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)
Thatcher frowned in thought, and I couldn’t tell whether he was envisioning a sexy, frozen pioneer or considering my proposition. “Would Flynn feel like I was taking advantage if I used him for a photo op?” he finally asked. “I promised him I’d be a silent partner.”
“We can ask, but he and my brother are savvy businessmen. They recognize the power of press coverage, and I can’t imagine them balking at potentially having Honeybridge Meadery featured in the business section of a national news site… and we could get that kind of coverage if we told them you were going to be there and were willing to take some meetings.”
“True. Okay, I’ll give him a call. If he agrees, I want you to set up the meetings. Don’t be afraid to pitch high-level publications.” He met my eyes. I could see the confidence he had in me, and I wasn’t sure it was warranted.
“Are you sure you want me—”
“Yes,” he said in a low growl. Our eye contact became exponentially more intense.
I swallowed. “I, ah… I mean… wouldn’t someone else in PR do a better job of convincing—”
“No. Besides, this is good practice. If you can’t get them to agree, we can have Layla make some calls tomorrow. Meanwhile, you’ll get experience. When do we need to arrive in Honeybridge? If I know Patricia, she’s expecting you yesterday.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. But obviously, we don’t need to cancel anything already scheduled. We’ll get there when we get there.”
He shook his head. “McGee made a good point about the weather. Spending too much time on the northern roads this time of year isn’t smart.”
Thatcher pulled out his phone and made a call. “Layla. Change of plans. Instead of flying to Omaha tomorrow, I’m going to need you to fly to Portland later this week. Yes, Portland. No, the one in Maine. I’m making some changes to the tour schedule.” With every clipped sentence out of Thatcher’s mouth, I could hear Layla’s voice rise in pitch, but it didn’t seem to bother Thatcher. As he spoke, I felt his leg slide between mine under the table and press my knees open. I glanced up at him in surprise to see a dirty, teasing look on his face.
“Reagan and I will still attend the event in Omaha,” he continued. “But everything after that will need to be canceled. We’re going to push on to Maine directly. January will arrange replacement drivers so we can make good time. Should arrive by…” He lifted an eyebrow at me, and I did some quick googling.
“Tuesday night,” I murmured. Today was Sunday. The Omaha event would finish by lunchtime tomorrow, and the drive to Honeybridge would take at least twenty-four hours. I shot my mother a quick text letting her know to expect not only me but Thatcher and his crew as well.
“Tuesday night,” he said into the phone. “January will send you the details of where to meet us. I’ll be staying with friends, but I’m sure we can find you a room in a nice ho—”
I shook my head at him. Sold out, I mouthed. All the hotels in the Honeybridge area sold out around the festival.
“H-home of some friends as well, perhaps,” he finished awkwardly. “I’ll have January figure it out and let you know.”
Once he finished the call, he phoned his assistant to discuss the necessary arrangements. Within a half hour, January had reported back that she’d made arrangements with my mother to house Thatcher’s “people” in our guest wing while Thatcher, who was “practically family,” according to my mother, would stay in the family wing with us. The very idea of Thatcher staying in JT’s old room right near mine made me squirm.
When he got off the phone, Thatcher must have noticed a look on my face. “You’re upset.”
“No! Not upset.” Not exactly.
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want me staying at your parents’ house?”
I sighed and lowered my voice so McGee couldn’t hear me over the sound of the road. “Of course I want you to stay with us. I just…”
His lips turned up. “You’re worried I’m going to make you scream my name under your mother’s roof.”
I loved the fact he knew it would be my mother rather than my father who would mortify me. But that wasn’t it either. The truth was, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep my giant crush on my boss a secret from my family. “You’re not going to make me scream because you’re not going to touch my dick in Honeybridge.”
“Oh, yeah?” Thatcher’s eyes flared as if accepting a challenge. He sat back and crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Is your dick on board with that decision, Reagan?”
My dick was actively urging my big mouth to shut it. “M-maybe not, but, um… also…” I tried to block out the mental images dancing their way across my vision. “Also, my goal is to convince my parents that I’m serious about a career in social media. Like, serious enough that my dad will give me a job working for his campaign. And that’s not going to happen if they catch wind of us…” I gestured between us with a flapping hand. “Doing whatever.”