Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Two mornings post-discharge, Reagan and I were relaxing on the couch in the sunlit living room of our suite, me with my feet on the coffee table and Reagan with feet propped on the armrest and his head on my shoulder.
I was having a text chat with Thalia about Brant. Apparently, he’d settled into her guest house, started seeing a therapist, would be working for Paul again in a few weeks, and had taken the news that Reagan and I were together better than I expected—meaning he’d rolled his eyes and muttered, “Who didn’t see that coming after the way they looked at each other last summer?” which was probably a fair comment.
Meanwhile, Reagan was DMing Terrance Fisher, who was in talks with HR and my new VP to return to his old marketing job at PennCo, now that Layla had finally agreed to sign a separation agreement in exchange for a more-than-fair severance package. If everything worked out as planned, PennCo’s hierarchy would be restructured, and several new mid-level positions added, which would lead to greater accountability and hopefully prevent another situation like the one Layla had engineered.
Now all that was left on my to-do list was the public claiming of the man I loved. And now that he was feeling better, I was prepared to do just that.
“Come on, Thatcher. Six days of abstaining is a long fucking time,” Reagan grumbled. He looked up at me with those eyes that still reminded me of warm Caribbean waters and made me want to dive right in. “Especially when I’m perfectly and totally well. Want me to prove it? Come with me to the bedroom, and I’ll do jumping jacks.” He lowered his voice to a purr. “Naked jumping jacks.”
“Pretty sure I said seven days last time we talked about this,” I reminded him, although we both knew there was no way we could wait that long. I leaned down and nipped at his plush bottom lip and kissed him deeply but briefly. “But nice try.”
“The doctor didn’t mention waiting at all, though,” Reagan pointed out. “The doctor said listen to your body before doing strenuous physical activity, so that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He pushed himself up to whisper in my ear, “And my body says it really, really needs your co—”
Reagan broke off with a frown when McGee entered the suite, followed by a couple of other people.
“Oh my god.” Reagan glanced at me in a panic, jumping off the sofa to put some distance between us. “Thatcher, Chris Acton is here. And he brought camera people.”
“Oh, good.” I stood, too. “Chris, hey, good to see you again.” I shook the man’s hand and nodded at his companions. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. I know Wisconsin in January isn’t the ideal place to be for an interview.”
He smiled and gripped my hand. “I’d have flown to northern Alaska if you’d asked. It’s not every day I get an exclusive like this.”
Reagan shot me a worried look before he reached out to shake Chris’s hand, too. I bit back my jealousy by remembering the taste of Reagan’s skin was still on the tip of my tongue.
“Come on in and let me know what your crew needs to get started,” I said, gesturing to the seating options of the sofa and chairs or nearby dining area. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
I strode into the bedroom Reagan and I had claimed, retrieved a charcoal sweater from my suitcase, pulled it on over my shirt, and managed to count to five in my head before Reagan followed me. “Why is Chris here?” he demanded in a low voice.
“Because I agreed to another sit-down. Didn’t I mention it?” I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple. “You want to watch, or you want to rest in the bedroom?”
“I believe you know the answer to that question,” Reagan said. He carefully smoothed the front of my sweater. “When have I ever left you alone with Chris Acton or any other media outlet for that matter?”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “We’re both stronger when we’re together, aren’t we?”
He frowned. “Well, yes. Obviously. But be careful—”
I wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him thoroughly, cutting off his protest and leaving him dazed. Excellent. “Let’s go.”
Once Chris’s crew had me miked up and seated, Reagan grabbed a bottle of water from the minifridge and moved away to sit near McGee off camera.
Chris took the chair next to where I sat on the sofa. “Just a reminder, the video will be edited with your approval and be available on our website and YouTube channel. According to our agreement, it will be distributed widely on social media. If there’s interest from other news outlets, we will, of course…”
I listened with half an ear while I glanced over at Reagan again. He looked concerned, and I could tell he was asking McGee if he knew what this interview was about. McGee grinned and leaned in to bump Reagan’s shoulder. I could read his lips when he said, “Trust the boss.”