Page 11 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

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 want them ”—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.”

“Good.” He taps his pen once more and then glances back at the papers on his desk. “I have a stack of resumes from when we posted your job last summer. I dropped them off in your room. Do you need anything else to get started?”

I shake my head, even though I kind of want to stay in this strange little bubble that we’re in—late-night Lawson with his glasses on and his compliments flying like I didn’t have to pry them out of him with tweezers. The place where he refers to my bedroom at his house as my room.

But I know this version doesn’t last. It can’t last. So, I rise from the chair.

“If you need anything for your room, let me know,” he says, without looking up.

And that’s it. The bubble pops. The moment’s over. I close his office door gently behind me, heart thudding a little too fast as I head upstairs to my room.

My room, which feels more mine than it should—greets me with quiet and warm lamp light. I plug in my phone, grab my charger, and drop onto the bed, still reeling from my new title.

Then I open our group chat, the one that’s been going strong for months now with my four best friends in Whitewood Creek, who also happen to be Lawson’s sister-in-law’s, sister, and their childhood best friend.

Dani: Oh my god, y’all will never guess what just happened.

Rae: TELL US

Molly: What?!

Dani: Lawson just promoted me to VP OF SALES AND MARKETING

Regan: ??

Dani: YOU KNEW?

Regan: Yes, he told me he was going to do it last night.

Dani: OMG and you didn’t tell me??

Regan: I knew he’d deliver the news horribly, and I wanted him to squirm while having to give you a compliment. Did you make him beg?

Dani: No, but maybe I should have.

Rae: That’s amazing!!! So well deserved.

Molly: Agreed. Seriously, you’ve crushed it this year. Colt—Mr. Man-of-Few-Words—won’t shut up about that interview you did about the whiskey in New York last week. Said it sounded like you were born and bred a Marshall.

I stare at the screen, chest warming, heart thudding, and brain still spinning from everything that just happened. From what he said. From the look in his eyes when he said it. But that’s not what has me reeling. It’s Molly’s casual words. Born and bred a Marshall, huh?

Dangerous territory, that thought.

My friends continue to compliment me and sing my praises through text, and it warms my heart. Those are my love language. Words. Affirmation. Telling me I’m doing a good job. That I matter. That what I’m pouring my whole heart into is noticed.

And I have poured myself into this job. Every pitch, every campaign, every late-night brainstorm while inhaling Beckham’s leftover pizza at the kitchen table and covering for Lawson when he’s on the road and needs someone to stay behind.

Every hotel room prep to be sure Lawson was prepared for whatever next they’d swing his way, even the new ads that we’re running on TV for our eggs, it all came from me this year.

This last year has been a full-body deep dive into learning, adapting, pushing past burnout, and constantly trying to live up to Lawson’s impossibly high standards.

And I did. Hell, I crushed them. And I’m proud of that. I’m proud of me and how far I've come from the life and girl I was in California that I left behind. I check my phone again and type up a response.

Dani: Thanks, guys. Okay, one more thing. I need to hire a replacement for me .

Rae: Oh FUN. Can we help?

Molly: Yes. Let’s interview them. Definitely don’t want some weirdo lurking around the Marshall property with creepy vibes. I can run background checks at the precinct for free.

Dani: Honestly… that’s not a bad idea. I’m about to go through this stack of resumes Lawson left in my room. He said they were people who applied for the job before he hired me a year ago. I’ll see if any of them are still interested and make some calls tomorrow.

Rae: Wait. Hold up. He left them in your room?

Molly: Yeah, why is he in your room? ??

Dani: Oh, I’m staying at his house this week because Catalina’s in town. She took my room at Isla’s condo, of course, kicked me to the couch.

Regan: … Now that’s something he didn’t mention last night.

Dani: Probably because it’s not a big deal. I’m in the room I normally use when I stay over to help with Beckham. That’s all it is.

Rae: …

Molly: Interesting .

Dani: No. No, it’s not interesting.

Lydia: It’s fascinating, actually.

Dani: Where did you come from, Lydia?

Lydia: Just here. Lurking. Picking out my interview outfit to help you hire your back up. Wondering why we didn’t ask for headshots in advance so we can pull out the hot ones.

Dani: This is not The Bachelor: Assistant Edition.

Lydia: Okay, but what if it was? Could be my future boyfriend, considering literally everyone else is coupled up now and I’m the only single person left in this whole town.

Dani: Hey , I’m not coupled up. I'm single!

Regan: That reminds me—Hayes’s coworker at the hospital asked for your number.

Dani: Who ?

Regan: Pierson .

Dani: I literally have no idea who that is.

Regan: I gave it to him.

Dani: Okay?!

Regan: ??

Lydia: INTERVIEW TIME.

Molly: This is already getting out of hand, and I can hear Colt’s voice in my head saying, ‘Molly, don’t you dare turn hiring for our family into a thirst trap event.’

Molly : I’m out.

Rae: I’m IN! Casting call, baby. America's Next Top Marketing Assistant Edition!

Regan : I'm in too!

Dani: Okay! Okay. I’ll text you all tomorrow with the details once I get things scheduled.

Lydia: WOOHOO! I’m wearing heels.

◆◆◆

I grin as I turn off my phone and place it face down on the nightstand, the screen still faintly glowing with Lydia’s celebration GIF. Then I collapse onto my back, arms spread wide like I’m making a snow angel on top of the covers, my gaze landing on the ceiling fan lazily spinning above me.

I’m going to be a VP.

Vice. President.

Of the Marshall family businesses.

It has a nice ring to it. Like a melody I’d like to replay repeatedly.

The Marshall’s don’t hire many full time staff that aren’t family or family adjacent but they have a few who work the egg farm and distillery.

They’re kind folks I’ve interacted with over the last year while gathering material for pitches and marketing plans.

This feels even bigger than that.

And yeah, it’s terrifying. It’s going to be a beast of a year. We just finished our two year roadmap and have twice the workload. Bigger expectations and now I’ll have a brand new assistant that I’ll need to train and I’m living under the same roof as Lawson for the next few days.

But still, I can’t help the little thrill that zips down my spine.

This?

This feels right.

Like I earned it. Like I belong here. Like blowing up my entire life in California wasn’t all for nothing and even better things are on the horizon.

I can’t wait to see what they are.