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Layla’s lips pursed for a moment while she considered this. “I mean, of course Reagan can take the time he needs for his family… obligations. And obviously, I’ll be very pleased to welcome young Brantleigh to the team. But I want to make sure this event is a success. I wonder if we need to bring in Nataly or someone else from PR if Reagan isn’t going to be able to fulfill his duties.”
Reagan remained conspicuously silent, and I hated it.
“Honeybridge is a small town,” I explained to Layla, trying to ignore the vat of stress sitting next to me. “Even busy events there are easy to manage. I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll be just fine.”
“You’re right.” She smiled. “The two of us can handle anything, can’t we? Hopefully we’ll even have time for you to show me around town. I remember you spent a fair amount of time there last summer.”
Once again, Reagan’s reluctance to add to the conversation got under my skin.
“It’s a beautiful town,” I agreed. “In fact, Reagan is from one of the original founding families. His father is the state senator for that part of Maine.”
Reagan shifted in his seat before finally closing his tablet and indicating his desire to stand up. I moved out of the booth to let him pass and bit my tongue against the need to ask if he was okay. Clearly, he wasn’t. Even more clearly, he wouldn’t say so in front of Layla.
Layla watched Reagan with undisguised interest as he grabbed a yogurt from the fridge. “Is that right, Reagan? A local politician might be good for a photo op. I bet the local press would eat that up. Do you think you can arrange for something with your father and Thatcher?”
I took a sip out of my water bottle to keep from laughing.
Reagan’s eyes shifted to mine, and he pretended to consider. “Hmmm. Would my parents make time for the Thatcher Pennington? Hard to say, really. They’re not the sort of people who are impressed by money and status?—”
Water shot out of my nose, and I began to cough. “Ignore him, Layla. Trent Wellbridge and I are friends. In fact, he was the one I was visiting in Honeybridge last summer.” I shot Reagan a glare as I mopped up the mess on my face with a napkin. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Mr. Wellbridge.”
His lips curved up in a reluctant smile, and those gorgeous eyes twinkled at me as he peeled the lid off his yogurt. “Don’t quote Oscar Wilde at me, Mr. Pennington. ‘Most people’s thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.’” He gave me a pointed look. “You’d do well to remember that.”
I stared at him. He’d responded to my Wilde quote with one of his own? Reagan Wellbridge never ceased to surprise me. There was so much more depth to him than he let most people see.
“Rea-gan.” Layla sucked in a shocked breath and pressed a hand to her chest. “Mind your tone when you’re talking to your CEO, if you please.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Reagan cleared his throat to cut me off. He stuffed a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth, licked the spoon thoroughly, and swallowed. “Sorry,” he said, dropping his gaze demurely.
Layla nodded in smug approval.
What she didn’t notice was that his gaze only dropped to the approximate vicinity of my cock, which had begun thickening behind my fly at the reminder of what his talented tongue could do and only got harder under his attention. I quickly slid back onto the bench before accidentally giving Layla an eyeful, but the situation didn’t improve when Reagan slid in beside me…
Or for the rest of the awkward, frustrating afternoon.
I couldn’t recall how I’d kept my hands and eyes off Reagan our first week on the bus, but doing so now was nearly impossible. Every moment, I was so viscerally aware of the inches between us it required a concerted effort not to let it show. And I craved his intelligent comments, his wry humor, and his sincerity nearly as much as I craved his touch. McGee had been so right when he’d said that three people would make things far more crowded than two… at least when the third person was Layla. I couldn’t wait to get Reagan alone.
We stopped to eat dinner and stretch our legs, and I could see from the strain on Reagan’s face that I wasn’t the only one having difficulty. When we got back to the bus, I gently suggested that Reagan head to my bedroom to call his family in relative privacy, and he took me up on the offer with an enthusiasm that had more to do with escaping the awkwardness than excitement to chat with Patricia and Trent.
I half expected Layla to ask if the offer to use my room extended to her, but she didn’t. And the reason why became clear when Reagan had shut the door to my room behind him.
She let out a breath and smiled broadly. “Finally, some time to catch up just the two of us.”
I studied her face, scanning for any sign of the sexual interest McGee kept talking about, but of course, there was none. She seemed relaxed. Friendly.
I spread my hands. “I think we’ve already covered everything.”
Layla laughed. “About work, yes.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “But how are you, Thatcher? How has the tour been, really? I’m sure it’s been challenging.”
I shrugged, thinking that the most challenging part had been today, mostly due to her arrival.
Layla and I were friends, but not close ones. Certainly not close enough to trade stories about our weeks or talk about our deep feelings. “It’s been great, just as I said. Reagan’s been a trooper, and he’s carried me through more than once.”
Her smile turned cagey. “Your fondness for him makes more sense now that I know you’re friends with his father. I missed that information somehow. I assumed he was a friend of your son’s?—”
“My feelings about Reagan have nothing to do with his father,” I said flatly. “I assure you, I hardly remembered that this week.” Even when I’d tried to remind myself. “Let me be clear, Layla: the success of this tour rests largely on Reagan’s shoulders. I’m not discounting the terrific job you and your team did in planning and providing support, but day to day, it was all him. He engaged the people we met, he knows a ton about our products, he thinks on his feet, and he’s genuinely likable. He’s the sort of person who should be mentored for a much higher position.” I lowered my voice. “And if you disagree, I’d be interested to know why.”
Layla blinked. “I… I do like Reagan. Of course I do. He’s sweet. It’s just…” She sighed. “Look, I know it’s difficult for you to think ill of someone you’ve known for a while. You’re a very constant sort of person, and it’s one of the things I like best about you—once you’ve established a routine or opinion, you rarely change it.”
