Page 31 of The Back Forty (Whitewood Creek Farm #5)

“Elijah was my last boss,” she says, her voice soft. “The job that I had before this one.”?

I nod once. “Okay.”

“And I also dated him. We were in a relationship.”

I feel that. Low in my gut. Jealousy. I rub my jaw. “I see. What did he do?” Because there has to be a story for why they broke up, she quit her job and moved to the opposite side of the country.

“More like what didn’t he do,” she mutters.

She stares past me for a second, then takes a long sip of her tea like it’ll wash the memory down.

“He hired me. I didn’t know anything about tech sales, and he took a chance on me fresh out of school.

Said he’d mentor me. And he did. I learned everything from him.

I was hooked on the high of it all. Hungry.

Then he took me out to dinner one night and said it was to talk about strategy.

It was, but there was more to his approach. ”

My stomach knots. I don’t say anything. Just let her keep going.

“I didn’t think dating him was smart, but he was charming and intelligent. He knew the business inside and out. Said I had potential. Said he saw something in me no one else did and he was willing to teach me everything he knew and bring me up with him if I'd only let him.”

Her voice cracks. She covers it with a laugh. A brittle one.

“And then it turned sexual. Fast. Suddenly, I was more than just his star employee, I was the one he took on business trips. The one he paraded around. The one he made promises to.”

I grip the edge of the table so tight my knuckles pop. “And then what?”

“I stayed in the relationship for too long,” she cuts in, like the words might burn if she keeps them inside any longer. “Longer than I should’ve.”

“I see.”

“And then… I moved in with him. Catalina was in her residency, and I needed a place to live that wasn’t with her and her crazy hours if I was ever going to keep pace with Elijah and his employees. I thought it’d be temporary.”

My chest tightens, but I just nod. “Hm…”

“And then things just escalated.” She exhales hard through her nose.

“I was working fourteen-hour days. Every day. Weekends too. He kept pushing me. Telling me to work harder, be better, do more. And I let him. I wanted to be good for him. I wanted to be the best. And I think… I think a part of me just needed someone to tell me I was doing a good job. My whole life, that’s what I’ve chased.

Approval.” She laughs and shakes her head.

“Middle child problems. First from my parents, then from him. They say the wounds you have from your childhood spill into adulthood if you don’t address them, and damn if that isn't true. He was older, smarter and polished. I thought he knew everything, and I wanted to prove that I could keep up with the competitive industry. So, I just never turned it off.”

I watch her closely, my chest burning with the pain behind her words.

“I never shut it off and neither did he,” she repeats, voice softer now.

“We’d work all day, travel for meetings, come home and talk strategy over dinner, stats over drinks, quarterly goals while we were in bed together.

I’d try to zone out, throw on a movie or something light to clear my mind, and he’d start asking about conversion rates or product KPIs and I'd have to pause it to focus on his drill sergeant like questions. Sometimes I’d try to sleep at night, but he’d wake me up to ask if I'd followed up on a lead. In my gut I knew it was bizarre and unhealthy, but I couldn’t get myself out of it and I wanted to succeed.

I was in so deep wanting to please him and never let him down. ”

Her eyes are glassy now, locked on a memory that I can’t see.

“My brain was on fire. I started downing energy drinks because I didn’t want to sleep and miss out on a potential opportunity.

I was driving all over Los Angeles dangerously.

Caffeine to stay awake, wine to fall asleep.

It spiraled fast. And by the time I realized how deep I was, I couldn’t see a way out.

My whole world was work, and my whole identity was tied to that career and him.

And then the panic attacks started coming back.

Like they did in college except much worse and constant.

I finally got on medication, just to survive it. ”

I clench my jaw. Jesus. All this time, I didn’t know she’d been carrying this much.

She blows out another breath and her voice drops to a whisper. “And then it peaked. Completely crashed. I was in the city, just finished a major pitch, I nailed it, by the way, and then I woke up in the hospital. No memory of how I got there. Stroke in the middle of a presentation.”

“Damn.” I lean in and squeeze her leg like I can hold her together with just my hand. “That’s—Dani, that’s a lot.”

She nods. “Yeah. Catalina was the one sitting at my bedside. She told me directly I needed to change, or I was gonna die. I tried to reason a less drastic approach, but the cardio doctor reinforced that point. I knew it. So, I broke up with Elijah, quit my job, moved out, moved here and took this job. I moved in with Isla and completely started over.”

I nod slowly. “I see.”

“And seeing Catalina this morning reminded me of all that. Of how far I’ve come. Of how good I’ve been doing. I just... I can’t go back.” Her voice wobbles and suddenly, I see it. I understand now why she’s been pulling away. Why she’s been cautious. Why that conversation in the doorway shook her.

“And you think I’m like Elijah,” I state.

It’s not a question. It’s a realization. That she’s comparing me to this asshole who never let her have a second to herself. Never gave her a moment to decompress and only wanted to talk about work and metrics.

Am I driven? Sure, but I know how to take a break and talk about something other than business.

She flinches. “No. No, I don’t. But Lawson, our whole relationship begins and ends with work.

Our lives revolve around the Marshall businesses and it's true, I do want to please you.

I work hard and overthink because I don't want to let you down. That's just in my nature to do.” She says it gently, like she’s trying not to break me. But it still lands like a punch.

“I mean, you got me to stay tonight so we could talk about work. When we’re alone, we usually talk about work. We travel for work, eat together for work, sit next to each other on planes and in meetings and car rides and—”

“Not always,” I interrupt, my voice tight with irritation.

She gives me a look. “No, not always. But enough. And that’s what it was like with Elijah at first too.

I thought we could separate things once we started sleeping together.

I thought I could handle it. But all we ever did was have sex and talk about work.

That was my whole life. I didn’t exist outside of it.

I lost myself in my career and forgot who I was.

I’m terrified of doing that again but this time with you.

I’m scared because this is my health on the line. It's not just my heart; it's my life.”

I wince. Not because she’s right or wrong, but because she’s lumping me and her ex in the same category and I hate it. I hate knowing I remind her of a man who used her up until there was nothing left and then ditched her in a hospital bed to claw her way out.

And I hate that she can’t see I would never do that to her. But most of all, I hate that she’s scared.

I drag a hand down my face and tug at the back of my neck, already retreating into myself like I always do when it feels like I’m being misunderstood and not given a chance to explain.

I wish I was better about that. But old habits dig in deep and Dani's right about one thing, the wounds of your childhood perpetuate in adulthood if you let them.

And right now, I can feel my own childhood wounds rearing their ugly head.

“Okay.”

She blinks. “Okay? That’s it?”

I nod and shove back from the table, grabbing both our plates and stalking over to the sink.

“Dani, despite what you might think, I’m capable of talking about something besides work. I know that’s what we talk about the most, but I thought we were friends too. I thought our connection went beyond the boardroom.”

I scrub at the dishes like I can clean away the ache that’s formed in my chest.

“But if that’s all you want, just a boss, just a colleague, I can be that. I’ll back off. I get it, so, yeah, okay.”

Even if it kills me to not be able to touch you again.

“And for the record,” I say, turning to face her, hands dripping with suds, “I’m not going to compete with a ghost. I don’t know Elijah, I don’t care to. But I’m not interested in fighting for space in your life and mind with a man who doesn’t belong in it anymore.”

She doesn’t say anything, and the silence thickens. I feel my own frustration building under my ribs like steam in a pressure cooker. I rinse one of the plates and set it on the drying rack, trying to distract myself.

“You’re mad at me,” she says quietly.

“I’m not.”

“Lawson—”

“I’m not.” I’m not yelling; I’m not even raising my voice. But my response is firm, clipped and controlled.

“We have to be able to communicate if we’re going to keep working together,” she says.

“I think we’re communicating just fine.”

She pushes out a breath. “Do you honestly think this—trying to have something more with each other—would be a good idea?”

I let the second dish clatter back into the sink and spin around to face her. Her eyes meet mine and for once I don’t hide anything.

“Yeah. I do. Because I fucking like you , Dani. Not in some casual, passing way. In a real way that's built on a year's worth of friendship and inside jokes while trying not to stare too close at your pretty face. I’ve tried not to, I told myself you were my employee, but it’s there, that desire and need to be close to you, and frankly, I'm convinced it was unstoppable once I got to know you on a personal level. And yeah, maybe I’m a little in over my head here because I went from holding back to wanting to taste your pussy, wanting to feel you come apart on my face every fucking second of the day and night, but I like being in too deep with you.”

I exhale a ragged breath. “But I’m not gonna push you.

I’m not gonna beg anymore. I already said, I’m not competing with a guy who’s nothing like me.

I understand your concern for your health.

So, go upstairs, get some rest. Let me finish the damn dishes while I try to wrap my head around how I’m going to work next to you and not think about kissing you. ”

She doesn’t move. For a second I think she might walk over, might say something that pulls us back from the edge that we’re teetering on. So much for hope. Instead, she says softly,

“I’m actually leaving tonight Lawson. I figured it’d be better if I went back to Isla’s after we talked…”

That stings but I nod slowly, my face turned towards the suds in the sink so that she can't see my disappointment. Pride flares up like it always does when my heart feels too exposed. I was vulnerable with her. Something I never am. And what did she give me back? Nothing. Didn’t even acknowledge it. She's leaving anyways.

“Good. Even better,” I snap out.

I crank the water up to scalding, and start scrubbing the same damn plate repeatedly. I don’t even hear her footsteps when she leaves, just the front door creaking open and close.

And then I let out a long, defeated sigh.

She really fucking left.