"You want to tell me why you felt the need to soak Bunny?" she asked, resigning herself to waiting another hour or two before she ventured out onto her own porch. Not that it would make much of a difference since he'd just come back out again to aggravate her, but after three years she was used to it. She also loved her time on her porch too much to really care most of the time.

"I will if you tell me why you named that poor dog, Bunny," he offered, taking a sip of his beer.

Because the dog was her little honey bunny, but she would never tell him that. "Forget it," she said, sighing as she headed for her front door.

"Come up here and join me," he called after her.

"I'll pass," she said, wanting nothing more than a hot cup of cocoa as she went over the new plans McGill gave her earlier and work them into her plans. She also needed to figure out ways to speed up the renovation. Even with Connor's men and equipment they were looking at long hours. She needed to figure out how to get it all done without destroying their profit with overtime.

"Don't you think the two of us should sit down and go over the plans for Strawberry Manor?" he asked casually, but she wasn't stupid. She knew the only reason that he wanted to talk to her was so that he could pick her brain and discover what resources she had at her disposal. It's exactly what she would have done if she hadn't managed to corner one of his men an hour earlier and sweet talk him into spilling his guts about Highland Construction's equipment, its men and their skills. Now she just had to work all that newfound knowledge into her plans.

"Not really," she said as she unlocked her front door and sent up a silent prayer to have a Connor-free night. Of course her prayer was ignored. They usually were where Connor was concerned.

"That's too bad. I guess I'll have to tell McGill that you're not willing to fulfill your end of the contract," he mused loudly.

She didn't say anything as she slammed the door behind her, because there was nothing to say. He knew he had her in a tight spot and had no problem screwing her over. If she didn't play nice he could cost her the contract and more importantly, her reputation.

Clenching her jaw shut, she stormed into her kitchen and dropped her things onto the light oak country table. If she was going to deal with Connor and not kill him, then she was going to need a hot cocoa fix. As she waited for the water to boil, she fed Bunny and sorted through her notes. If he wanted to pretend that they were going to play nice that was fine with her since none of this bullshit mattered anyway.

The real battle wouldn't begin until tomorrow and she was more than prepared to win. So, if he wanted to play these pointless little games now that was more than fine with her. After she mixed up her special hot cocoa, took a sip and sighed happily, she grabbed the top folder and made her way through the house.

If she didn't absolutely adore her house she would have sold it and moved the hell away from Connor, but she did so she couldn't. This was her house, her baby, and nothing and no one was ever going to make her give it up. As she restored the house to its original condition she'd fallen in love with the large old house and couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Her only hope was that Connor got sick and tired of these games and decided to sell his house and move far, far, far, far, far away.

Just the idea of having a Connor-free day made her giddy. Now if it would only come true she might actually cry tears of joy, she thought as she headed up the back stairs to her room. As she walked across her large bedroom she wondered if Connor was going to use their new situation to his advantage and make her life a living hell even more over the next five months. Then she snorted at her own stupidity.

Of course he was going to try. He'd been doing it for over twenty-five years now and wasn't showing any signs of boredom yet. Every single day for twenty-five years the man went out of his way to make her life a living hell. It didn't matter what she was doing or where she was, Connor found a way to leave his mark on her day.

She still couldn't forget her eighteenth birthday. It started off great. Her brothers woke her up at two in the morning by tying her up and gagging her, a James tradition and one her father tried to make her brothers skip that year. Thankfully they didn't throw her in the trunk of Craig's car as tradition dictated. Instead, they tossed her in the backseat and threw a black pillowcase over her head and teased and tormented her for ten hours by refusing to tell her where they were going.

When they'd finally pulled the hood off her head and she saw where they'd brought her, she squealed happily as she gave all of her brothers bear hugs. Really, how many brothers were sweet enough to bring their sister to Canada on her eighteenth birthday to get her drunk?

Best. Brothers. Ever.

For the first four hours everything had been perfect. After she ate, because her brothers refused to let her drink unless she had food in her stomach, she tried beer, wine and hard liquor. Her brothers took turns watching her, but by the time the first hour had come and gone she was too drunk to really care.

She was happy and giddy as she danced to every song. Well, she danced when she wasn't drinking. All the men at the bar were super nice, too. They bought her drinks so she didn't have to spend a cent of her own money and jumped at the chance to dance with her. The night was going perfectly until she thought she spotted Connor lurking in the corner, watching her.

When she couldn't find him again, she just shook it off to an overactive imagination and yummy alcohol. A little while after that, things kind of got fuzzy. From what little she did remember of that night she knew it was all Connor's fault that she woke up the next morning handcuffed to him on a bench while a Mounty with a fresh black eye glared at them from across the room.

If it wasn't for Connor, she wouldn't have needed to be placed in a cell while her father tried to plow through a dozen officers so that he could wring her neck. The only pleasure she got out of that whole awful experience was watching her father take a swing at Connor, who must have been hung over, because he just stood there and took it.

"Stay," she told Bunny as she pushed back the dark thick curtains and unlocked the sliding glass door.

"Took you long enough."

"What the hell are you doing on my porch?" she asked, not really caring. As long as he didn't break into her house, and surprisingly he didn't, then she really didn't care.

"For our meeting," he said, leaning a hip against the banister as he sipped his beer.

"We don't have a meeting," she said even as she allowed her eyes to quickly and discretely run over his rather impressive chest and a set of abs that most men would kill for. While her brothers were huge and muscular, Connor had the type of body any Hollywood leading man would kill for. Not that she would admit it to anyone, but he was by far the best looking man she'd ever seen.

Her eyes moved back up to his chest and paused at the almost black Celtic tattoo that started on the left side of his chest and ended at his shoulder. It was large, beautifully drawn and unbelievably hot, the tattoo, not the man. She hated the man, but on any other man she would have been hard pressed not to trace it with her fingers or better yet, her tongue. As she forced her eyes elsewhere they landed on part of the tattoo that to this day remained a mystery.

She knew that she wasn't the only one who wondered who “LRJ” was and why the man had the initials placed in the middle of that tattoo. There were a few betting pools going around about the identity of LRJ, but as far as she knew no one had been able to figure it out. Connor certainly never told anyone. If someone asked, and damn near everyone asked at least a dozen times, well everyone but her, he simply shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"How many men do you have working for you full-time?" Connor asked, drawing her attention away from her rather disturbing thoughts.

"Fifty and I have another ten men that I already screened and interviewed for the job," she answered, not caring if he knew any of this. They were working together, kind of, so they'd have to share a few things.

Connor nodded as he digested the information. He placed his now empty beer bottle on the banister behind him. "How many are certified?"

"All of them."

"Can paint?"