Page 40 of The Back Forty
He nods like it was just another Tuesday for him. For me, it feels like we just won a war because I've been hounding these guys for at least the past five years now.
We all stand, and Mr. Banks pulls me aside to talk shop. Something about the summer seltzers that Colt just rolled out and bringing them into the gas station chains they own—Ifthey can find the shelf space.
It’s the kind of conversation I’d usually eat up and explain how we can maximize whatever little space they have and convince him why it's a smart move for everyone involved, but I can’t focus. Because over Bob's shoulder, I catch Mark inching closer to Dani who’s clearing off the table.
He’s laying it on a little too thick. Hands in his pockets, stance cocky. His mouth moves, and she offers a tight smile back. It’s polite, but distant. She doesn’t look scared, but she doesn’t look interested in him either and that's a fucking relief.
Then I hear it. Something about meeting up with him for dinner in an hour.
“Excuse me,” I say, cutting off Mr. Banks mid-sentence. I don’t even look at him, just walk. I learned years ago that if they're really that interested, they'll pursue you and I have feeling Mr. Banks will be open to another conversation over email about these seltzers.
“Hey, Dani," I check my watch for extra theatrics, "you ready to catch our dinner reservations?” We both know damn well I haven't made any reservations because that's usually the type of stuff she handles when we travel.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and grateful, and she nods quickly. “Yes, sorry. Another time,” she tells Mark, her voice breezy and light in that way she uses when she’s trying to be nice but firm. He gets the message, nods, and turns away.
Dani gathers her notes and laptop in silence, her body language brisk and businesslike, but the tension is still lingering around her like a fog. We walk out side-by-side and get into the taxi back to the hotel without saying much. The cab ride is only ten minutes, but it feels longer because of the awkward heaviness that's settled between us.
She stares out the window while I stare at her and finally, I break.
“I’ll cancel the whole fucking contract if Mark said anything inappropriate to you just now.”
Her head jerks toward me, brows lifting like I’ve lost my damn mind. A smile ticks at the corner of her lips. “Jesus, Lawson. You can be so intense sometimes.”
I exhale through my nose, jaw tight, fingers tapping against my thigh. “I’m serious.”
She doesn’t tell me what he said. Doesn’t give me a single fucking detail. And for some reason, that burns more than it should.
"It was fine. He didn't say anything inappropriate."
When we reach the hotel, she sighs and pulls her bag onto her shoulder. “Did you really want to get dinner? Because I forgot to make a reservation and am totally fine with room service.”
“Yeah,” I say without thinking. “Let's just do the hotel bar if you're okay with that. I saw they had wings. I’ll swing by your room in thirty minutes?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Okay. Sounds good.”
We split at the elevators, her to the left, me to the right, and I spend the next half hour trying to scrub the day off my skin.
A hot shower, a clean shirt, and still—still—my head is a fucking mess thinking about just how big the presentation was today. And it's not about closing another mega deal for my family, it's about Dani. The way she absolutely crushed it.
I look at my reflection in the hotel room mirror. Black denim. Black T-shirt. Easy, simple. The kind of outfit I don’t have to think about while my thoughts are stuck on the way her voice shook during the first five minutes of that pitch and how it steadied by the end. The way Mark looked at her like she was his latest conquest. The way she looked at me in relief when I offered her an out.
By the time I’m outside her hotel room, I’ve worked myself into a quiet storm of sexual frustration and confusion. I knock once on her door, but she doesn’t answer. I knock again and still nothing.
Pull out my phone—no missed texts, no voicemails. No sign she went down to the bar without me. I knock again, louder this time, the worry curling into my chest like a hook.
“Dani. Open up. It’s Lawson.”
Still no answer.
I knock harder, this time pounding and not caring who might hear me. “Dani!”
“Lawson,” her voice comes from somewhere inside, low and strained, “it’s unlocked. Come in. Ugh.”
I don’t waste another second. I shove the door open and step inside before stopping cold in my racks.
She’s seated on the edge of the bed, her phone still in her hand, fingers visibly trembling. Her knees are pulled together up to her chest, her back straight but rigid like she’s holding herself up with the last scraps of willpower. Her pupils are blown wide and there’s panic etched across every inch of her pretty face.
She looks like she’s unraveling.
