Page 20 of The Back Forty
“Okay but like... maybe a heads-up? A compliment first? Tell me why I deserve this promotion. You can’t just drop a pay increase on me like it’s a work assignment. I need some sort of validation. Words of affirmation is my love language.”
He groans, tipping his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Really?”
“What can I say? I’m a needy bitch.”
He laughs, low and raspy, and I swear I feel it in my chest. “That you are,” he says, shaking his head. “But you earned this, Dani.”
There’s something in the way he says it. Something soft and proud and a little unguarded for our usual banter and business conversations.
And for half a second, I forget that we’re coworkers. That there are lines I’m supposed to keep drawn and boundaries I’m not supposed to blur. Because this version of Lawson—the relaxed, half-smiling, late-night one—is dangerous.
Either way, I need to pull it together. Because he’s still my boss and I'm living under his roof as a major courtesy to me for the next fourteen days. Decisions were made, boundaries were set (in my head), and I need to start acting like it no matter the fact that he has dimples and glasses.
"I'm still waiting on those words of affirmation," I tease with a smile as he smirks and shakes his head.
He blows out a breath like he’s preparing himself. “Dani,” his warm eyes are serious as he sits forward, leveling me with one of those intense looks that he gives interviewers right before he tells them all the amazing things that the Marshall family is doing and why he’s proud of our work.
“You’ve been an incredible Sales and Marketing Assistant this past year,” Lawson says, his voice steady and sincere. “We wouldn’t have hit the growth numbers we did across the businesses without your leadership. You took the weight off my shoulders. Gave me time back with my son. That means more to me than you know. Hiring you was one of the best decisions I’ve made. Perhaps the best ever.”?
My mouth drops open for the second time tonight. I blink at him, trying to process the actual, honest-to-God words that he just said. Because in a full year of working for him, that might be the nicest thing he's ever said.
“Damn,” I say softly, and a little breathless. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He chuckles, low and warm, and picks up his glasses from the desk again, sliding them back onto his face like he doesn’t realize how dangerous that action is. No man should be allowed to look that good while giving a compliment and accessorizing like a superhero.
My brain short-circuits as I stare at him, blinking hard. Someone needs to pry those glasses off his face and hide them. For the safety of my sanity.
And my pussy.
“Don’t get used to it,” he says, like he didn’t just rearrange my entire insides and change my brain chemistry with a few words and a casual smile. “I think I’m tapped out with all the mushy stuff. You know that shit isn’t my style. That’s why we work well together.”
Before I can collect my dignity, he keeps going. “Anyhow, as part of your new role, I need you to hire a new you.”
I blink again. “A new me?”
“Yeah,” he says, tapping a pen against his notepad. “You get a Marketing and Sales Assistant now. We’re doubling down this next year—more events, more press, more campaigns. You’ll need help. So, I’m promoting you…and giving you someone to boss around. I figured you’d love that.”
I smirk. “Careful, you’re feeding my Goddess complex.”
“You say that like it’s not already fully formed.”
“Fair,” I admit, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Does this mean you’re cutting back on travel?”
“No,” he says, quick and flat, already glancing back at the papers on his desk like the conversation is over.
I narrow my eyes. “Then what exactly do you want this new guy I’m going to hire do?”
That gets his attention. His gaze flicks up, sharp. One brow arches and something in his expression shifts. He immediately looks less relaxed and more focused.
“Guy?” he echoes. “Why are you already assuming it’s a he that you’re going to hire? You have someone in mind?”
And I swear—for half a second—there’s a flicker of something in his tone that’s not entirely professional. Territorial, maybe. Protective. Jealous? No. Couldn’t be. Not Lawson. Why would he be jealous or upset that I suggested I’ll be hiring a male marketing assistant.
“No,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I don’t know why I said that. It just slipped out as a reference point.”
Lawson doesn’t smile. He scratches his jaw, something unreadable moving behind those glasses. “I wantthem”—he emphasizes the word with deliberate calm—“to handle the product roadmap, campaigns, materials, ads, copy. All the things we don’t have time to do when we’re on the road handling interviews and doing pitches to get our product in the doors. They’ll need to be based in town, so make sure they’re okay to relocate or already live in Whitewood Creek. Occasionally I’ll need them to travel, but it’s likely you and I will continue to cover that front.”
I nod, my brain already sprinting toward logistics, job descriptions and resumes. “Got it, boss.”
