Page 39 of The Back Forty
“I swear to god,” she mutters, pacing toward the floor-to-ceiling window and peeking down at the parking lot again. “Are they even coming? This is extremely unprofessional.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, just takes another gulp of coffee like it might infuse her with courage. I open my mouth, finally about to say something encouraging when a booming voice cuts through the room like a thunderclap.
“Good afternoon, Marshall family!”
Dani jumps like she’s been shot. Her mug sloshes coffee over her hand and she winces, quickly swiping it on the back of her jeans so that they don't notice. Her expression is pure deer-in-headlights as two men step through the door, all denim, big belts, boots and oil-rich swagger.
Okay. It’s go time. Time to act like the boss that she needs.
I rise from my chair and make my way over, drawing myself to full height and stretching out a hand to cut in before they start grilling her with questions.
“Lawson Marshall,” I say, voice smooth and steady. "I believe we've spoken a few times on the phone."
The taller one steps forward, grin spreading across a broad face. He’s younger than I expected—early forties maybe—with dark brown hair just starting to gray at the temples. His jeans and button-down look are practically identical to my usual uniform. He looks like the kind of guy who grew up baling hay but now owns a private jet and half of the world's oil. Probably spends his money foolishly too judging by the designer sunglasses clipped to his collar.
“Nice to finally meet the man who’s been hounding us for years,” he says with a chuckle. His eyes slide immediately past me, locking on Dani like she’s dessert.
I stiffen.
“This is Daniela Alba,” I say, shifting slightly so I’m blocking part of his view. “My Vice President of Sales and Marketing. She’ll be handling the pitch today.”
The grin on his face turns smug. Too greedy and lingers for way too long. I hate every second that he spends looking at her.
“Mark Vincent,” he says, extending a hand to her. “And the pleasure’s all mine.”
Dani, ever the pro, steps forward with a smile I know she doesn’t mean. She takes his hand, firm but polite. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vincent.”
“This here’s my VP of Sales and Retail, Bob Banks,” Mark adds, gesturing to a man behind him who looks like he’s been working in oil since the first barrel came out of the ground. “He's the guy who decides what gets put on the shelves at our gas stations, so you'll want to impress him today. Now, let’s sit down and see what Ms. Alba has to offer us.” He claps once, loud and jarring, and starts moving toward the conference room table.
Before Dani can follow, I reach for her wrist to stop her. She freezes, eyes snapping to mine. Her skin is warm and soft like butter beneath my fingertips, and I can feel her pulse fluttering, fast and anxious.
“You good?” I ask, my voice soft enough that only she can hear me ask.
She nods quickly, but I see it. Her eyes aren’t steady, and her lips press too tightly together. She seems wound up and it’s more than usual. She's not good, but she will be.
“I’m right here if you need me,” I say, still holding on. Not letting her go just yet. "Just give me a look and I'll jump in. Only if you need it."
“Okay,” she whispers, then clears her throat. “Yeah. I’m good.”
I nod and make myself smile. “You’ve got this.” And finally, I let go.
And forty minutes later, I’m sitting back in my chair, arms crossed, and lips curled into pride as Dani lands her first multi-million dollar pitch for our distillery like an expert.
She’s magnetic. She started out shaky, a little fidgety, shifting her weight, adjusting that damn hat like it was suddenly glued to her scalp and she wanted to toss it off, but once she found her footing, she didn’t just settle in. She soared. Calm, persuasive, sharp as hell. I could practically see the moment she remembered who the fuck she is, a woman who used to close million-dollar deals in tech boardrooms before most of these men knew how to spell “vertical integration.”
And now she’s standing in front of them, charming them with cowgirl warmth and small town intelligence, and I’m watching her like a man possessed.
Proud, yes.
But also deeply, inappropriately, irrevocably obsessed with her. Which is a problem. Because she’s still employed by my family, and I’m still her damn boss.
But fuck, she was a vision. Poised, confident, magnetic in that cowgirl hat that she had no business pulling off as well as she did. These guys never stood a chance and neither did I.
“Any other questions, you can shoot us an email, and we’ll respond,” I say, leaning back in my chair, twisting slightly so I can finally breathe again.
Mark and Mr. Banks both nod their heads, satisfaction written all over their smug oil baron faces.
“We’re good,” Bob says. “We’ll send over contracts, pricing, and agreements by the end of week. Dani, appreciate the presentation.”
