though. Reagan can be on hand at the meet and greet to hand out press kits and make sure everyone’s comfortable. He’s arranging for the catering now, so he’ll be able to coordinate with the servers to ensure the reporters have what they need. Happy media, happy coverage,” she added with a wink before focusing on her laptop again.
I moved to the small refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, automatically grabbing one for Reagan, too. Layla seemed to still be working on her coffee from our pit stop, so I assumed she didn’t need anything. When I set the water down in front of Reagan, I used it as an excuse to slide into the booth next to him again.
“Thanks,” he murmured without taking his eyes off the screen.
I glanced at what he was working on and saw an online order form for the bakery in Honeybridge. “Layla, wouldn’t your admin be a better person to handle this?” I waved a hand at Reagan’s tablet. “Reagan’s a PR associate?—”
“A junior associate,” Layla reminded me. “Arranging catering is definitely within his job description.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that we should change the job description—not just for Reagan, but for every other junior associate who should be spending their time learning skills related to their field—but Reagan pressed his boot against mine as though imploring me not to speak.
I knew he was right, so I kept my mouth shut for now. This was the man I’d trusted to charm textile executives across the Midwest, I reminded myself. He’d handled himself in his job without my interference; he’d handled his parents for years. Obviously, he could handle this, too.
I cleared my throat. “Layla, I’m not sure if Reagan’s discussed this with you yet, but he has some family obligations while we’re in Maine. Since he’s been working around the clock on this press tour, it seems only natural to allow him time for that. Meanwhile… my son, Brantleigh, will be joining our team. You can have him help out with whatever tasks you would have assigned Reagan this week. Please ask January to forward Brant our event schedule.”
Reagan and Layla’s twin expressions of surprise almost made me chuckle. Reagan was the first to speak. “My parents are aware that my job comes first. I’ll work my family commitments around PennCo’s events?—”
And he’d run himself ragged rather than ask for time off. I held up a hand. “There’s no need. Brant seems excited to get involved, and he and I haven’t spent time together in a long while. I’m looking forward to seeing him.”
A muscle ticked in Reagan’s jaw, but he managed a polite—too polite—smile. “Sure.”
Once again, my hands ached to grab hold of him and force him to tell me what he was actually feeling. I clutched them into fists on my thighs instead.
