Page 15 of The Back Forty
He'd told me I was soft and though that usually meant I'd throw my own challenge back at him, coffee is one thing I don't play about.
“Can’t you just tell her it’s your room?” he asks, like it’s that simple.
I snort. “That’s not how things work with Catalina. She’s older, type A, emotionally fragile right now with everything her and her boyfriend are going through, and also, she’s a little bit terrifying. You'll see if you meet her when she’s in town.”
He shrugs and leans back, stretching his long legs out in front of him like this still isn't a big deal. “Can’t wait.”
"And plus, this is supposed to be our time off before the big holiday rush of traveling. I'm finally in town for a meaningful stretch, and she decides that's when she wants to visit. Ugh."
“Then just sleep in your room at my house.”
I blink. “My room?”
He doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t look up. Just pulls out the newspaper he bought at the littleHudsonstand, already flipping to the crossword puzzle like he didn’t just casually refer to the guest room at his house—the one I only use when he’s not there and needs someone to be the adult for Beckham—asmyroom.
I stare at him for a beat, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. And yeah, I’ve slept there. A lot. But never when he’s been in town and at the house too. That feels… different. Intimate, somehow. Crossing a line that we’ve worked hard to maintain.?
He smirks without looking up. “What? Staying at my place is that bad? You do it all the time.”
“Not when you’re there,” I mutter, heat crawling up the back of my neck.
He shrugs again and reaches for his pen to start scribbling in 3-down like we haven’t just taken one very subtle, very irreversible step toward something I’m not entirely sure we’re ready for because once you start seeing where your boss shits, can you ever go back?
He folds the newspaper neatly and sets it on his lap before turning to face me.
“I’m not a slob, Dani. You know that. I’ve got housekeeping coming every week to keep up with the dust because I’m rarely there, and Regan just restocked the fridge since I’m sticking around for the next two weeks to help with State Fair prep. So, what exactly is the problem? There’s food, your own shower, and a bed that I heard you tell Isla on more than one occasion ′feels like sleeping with a bear hug.′”
I lift a shoulder with a snort because yes, I did say those words and then, stir my tea with the straw.
“Because you’re my boss.It’s weird. You’re going to be… I don’t know… evaluating how I make my cereal.”
That earns a laugh. He folds up the newspaper and bops me on the head with it like a disapproving older brother. “Dani, I’malwaysevaluating you. Plus, I know you put the milk in first, I saw you do it once in Philly at that hotel breakfast, and honestly, I’m a bit concerned I’ve been working with a psychopath for the last year.”
I roll my eyes and sip. “Oh, please.”
“I’m serious. Your performance is under constant review,” he deadpans.
“Well, in that case,” I say, dragging out the words, “I’m definitely sleeping on my sister’s couch and not at your house.”
“If I have to hear about this damn couch one more time, I’m going to lose it,” he mutters, reaching for his water bottle.
I bite down on a smile and shake my head. “Fine. I’ll sleep in your guest room. But if I so much as catch you grading how I crack and scramble my eggs, I’m out.”
“You wound me,” he says, one hand to his chest like I’ve accused him of murder. “Plus, we all know the only way to eat eggs is over-hard.”
“If you’re a murderer.”
“I’m offering you shelter. I wouldn’t accuse me of being a murderer.”
I huff out a breath. “I know,” I say dramatically. “And I appreciate it. But let’s not forget who rescheduled your entire Midwest tour when the vendor dropped out last minute. I do you favors too.”
He chuckles low and soft. “That you do. You’re a great assistant, Dani.”
“Speaking of,” I say, pulling out my phone and tapping to bring up an email. “A Jeannine Underwood has been blowing up our inbox. She’s trying to schedule a meeting with you. Wants to discuss a ‘potential collaboration.’” I glance at him over the top of my phone. “Is this for business or…” I let the rest of that question hang because he knows exactly what I’m asking.
Business or pleasure?
He doesn’t answer right away so I whisper it, “Is it a collaboration with your penis and her vagina?”
