All Layla Foster wants is to launch her own branch off of her parent's fitness company. But how is she supposed to focus on making her one shot a success when her client's brother makes her feel things she swore off a long time ago?
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Layla...
"I thought you would've finished this an hour ago," Jack came up beside Dawson to read the paperwork on the clipboard in his hands.
"Well I finished it now." Dawson shoved the clipboard at Jack's chest, walking past as he grabbed it. He didn't want to be hostile, especially after they'd managed to be civilized the other night. But his bad mood was like a poison, and he was dying to let go of some of the venom. "I hate when you read over my shoulder."
Jack muttered under his breath, "I was just checking if the numbers looked right."
Dawson turned on his heel to face his brother again. "If you want to check the numbers, why don't you just count the fucking mulch bags in the first place?"
Jack shook his head, rolling his eyes at the low blow and letting out an annoyed huff. "You're in a great mood this morning."
"No thanks to you. You might come in and ask me how I am, Jack, how my day's been so far. Instead the first thing you do is check my work and insult me for not finishing it sooner."
"I'm sorry if the fact that I care about our business upsets you."
"Well good, because it does. Because it's the only thing you or anyone else ever seems to care about. Business, business, and more fucking business." He pulled off his baseball cap, ran a hand through his hair. "Before we ate dinner in your office, when the hell was the last time you and me hung out and talked about anything other than the orchard? Apart from updating the goddamn garden once a season, do you do anything other than work?"
"Someone around here has to take care of stuff, or else the place would fall apart." Jack's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "It's more than just picking apples and fertilizing soil, not that you would know."
The sting of that one had his body itching for a fight again. If he didn't get out of here, he was about to make yet another situation a whole lot worse. "Alright, fine. Perfect. If my work is so pointless, then it won't matter if I take the day off."
"Take the rest of your life off, for all I care," Jack spat out as Dawson left the shed, storming down the path to the manor. He'd get in his truck, drive into town, and likely spend the rest of the day moping at the bar. Better than sticking around and ending up in a fist fight with his own brother, and even better that he wouldn't have to worry about running into Layla before she left. She'd be gone when he got back for sure, and he'd start the long, long process of trying to forget her.
The voice he heard as he came around the front of the house only had his blood boiling hotter. Colin spoke evenly, phone against his ear as he faced the road, leaning against a shiny red Porsche.
He leaned down to brush dust off one of his shiny loafers. "Yeah, you're breaking up too. The signal here's for shit. Long story short, I told her the bullshit she needed to hear. The merger will still happen, so don't get a trigger finger on anything. Just play it cool and everything will be sorted out tomorrow, Dad. Promise."
Dawson walked over as Colin said goodbye and tucked the phone into his pocket. As he turned to meet Dawson's fiery gaze, a smirk planted itself firmly on his face.
"Come to say goodbye?"
"I already said goodbye," he said flatly as he passed Colin to get to his truck. He'd never before felt like such an animal, like he wanted to reach out and tear someone to shreds. "Do yourself a favor and get the hell off my property, Colin."
"Just as soon as Layla finishes packing."
Earlier in the hallway Dawson had swallowed his anger for Layla's sake. He'd held back his words and his fists because he didn't want her to have to deal with the aftermath. The ironic thing was, now that he didn't have to hold back, there wasn't any point in letting loose.
Layla made her choice, and it wouldn't make a difference if her fiancé was bruised and bloody while he helped her load her bags into the trunk of her car. She'd no doubt seen the worst of Colin, and yet still she picked him over Dawson. That hurt Dawson worse than anything he could do to Colin. So what the hell was the point?
He opened the door of his truck, only pausing for a second to send the polished man one last glare. He wanted to say something, ask him to tell Layla that he hoped she'd be happy, that it was worth it. Instead, he stepped up into his track and slammed the door, peeling out to Red View.
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