1. Chance

"Fucking hell," I grumble to the empty office. Another day, and still Peyton is just as frosty as she has been for the past six months. The only person to blame for that is me. And I do that, every single morning when I look in the mirror. I fucked up, I know I did. That still doesn't sit well when we work together day in and day out. Now, she wants vacation time. I'm not a fucking idiot. I may have been born at night, but it wasn't last night. Peyton asked for a full week off. The only time someone asks for that amount of time off is when they're hunting for a new job.

That's why, when I got a phone call the other day from my brother, Fox, to work on a beach house he just bought in Kelson Beach, South Carolina, I knew it would sway Peyton. A completely paid-for vacation, and the only thing she'd have to do is sit in on the initial meeting and help me project budget totals. A job I fucking hate, but one of the many tasks Peyton performs for me.

When I told her about a working vacation today, she was hesitant at first, asking what the catch was. Her normal firecracker self would have demanded what this was all about, but in the past month, she's changed. Once again, that place in my chest aches, no matter the amount of rubbing it. It doesn't go away. She's branded deep inside me. Her scent still haunts me in my dreams, every single night. And I'm the idiot who screwed it up. So, yeah, this vacation may have me working while Peyton relaxes, but the summer nights will have us both burning up if I have anything to say about it.

When she left today, Peyton said she'd be ready in an hour. From there, we're heading right to the airport. Something about picking up something last minute. I go through the process of closing everything down for the week. This week was the only one I could afford to have this office and jobsite closed down. Adam's Construction is on the smaller side, and it's costing me a whack to let the guys have this week off, but I do it every year. The week between Christmas and New Year's, they need that time off. Fuck, so do I, now more than ever. Especially if I'm going to pull my head out of my own ass, like my brother so aptly put it when he called me.

He's not wrong though. Shit, he probably knows way more than I do. The military definitely changes people. After his last tour overseas, he didn't move home. Fox said the beach was calling him and to fuck with those long cold nights. He had enough of that in the hellhole he was stationed at. Now, he lives in a Goddamn cabana on a small patch of oceanfront property that he got for a song. The place literally has a bed, bathroom, and he's using a microwave or a grill outside.

I shake my head, because despite all that, he's happy. I take one last look around, making sure everything is turned off. Peyton's desk is immaculate. Christ, it's practically a shrine in my eyes these days. A memory I think of so damn often my cock feels my fist every damn night while I'm in the shower.

"Put it away. Operation Win Peyton Jennings is about to commence. And I'm not taking no for an answer," are my last words as I make my way outside to my truck. It's nothing to write home about, but it's paid off and has never left me deserted, that's for damn sure. My bags are already packed and sitting in the backseat of the cab.

The only thing on my mind is how to win Peyton over, something I know I'll have to get on my knees and beg for, I'm sure. The Jennings wouldn't be any other way, not her brother or her sisters. Hell, they're all known around town for their stubbornness, and for that I'm grateful. It tells me Peyton will be worth everything in the end.

I drive through our small town of Lodgeview. A light dusting of snow is settling on the roads, the town still lit up from Christmas yesterday. Hell, I wouldn't have had Peyton out in this weather had I looked at the damn forecast. It's a damn good thing she lives right around the corner in a small condo community. Shit, it wasn't long ago that Taylor was staying in this exact same place. Not the same condo, but in the same building. Of course, Bridger made sure it was secure before she even thought of moving in here after she came home from college. Not that she moved into her own place straight out of college, Peyton stayed with her parents until she landed a job before coming to work for me. Which, let me tell you, took a whole lot of finagling on my part. The temp agency wasn't cutting it with who they'd send over, and I finally had to reach out to Bridger and ask him if he even thought for a minute Peyton would be interested in working at a construction company.

He gave me the third degree, not that I could blame him. Bridger has always been overprotective, like a papa bear, when it came to his sisters. When our talk was done, we shook hands, and he gave me the look that said If you break my sister, I'll break you. Which is exactly what I did six months ago.

Five minutes later, I'm pulling into Peyton's place. She's standing under the eave of her condo, suitcase standing up, bundled up in a jacket and a pair of sweats of some sorts. I slide into a parking spot, slam my truck into Park, my only thought getting Peyton out of the weather.

"Woman, what the fuck?" I question, hustling to get to her.

"What? You act like some frozen water is going to hurt me. I'm no princess, Chance," she smarts back, but I see the way her body is shivering. I grab her bag. My hand touches to the small of her back while I escort her to the passenger side of the truck. I don't even respond until she's settled inside and I'm in the driver's seat.

"I know you can handle the elements, that doesn't mean I like the thought of you standing in them, just to throw your sassy mouth at me either." I'm gripping the steering wheel, trying to keep from grabbing her by the nape of her neck and finally tasting those sweet bee-stung lips of hers.

"But it's what I do best." She's facing the window, her arms crossed over her chest, and now I'm the one cursing all the clothes she's wearing. I want to see more of her luscious fucking body. It's been taunting me for months, the way her hair hangs loose, in dark waves, her gray eyes, high cheekbones, and once again, Peyton's fucking lips, full and a deep cherry color. I bet her nipples are the same color. Fuck. I shift my legs trying to hide the hard-on I'm sporting.

"That you do." I nod my head. Her hand leaves its safe haven to switch the radio station until she lands on a song she's happy with. A country song at that, talking about memories you don't mess with. It resonates with me on a deeper level. Peyton's hand rests on the center console. Mine gravitates towards it, and without thinking, I take it in my own, even when she tries to pull it away.

"Stop," I caution her.

"I'm not sure I should do that, do you?" I glance at her, that arched eyebrow conveying everything she isn't saying.

"Probably not, but I can admit when I'm an ass. And, Peyton, I've been an ass entirely too much to you," I admit.

Her hand relaxes. Peyton won't give in this easily. I may have won holding her hand, but I know there's so much left to work through.

"At least you can admit that, though it's taking entirely too fucking long." I hate the way that word sounds coming from her lips, not unless she's deep in the throes of an orgasm, that is.

"Not gonna argue with that, but gotta say, I'm not digging that word you just threw out." I pull up to a stop light, my eyes moving to hers.

"I'm not sure I care. That being said, you do realize that word flies out of your mouth more often than not, and we do work with a bunch of construction workers. I'm bound to let it slip off my tongue every now and again."

"Touché," I respond. We are both silent as we finish our ride to the airport. Our hands never leave one another's, and I'm counting that as a silent win.