Page 70 of The Back Forty
"I never doubted you,” I tell her.
She nods but still doesn't meet my eye. “Do you want to handle the pitch?” I ask.
She blinks. “Without you?” her voice lifts in surprise, brows jumping.
I shrug, even though my chest squeezes. “Yeah. I mean, I’ll still be there. But if you want to take the lead, I think you more than proved yourself in Texas last week.”
She presses her lips together, rolls them between her teeth like she’s weighing something. “So, you’d still come?”
I pause. because does she not want me to? “Yeah,” I say slowly. “Is that an issue?”
She doesn’t answer right away and then it hits me. She’s not asking about logistics. She’s asking if Ineedto be there. If I’m hovering. If my presence makes things harder or more complicated. Maybe she thinks I don’t trust her to do this on her own. But I do. Hell, she’s the best damn person I’ve ever worked with.
Now, yes, the whole reason I hired her was so I could stay home more, get some balance back. But I haven’t done that. I’ve followed her from state to state, week after week, like some lovesick teenager pretending I’m still in control because I love my job. I love feeling like I'm valuable and contributing to the family business. And if I didn't go, what the hell would I even do? I'd feel like I was letting someone down or not doing enough.
Plus, I like being the one she talks to on the plane instead of some stranger just passing through who gets to make her laugh. I like sharing a hotel bar at night and watching her scribble notes in the margins of pitch decks or do our crossword puzzles together.
I like the way she looks when she’s all business. Focused. Fierce. Untouchable.
I’ve been greedy with her and didn’t even realize it.
“If you don’t want me to come, I won’t,” I say finally. “I don’t want you to think I’m flying out there because I don’t think you can handle it. You can. You’ve proven that to me repeatedly.”
She’s quiet. Then nods slowly, and I can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed. “It might be good to have you there,” she sayseventually. “You’re comfortable with the CEO, and you’re still the face of the company. This is a big pitch so the connection would be good.”
“For now,” I say, reaching under the table and resting my hand lightly on her thigh again, not possessive this time, but grounding. “But please hear me, Dani. You can do this without me and you're just as much the face of this as I am now.”
She looks down at my hand and I can sense there's something heavier on her mind.
“Look at me,” I murmur.
She does. And I soften my grip, drag my thumb in a slow, steady arc against the inside of her knee.
“Don’t go getting all in your head about Texas. What happened there wasn't a big deal." I'm lying because it was. I was terrified for her. I didn't know what was happening and I didn't know how to help her. Seeing her like that showed me her humanity, showed me a softer, more vulnerable side of her that I've refused to see because I didn't want to. Because if I saw it, I knew I'd fall for her.
And just as I suspected, I did. Hard.
"I trust you. Hell, I might trust you more than I trust my brothers and sister.”
Her mouth parts, her lashes flutter, and I know I’ve landed a direct hit. And it’s the complete truth.
“I believe you,” she says quietly.
“Good. Thank you.”
She shifts in her chair. “So, what’s next?”
“We get back from Minnesota, have a day here, then prep for theGood Afternoon, New Orleansinterview. They want to knowabout the holiday drinks we have planned and have questions about the expansion we’re doing on our egg farm.”
“Right. I got the interview questions from their producer already. Emailed them over and jotted down some answers I figured you’d want to cover.”
“Of course you did,” I murmur, and that fondness creeps into my voice again. “Thanks for doing that, sweetheart.”
She stiffens then clears her throat. “Maybe… maybe you shouldn’t call me that anymore.”
I lean back, my hand falling from her thigh again. I study her. “Why not?”
She shifts in her seat, curls her fingers around her glass like a shield. “Because it’s… not appropriate.”
