Page 36 of The Back Forty
I tell myself it’s the first and last time I’ll allow that. Because tomorrow, it’s back to business. Back to our routine. Boss and employee. Boundaries locked up tight.
And damn if I’m gonna fuck up what we have.
Butfuckif I don’t already feel the fault line cracking.
Chapter 14 – Dani
The flight to Texas takes exactly three hours.
That’s three long hours of forced proximity with Lawson that I wasn’t sure I could handle after what happened last night.
After he walked in.
After I came with his name like a ghost slipping from my lips, the vibrator clattering against the wall. I looked up to find him standing there. Like sin incarnate. Broad shoulders, unreadable eyes, and that maddening calm that made me feel anything but.
If Lawson’s been holding onto what he saw, what I was doing, how flushed and wrecked I was with the taste of his name still lingering, he hasn’t shown it. Not even a flicker. Just business as usual this morning, like he didn’t walk in on me unraveling to the idea of his hands, his mouth, his everything. Hopefully he missed the part where I moaned his name and chalked it up to shock. You know, the natural response to being caught mid-orgasm by your boss.
And that’s maybe the best and worst part about working with Lawson Marshall. He’s a fortress. Solid and unshakeable. So emotionally locked down I could set myself on fire and he’d offer me a bucket of water without blinking.
It used to annoy me, hell, sometimes it still does because it's quite the opposite of me, but this morning I’m thankful for it. I’m clinging to that detachment he's so good at displaying like a lifeline. Because if I look too long, if I think too hard, I’ll fall right back into the memory of the way he looked at me in the dim lighting of the doorway. Like he wanted to devour me and couldn’t decide if he hated himself for it.
Or maybe I imagined that. Either way, we're working like nothing happened and I'm hoping we can put it all behind us.
We spend the whole flight going over my pitch for later today, his voice low and calm as he rattles off tweaks and suggestions, while I type furiously beside him, grateful for something to anchor me. Grateful for the distraction. I don’t let myself wonder if he’s watching my hands. If he remembers the way they trembled last night underneath the vibration of my toy.
He booked us first-class seats “to have more space to work,” he’d said, which surprised me. Lawson’s a coach guy through and through, always claiming the business doesn’t need unnecessary expenses. But here we are, with extra leg room, better coffee, and a breakfast that takes the edge off the hangover still ringing faintly behind my eyes.
Maybe he knew I needed this.
I sip my third cup of black coffee even though I know I shouldn’t. My hands are already a little jittery and my nerves are playing double-dutch in my chest. I've cut back considerably since my stroke last summer but today warrants a little extra I tell myself.
He pushes those black glasses he only wears occasionally up onto his nose as he glances down at my computer screen.
“You’ve got this I've been prepping them for years and they came to us this time. It's an open and close deal. They're eager for our product.”
He says it so confidently like it’s nothing. Like I haven’t been unraveling inside every time I think about it.
It’s the end of October in Houston, which is merciful compared to the last time we came out here in July. Then, the heat felt like a personal vendetta and the humidity a scarf tied tightly around my neck. This time, it’s breezy and still warm but manageable. I’m trying to take it as a good sign that today will be the same way.
We check into the hotel and drop our bags. The pitch is later this afternoon, so we’re just here for the night before heading back to Whitewood Creek. I tell myself it’s no big deal. Just a shared ride. A shared hotel floor. A shared city until I’m back on safer ground.
Just a shared everything.
That’s what we do. One time, we were both starving and our flights got cancelled, so we split the last poke bowl in the entire airport.
We share stuff. It’s kind of our thing.
Like last night. Shared a laugh. Shared a moment. At my expense.
He heads to his room to shower and change, and I drop my bags off in mine before heading down to the hotel restaurant early to review my notes. I order a tall glass of ice water and settle into a barstool, flipping through my tablet and quietly running through the first few lines of the pitch under my breath.
“You want any food, sweetheart?” the bartender asks. She’s got warm, green eyes and a silver nose ring, probably just a few years older than me and totally chic cute.
I smile. “Nah, just this water. Thank you.” Despite wanting another cup of coffee, I know I need to slow down and chill out.
She nods, already turning away, when her gaze snags on something, or someone, over my right shoulder. Her whole posture shifts instantly as her eyes widen.
“Holy shit,” she breathes. “Look at that guy.”
