One Good Reason. Sarah Mayberry

      “Gabby usually does that. She’s still working.”

      “Is that safe?”

      Tyler raised his eyebrows. “You worried she doesn’t know how to handle a lock and key?”

      Jon ignored the joke. “What if someone was hanging around? She probably doesn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.”

      In fact, his brother’s office manager was so slight it had taken him longer than it should have this morning to figure out that the slim woman glaring at him was an adult, let alone Tyler’s right-hand woman. With her boyishly short hair and jeans and T-shirt, she’d looked more like a skinny teen than a woman who helped run a multimillion-dollar business.

      “Don’t ever let Gabby hear you say that,” Tyler said. “She’ll tear you a new one.”

      “It’s the truth, isn’t it? She’d be toast if someone tried to overpower her.”

      Tyler groaned. “Definitely don’t say that to her.”

      Jon gave his brother a look. “You’re serious?”

      “Gabby prides herself on her independence. Hates it when people do things for her that she can do herself. If you’d met her mom, you’d understand. Really scary lady.”

      Jon shrugged. “Fine. She can lock up, if that’s what floats her boat.”

      Tyler pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Swing by the house on your way home if you change your mind. I’ve got some of that German beer you like and Ally’s cooking lasagna.”

      Jon gave a noncommittal shrug. He knew Tyler was being hospitable, but the last thing Jon wanted was to sit on the sidelines of his brother’s life and play witness to his happiness. Not that he begrudged Tyler any of what he had—the business, his home, Ally. He simply didn’t need the reminder of all the things he’d messed up in his own life.

      Plus it would make it a hell of a lot harder to stick to his self-imposed sobriety if he had to sit around and watch his brother knock back beers all night. And his abstinence would make Tyler curious.

      Jon simply didn’t want to go there. Yes, he’d had a wake-up call about his excessive drinking, but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk about it or advertise it.

      “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Tyler said.

      “Sure.”

      He didn’t go immediately, and Jon sensed there was something else on his mind. Jon reached for the sander, checking the tension on the clamps. After a long beat, he heard the metallic clink of his brother’s keys and when he glanced up Tyler was heading for the door.

      Not for the first time, Jon wondered whether accepting his brother’s offer of a temporary job had been a good idea. He didn’t need the money—he’d sold out of his construction business and had a sizable chunk of change in his bank account—but he also didn’t need to be sitting around staring at the walls while he worked out what to do next. Taking up Tyler’s offer to work for him once they’d finished renovating the house had seemed like the best option—it was either that or continue the downward slide toward oblivion in the bottom of a bottle.

      There was no denying that the notion held a certain appeal—the end of the struggle, all the crap cloaked in a warm, fuzzy haze of alcohol—but he could still hear his father’s voice in his head, telling him over and over how worthless he was and how he’d never amount to anything.

      He flat out refused to let the bastard be right.

      He started the sander again. The vibrations traveled up his arms as he moved along the grain. Slowly, the tension banding his shoulders relaxed and he lost himself in the simplicity of the task.

      He had no idea how much time had passed when the sander suddenly fell silent. Instinct made him look over his shoulder. Gabby was standing beside the outlet, her handbag on her shoulder. He pulled off his ear protectors.

      “Sorry. I tried shouting and you didn’t hear me.”

      She didn’t sound sorry. Didn’t look it, either, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

      “If you’re ready to go, I already told Tyler I’m happy to lock up,” he said.

      “But you don’t know the alarm code.”

      Purely out of habit, his gaze dipped below her neck. She was small on top, one of those petite women with tiny breasts and narrow hips. She probably didn’t even need to wear a bra.

      Basically the exact opposite of the kind of women he found attractive.

      “I will if you tell me.”

      She frowned. He wasn’t sure if it was because of what he’d said or if she’d caught him looking.

      “What? You think I’m going to rip my own brother off?”

      She stiffened. “It’s a complicated system.”

      “I’ll take notes.”

      She pushed her handbag strap higher on her shoulder. “All right. The keypad’s in the showroom.” She said it grudgingly. Reluctantly.

      He followed her, aware of the tension radiating off her in waves. Man, she was one uptight chick. Tyler seemed to rate her highly, but personally Jon couldn’t see the appeal. Humorless, defensive, prickly—she was the very definition of hard work, and he didn’t do hard work when it came to women. Not that that would ever be an issue with Gabby—everything about her screamed not available, not interested, not ever.

      She stopped in front of the alarm console beside the front door of the showroom.

      “The code is Tyler’s birth year—not superoriginal, I know, but he insisted.”

      Jon watched as she punched four figures into the alarm console and explained the system.

      “Cool, got it,” he said.

      “The lock is a little sticky. Sometimes you have to really force it.”

      “Sure.”

      “And we usually leave the showroom light on.”

      “Okay.”

      “Maybe I should leave you my number, in case you run into trouble.”

      It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he had it covered, but she was already rummaging in her bag. He studied the neat part in her straight hair.

      “Big night on the cards?” he asked. Maybe if they got to know each other a little she’d loosen up.

      She glanced at him. “Not really, just dinner with my girlfriend.”

      He narrowed his eyes as the penny dropped. The no-frills clothes, the short hair, the lack of makeup, the whole not-available vibe—clearly, Ms. Wade batted for the other team. And based on the way she looked down her nose at him, she was one of those man-hating lesbians. The kind who thought the world would be a better place if men were cut out of the food chain altogether and replaced by lab technicians with turkey basters.

      “Finally.” She pulled a dog-eared business card from the depths of her purse. “My number’s on the bottom. Call if you have issues with anything.”

      He tucked the card into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’m pretty sure I won’t be needing it, but thanks anyway.”

      The expression on her face told him she had her doubts, but she didn’t say anything. She moved toward the door and seemed surprised when he beat her there and held it open for her.

      “Thanks,” she muttered, giving him a distinctly ungrateful look.

      He remembered what Tyler had said about her not liking people doing things for her that she could do for herself and suppressed a smile. Probably it made him a bad person, but for some reason he liked the idea of yanking her chain a little.

      “See