Dawson's Fall (Welcome to Covendale #5) (7 page)

This meant something to him. And from his perspective, she’d just walked in and started ordering his crew around.

So today she’d tried a different approach. Every so often, she’d catch Mark alone and mention a suggestion or an improvement she’d come up with after studying the blueprints. He’d grunt, or glare at her, or both. He wouldn’t say anything to her. But a few times, she caught him explaining one of her ideas to the others—in terms that were a lot easier to understand than what she’d told him. And he did it grudgingly, like he was talking around a mouthful of soap.

Still, he was listening. Sort of.

By the end of the day, she wasn’t any closer to being part of the team. At least there hadn’t been any more major blowups. He’d tossed out plenty of snide comments about what she was doing with the office, but she’d either ignored him or snarked right back. Eventually he gave up.

She was headed back to the trailer for the cleaning supplies she wasn’t leaving here when she heard voices on the other side, and decided to stop and listen.

“I’m not waiting much longer.” If tigers could talk, she had a feeling they’d sound like Jonah Dawson—deep and rumbling, with a threat underlining every word.

The ensuing sigh came from Mark. “Yes, you are.” He sounded pissed off and exhausted. “I told you, I’m handling this.”

“You’re falling apart,” Jonah said. “And I know you’re not sleeping.”

“Like you ever sleep.”

“I’m used to it. Look, man…if you lose it, this project is finished. And so is the business.”

“I know.” Mark practically spat the words. There was a long pause, and he said, “You’re headed out tonight, right? So I’ll have the place to myself. And yes, I will relax.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“I mean it. No working.”

“Don’t even crack a book open.”

“I’ll watch a movie or something.” Mark paused again. “Too bad we polished off that bottle of Highland Park—when was it, last Christmas? Now that was a good Scotch.”

Jonah laughed. “The bottle’s still there. Gage filled it with Old Crow.”

“Think I’d rather drink gasoline.” The smirk was evident in Mark’s voice. “All right, I’m heading home. You watch yourself out there, man.”

“Always.”

Aubrey heard footsteps and rushed toward the other side of the trailer with a pounding heart. She felt more than a little sick. Mark already told her that she was his problem—but was she really that big of a problem? She wasn’t at the project-ruining, business-destroying level.

But those two seemed to believe she was.

Deciding to worry about the supplies tomorrow, she waited until the coast was clear, and then headed back to her car. It wasn’t like any of them expected her to say goodbye. She got in without incident, drove to her apartment, and went straight for a shower, replaying the overheard conversation in her mind the whole time. There had to be a way to put Mark at ease and finish this job without ruining anything.

Just as she finished getting dressed, her doorbell rang. For one crazy minute she thought it was Mark…actually hoped it was. But he didn’t know where she lived, and he hated her.

She opened the door to Jason, wearing casual clothes and a big grin. “Hey, little sis.”

“You do know you’re only eight minutes older,” she said with a smirk. “Also, I have a phone. You could’ve warned me you were coming by.”

“Hey, do I need a hall pass to visit my sister now?” She thought there was something suspicious in his smile, but it was gone fast. “Anyway, I didn’t come to invade you. I’m here to take you away.”

She frowned. “Where? I didn’t think we’d made plans.”

“It’s kind of spur of the moment,” he said. “A bunch of us are going out to this club in Greenway. Thought you might want to come.” The grin resurfaced as he said, “Stephen Westbrook is going.”

The name rang a distant bell—and not a pleasant one. “So?”

“Didn’t you date him a while back?”

“Yeah, quite a while. Nine years, actually.” Now she remembered Stephen. They broke up when she declined to screw him in the back of his father’s Jaguar. “Thanks for thinking of me, but I can’t go,” she said. “I have work in the morning.”

“And I don’t?”

“You can go in at ten if you feel like it,” she said.

“True.” Jason smiled, and then the distant sound of a car horn drew his attention. “That would be Tessie,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

“Rain check.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” He hugged her briefly. “Hope your new job is going all right.”

“Oh, it’s great,” she said, a little too brightly. “Long day, though. Think I’ll just crash early tonight.”

“Okay. See you, Bree.”

“Have fun,” she called after him.

She closed the door and leaned on it for a moment, her thoughts returning automatically to Mark. All at once, she had an idea. She’d seen his home address on a handful of building supply catalogs in the office trailer. He’d be there alone, so hopefully she wouldn’t be interrupting anything. She could bring him a peace offering. A bottle of Highland Park.

He definitely seemed like he could use a drink—and maybe if she did something nice for him, he’d only dislike her.

* * * *

Mark scrolled through the Netflix menus for about the fiftieth time, hoping for anything that would catch his interest, or at least distract him. There were plenty of movies he knew were decent. The problem was, he didn’t want to be entertained.

He’d never truly relaxed since the night he went to some stupid party, and his mother died while he was out making a fool of himself.

For eight years he’d driven himself relentlessly. He talked himself into a full-time job with a construction company the moment he graduated, and learned everything he could about how it all worked. College was out of the question—they could never afford it. So he worked, and when he wasn’t working, he studied. Researched. Construction, design, economics, management. Figured out that owning a business was a hundred times better than working for one, and threw himself into making that happen.

Just as it was all starting to finally pay off, Aubrey Monroe came back to ruin everything all over again.

At this point, his one consolation was that she’d promised to leave for good when the job was done. He’d never have to see her again. But if she kept refusing to quit, these next two months would be an eternity. Just knowing she was around made him hurt in ways he’d never imagined and couldn’t explain.

He aimed the remote at the television, thinking maybe he’d give up and go to bed, when the doorbell rang.

He sighed and shot the door a suspicious look. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Usually that meant it was some girl who hadn’t heard that Gage was taken, hoping to hook up with his brother for a few hours. He considered ignoring it, but the television was still on. Whoever it was probably wouldn’t go away until he told them to.

He stood and walked to the door, muttering under his breath. When he opened it, a silent scream filled his head—and he couldn’t spit out a word.

“Hi, Mark.” Aubrey looked incredible, and he hated himself for noticing. “I’m sorry to just show up like this, but I was hoping we could talk.”

His senses returned slowly, and he let the rage win. “I don’t know how you found this address, but you damned well better lose it,” he said. “You’re not welcome here. At all.”

Before she could say anything, or he could change his mind, he stepped back and slammed the door.

The doorbell rang again. “At least let me give you this,” she said, her voice muffled through the wood.

Damn it, this girl was almost as stubborn as him.

He yanked the door open, knowing instinctively that she wouldn’t leave until she’d played every card she could. He’d just have to keep calling her bluff. “Give me what?” he snapped.

She held up a slim brown paper bag, obviously with a liquor bottle in it. “It’s a peace offering.”

“Fine.” He made himself take it gently. “You gave it to me. Now go.”

“Aren’t you going to see what it is?”

A dozen scathing replies rose to his tongue. Somehow, he managed to hold them back. Not only was she refusing to quit the job, she was at his house. He was starting to see that he couldn’t shout her away. Time to try something different—though he had no idea what that might be.

With a sigh, he pulled the bottle out until he could read the label. His eyes widened. “Highland Park,” he said. “How did you know…”

“You like it?” she said, a little breathlessly. “I wasn’t sure, but I know that’s good Scotch.”

The suspicion that she’d overheard him and Jonah talking earlier faded a bit. If she had, she probably wouldn’t be here right now. Jonah had made his feelings very clear, and everyone was afraid of his older brother. Maybe it was just a lucky guess. “I do like it,” he finally said. “Well…thanks, I guess.”

She smiled briefly. “You’re welcome.”

“Er.” Why wasn’t she leaving? “So I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes, but I was still hoping we could talk.” She clasped her hands together. “Like tonight. If you’re not busy, I mean.”

It was harder to keep from shouting. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because this isn’t working.”

“What isn’t?”

“Us. The job.” She gestured at the bottle. “Bribing you.”

“Oh, you noticed.”

She heaved a breath. “Mark, please,” she said. “I really want this to work. There has to be some sort of compromise we can make to get through this. If you’ll just talk to me like a normal person for five minutes, I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Everything in him protested the idea of prolonging this, even for another five seconds. Especially since it would involve letting her inside. He wasn’t sure he could stand being alone with her in his house, for any reason. But just maybe, if they sat down and had a rational discussion without any shouting or sarcasm, he could convince her of what she should already know—why continuing to work together was a recipe for Armageddon.

“All right,” he said, stepping back reluctantly to hold the door open. “You’ve got five minutes.”

And he was going to regret every one of them.

Chapter 7

Aubrey wasn’t sure she could trust this slightly subdued version of Mark. In fact, she expected him to start foaming at the mouth any second. She only hoped she could get through to him, just a little bit, before the shouting started.

She walked into the house and looked around, unable to stop herself from admiring the design. It was open and inviting, tidy but not sterile. This was a house for living in. “Nice place,” she said. “I don’t remember it being here before I left town.”

“We built it,” Mark said curtly.

“Oh.” The statement filled her with unexpected warmth. Despite his abrupt tone, she could hear the pride behind the words. It was even more meaningful knowing where the Dawsons had lived before—in a battered trailer on a dusty lot, literally on the wrong side of the tracks. “Well, it’s wonderful,” she said. “I really like it.”

“I thought you were done trying to bribe me.”

“It’s not a bribe. I’m serious.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at the couch as he walked past it. “We might as well have a drink.”

She sat. He left the room, and returned a moment later with two cut glass tumblers and the opened bottle of Scotch. He took a seat as far from her as he could get, then poured out two drinks and handed her one.

She would’ve proposed a toast to lighten the mood, but the smoldering look in his eyes suggested that wouldn’t work out.

Instead, she watched as he closed his eyes and took a slow sip. The way he savored it implied that he not only appreciated a fine Scotch, but he didn’t get the chance to enjoy good things too often. She remembered Jonah telling him not to work tonight—which meant he was probably a workaholic, totally dedicated to his business. And it made her stepping all over his job site even worse.

She finally realized he was staring at her. “Not thirsty again?” he said.

“No, I am,” she said. “Thank you.” She raised the tumbler briefly—and tossed the entire shot back at once.

“Huh. Guess you are,” he said. “Waste of a good Highland, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, well I’m nervous,” she said.

He frowned. “I won’t bite.”

“Are you sure about that? Because I’ve been getting the opposite impression.”

“Touché.” He smirked and picked up the bottle. “Refill?”

“Please.”

This time she took it slower. It really was good, and she didn’t have Scotch often. Wine was her family’s typical poison. That might be why she was already a touch dizzy.

Or maybe it was being this close to Mark, and fighting to deny how badly she wanted him.

“Your minutes are running out.”

The sarcastic edge derailed her train of thought. “Are you seriously timing this?”

“Four minutes and counting.”

Okay, so he was trying to make her mad. She just wouldn’t rise to the bait. Not sure where to start, she decided to try and get him talking. Maybe she could figure out what bothered him the most and start there. “Why are we like this?” she said. “At each other’s throats all the time.”

He blinked at her. “You’re kidding.”

“I mean, I know the whole family history thing is a problem—”

“You think?”

“But I don’t blame you,” she said. “Not like my father and Jason.”

“Really. So how
do
you blame me, then?”

“I don’t at all. It’s not your fault.”

His expression turned fierce, and he knocked back the rest of his drink. “Well, that’s terrific,” he said. “I guess I’m absolved. Except that you and your brother hate me, and your father wants to kill me.”

She drew a calming breath. At least they were getting somewhere now. “I don’t hate you,” she said. “Jason does, and I’m sorry for that. For my father, too. It’s no excuse, but they’re blinded by grief.” She tried to look reassuring. “I know he says awful things, but my father would never hurt anyone.”

Mark’s eyes burned. “Sweetheart, you don’t know your father very well.”

“Stop calling me that!” Damn. She didn’t mean to shout. She closed her eyes and tried to pull herself together. “Honestly, he wouldn’t,” she said. “I know that much about him.”