Dirty Money

by Jessica Clare

  To my surprise, Ivy steps in before I can. She moves in front of me and puts an arm around my waist. Her smile is brilliant as she beams at Jack. “Actually, this is my boyfriend, Boone.”

  Boyfriend? Hot damn. My hand slides around her waist and again, I get that possessive, caveman feel roaring through my skull as I touch her. This woman belongs in my arms. It’s where she’s meant to be.

  She pats my chest with her other hand and snuggles against me. “He’s taking me out to lunch.”

  Jack just gives us a slow nod. “Nice to meet you, Boone.” He focuses on Ivy again. “Let me know if any walk-ins show up and they’re at my particular . . . level.”

  “Of course.” Her smile doesn’t waver, but I can feel her tense against me.

  He turns away and then pauses. “Oh, and, Ivy, if I were you, I’d probably see more sales if I spent less time going to lunch with friends.” He gives her a thin smile, nods at me, and then walks away again.

  Ivy remains in my arms for a long moment, as if expecting that dickbag to turn around.

  Since she’s there, I lean in, practically nuzzling that tempting little ear of hers. “Would you be offended if I punched him in the throat?”

  I can feel her shiver, and it sends a ripple of arousal right through me. “I wish someone would,” she murmurs, and slowly steps out of my arms.

  “You wanna tell me what that’s about?”

  “I imagine he’s just trying to hit his quota for the month. It’s been a slow summer for him and he’s not happy.”

  “Fill his quota . . . or take yours?” I guess. Maybe that’s why she plastered herself to me. She hasn’t given up on my commission.

  She nods again, a pained expression on her face.

  I’m filled with protective outrage. Are these assholes bullying my woman? And she’s too classy to set them in their proper place, I imagine. She’s a fucking lady and they’re taking advantage of that. “Remember how I told you I wanted to buy a golf course?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m adding to that list. I think I want a real estate office, too.”

  She gives me a puzzled look. “You do?”

  “Want me to tell you about it over the lunch you said we were about to go have?”

  She bites her lip and looks back at Jack, who’s walking away a lot slower than most people. “I shouldn’t,” she whispers. “I’ll get in trouble with the boss. But I’ll text you later tonight and we’ll talk, all right?”

  “Really? ’Cause you haven’t been a big fan of answering my texts lately.”

  “I know,” she says quickly, and grabs my hands, squeezing them. That impulsive little move warms my heart—and sends a bolt of lust right through my groin. “But please, I will this time, okay? You can come up here and harass me in the morning if I don’t.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And don’t talk to any other realtors, all right?” She looks at me with those big, pleading eyes.

  I move forward, since Jack’s still watching us from afar, and I put a finger under Ivy’s chin. “Darlin’, you didn’t believe me when I said you were the only thing I wanted? You should.”

  Ivy

  In a way, it’s a good thing that Jack Jack starts throwing his weight around and scaring Boone off. It gives me time to go back to my desk and recuperate. I’m still feeling a little faint from this morning’s plasma donation—my second in a week—and I eat cookies and sip orange juice until I feel more like myself. Farah’s been flirting with the client sitting across from her for well over an hour, and never mind that he’s half her age. She’s laying it on thick. She must smell a commission in sight.

  I smell a commission in sight, too, but I’m texting mine after work tonight.

  I nibble on a peanut butter sandwich cookie and pull up my email on my laptop, though I’m not really paying attention to my inbox. I’m still thinking about Boone.

  When I saw Jack stroll into the lobby, that hungry look on his face, I knew what he wanted—Boone. More specifically, Boone’s commission. The moment he’d have smelled that Boone was a billionaire, he’d have been on him and I’d have been shuttled into the background. Jack would have come up with some reason as to why I couldn’t possibly help Boone out and then I’d be pushed out of the picture. Maybe I’d have to do inventory on coffee filters in the break room. Maybe I’d have to cold-call old clients and ask them for leads. There’s a million types of busywork and Jack Jack knows plenty of them to send in my direction.

  The moment I saw him approach, though, I had to change tactics.

  Boone’s mine.

  Well, my commission, anyhow.

  I feel all hot and flustered just thinking about him. He wasn’t dirty today, but his hair was still wild under his cap, sticking out on the sides, and that bushy beard was as intimidating as ever. His eyes were bright and sexy, though, and his flirtiness makes me feel weak in the knees. I feel an intense pull every time he speaks, and I’m attracted to him despite all the hair and his blunt way of speaking.

  I might have panicked when Jack Jack swooped in, and so I said the only thing that I could think of that would scare him off—that Boone was my boyfriend and not my client.

  My sister would die of secondhand embarrassment.

  I . . . just won’t tell her that I’ve decided I’m going to take Boone on, then. Because I need the money. I need it almost as much as all the plasma I’ve been donating for pitifully small amounts. It would help out so much, and I don’t care if my sister thinks the situation is sketchy or that Boone has an ulterior motive. I suspect his motive is to try and get me into his bed.

  And the thought of that? Fills me with a tingly sort of excitement instead of disgust.

  I have no idea why I’m attracted to him; he’s not my type. He’s big and brutish and hairy, but . . . there’s something about him that draws me like a moth to a flame.

  I tell myself I need to go slow, though. Keep it professional. I won’t see Boone again in person until I have a house to show him.

  As I finish my cookie, Jack Jack heads over to my desk. He’s got a slight smile on his face but there’s a cold look in his eyes. “Didn’t go out to lunch, then?”

  “No, I’ve got too much to do here,” I lie, giving him an equally fake smile. “I told my boyfriend I’d just catch up with him later.”

  Jack Jack crosses his arms over his chest and comes to loom over my desk. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Ivy.”

  “Oh?”

  “While we certainly can’t tell you who you should date in your private life—that’s your own personal business, of course—but we have concerns about those personal relationships showing up here at work.”

  “Oh?” I repeat, because I don’t know what else to say. Where is he going with this?

  “We like to present a certain . . . caliber of potential to any client that should walk in the door. That’s why we have this expensive office, and why it’s been professionally decorated by the best that San Antonio has to offer. That’s why we wear suits every day. That’s why we insist our realtors drive the company Town Cars if their own cars are not up to our standards. You know this.”

  I do know this. I’m one of the realtors that has to borrow a car whenever I visit clients. I’m one of the realtors that bought suits at Lord & Taylor even though I couldn’t afford it. Three Jacks is all about appearances. “Are you saying that my boyfriend doesn’t look like he should be here?”

  Jack Jack raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say that.”

  Not out loud.

  Behind me, Farah and her client have gotten very quiet. There’s always very little privacy in an office, but today, I wish my desk was just a little bit further away from hers.

  And really, what Jack is saying is so damn snobbish. “I see nothing wrong with his appearance.” Heck, today he wasn’t even dr
ipping dirt on the floors. That’s a bonus.

  “I didn’t say there was. I’m just saying we need to consider appearances, that’s all.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him coolly. “Thank you, Jack.”

  “I’m glad we had this little talk,” Jack tells me, raps twice on the end of my desk as if the matter is settled, and then walks away.

  “Oh, me too,” I mutter.

  I almost miss the soft chuckle of Farah’s client. At least someone hears the irony in my voice.

  ***

  Ivy: Hi Boone, this is Ivy.

  B P: Well this day just got better.

  Ivy: Oh?

  B P: I was half convinced you’d blow me off again.

  Ivy: I promised you I’d text, remember?

  B P: You promised that last time, too.

  B P: Not busting your balls about that. Just pleased to hear from you. Though we could Snapchat if you’d rather see my face.

  Ivy: I don’t know how to Snapchat . . . and isn’t that for dick pictures??

  B P: Only if you want one.

  Ivy: I don’t want one!!!!

  Ivy: I’m trying to sell you a house, not get pictures of your dick.

  B P: I understand. You want the real thing. I get that a lot.

  Ivy: Omg, I just want to show you a house, you freak.

  B P: I know. Just busting your balls again.

  Ivy: And you wonder why I don’t call you back!

  B P: Nah, I knew why you didn’t call me back. I came on too strong.

  Ivy: At this point, I’m convinced you only come in one setting.

  B P: Might be the case, but it gets me what I want. I don’t see anything wrong with that.

  Ivy: Of course you wouldn’t!

  B P: Can’t help it if I’m decisive.

  B P: And if you’re truly offended, I’ll stop hitting on you and we can just be all business.

  Ivy: Yes, let’s talk about business.

  B P: So you’re not saying you’re offended, then.

  Ivy: Look at this picture of this great house I found online. I can get a showing for the day after tomorrow.

  B P: Do you always avoid the question when you’re feeling shy?

  Ivy: Shy!??

  Ivy: You are an impossible man to text with.

  B P: But you didn’t say if you were offended. Do you want me to stop flirting with you?

  Ivy: House?

  Ivy: See the house?

  Ivy: Pretty house?

  B P: Fine, fine. I know when to back off.

  Ivy: No, you don’t. :) But look at the house pictures and let me know what you think.

  Ivy: It only has 8 bedrooms but it’s 20k square feet and on twenty acres. 2.5m is the price listed.

  B P: That’s cute.

  Ivy: What’s cute?

  B P: It’s kinda cheap ain’t it? I shit 2.5m out over breakfast. Hell, before breakfast.

  Ivy: Gross. Also, it has an enormous pool and a wine cellar, too.

  Ivy: And 2.5m is not cheap! But I thought we’d start on the low end to see what you are looking for. It’s a good starting place.

  B P: You’re the boss. If you wanna look at dumps we can go look at dumps as long as I get to go with you.

  Ivy: 20k square feet and 8 bedrooms is not a dump!!!

  Ivy: Are you messing with me?

  B P: Do you realize how much money I have? How much I can blow on bullshit and not bat an eye?

  Ivy: You’re rich. I get it. I’ll go back to the drawing board.

  B P: No, we can stick with this one. Do you like it?

  Ivy: The house?

  B P: Sure, the house. ;)

  Ivy: Do I like the house?

  B P: Yes.

  Ivy: I won’t know until I see it, but it looks like it has a lot of potential. We can take a look at it and see if it meets your needs.

  Ivy: Shall I tell them you’re interested in seeing it?

  B P: You’re gonna be there, right?

  Ivy: Of course.

  B P: Then yup, I want to see it.

  Ivy: Fabulous!

  B P: Can’t wait to see you.

  Ivy: I think you’ll like the house.

  B P: Oh, are we back to talking about the house?

  Ivy: Gotta go. :)

  B P: I’m not giving up on you.

  Ivy: Somehow that does not surprise me.

  Chapter Six

  Boone

  I don’t see Ivy until tomorrow. Funny how I’m already staring at the clock impatiently, waiting for it to speed up. Of course, part of that reason might be because I’m in hell.

  Hell is our monthly meeting with the money guys.

  Me, Clay, Gage, Knox, and Seth are all sitting at a table in the small office we’ve established for Price Brothers Oil. It’s a small place in an ultra-expensive suite in an office building on the Riverwalk. I don’t really care for the place, but at least it looks fancy. I’m more of a rig guy and I usually just set up in a trailer on site. Least, I used to. Now I come in here when I have to and let our money guys handle shit. Every now and then, we have to sit down and go over business with them. It’s boring but I suppose it needs to be done.

  I’ve been mostly quiet as the new rig was discussed. I’ll leave that for Gage to handle. I’m the one in charge but my brothers need to earn their scratch, too. Gage will oversee this well and Knox the next one. Clay’s all wrapped up with his Smart Camo business that he started up—something with government contracts—and Seth? Well, Seth’s a fucking lazy little shit, so he’s gonna be worming on this new rig. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “We received a call from Bates Petroleum,” one of my suits is saying. “They’re extremely upset about our refusal to dig a well on their land per the contracts.”

  Clay sniggers and looks over at me.

  I rub my beard absently. “He still pissy over that shit?”

  “Quite,” one of the money guys says. “Is there a holdup somewhere? Or a specific reason that we can go back to them and cite as to why we’re delaying production?”

  “Well, his land’s a dry piece of shit, for starters,” I drawl. My brothers chuckle but the suits look prissy and displeased. “And second of all, he insulted me.”

  “We have a contract with them,” one of the suits begins.

  “Cancel it.”

  “The cancellation clause can be executed but it’ll end up costing PBO quite a bit—”

  “Don’t care,” I drawl. “We’re gonna focus on the new well on my land. Gage is gonna handle it.” I nod at my brother, indicating that I’m done with this shit.

  The suits sigh and argue amongst themselves about how best to break the news to Bates Petroleum that PBO—my company—ain’t gonna wipe their asses for them. I don’t care how they spin it. I don’t care if they go and tell Bates he can suck my big dick. All I know is that I’ll fucking cut my own hand off before I dig a well for that jackass. I think of the golf course and the sneers everyone sent in my direction. My eyes narrow. I don’t forget shit like that.

  “Before we go on,” I interrupt, sitting forward. “I need to tell you guys I’m buyin’ a golf course.”

  Everyone at the table goes silent.

  “You are?” Knox looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “You into golfing now or something?”

  “Or something,” I agree. “I want a very specific golf course. Silver Birch Country Club.”

  The money guys exchange looks. “I don’t know that it’s for sale,” one says, scribbling notes.

  “Then you call them and make them an offer they can’t refuse,” I tell them. “That’s how this works. You”—I point at them—“take my money and turn it into things I want. That’s what I pay you for.”

  Two of the money
guys protest, flipping through papers and mumbling about how they’re going to need time to go over company information for the golf course, see how we can make it profitable, blah blah blah. The one at the end of the table—with the laptop—just writes a few more notes. “I’ll get on it, sir.”

  That one? He’s getting a raise. “You do that.” I look over at Gage. “Sorry to interrupt. You wanna talk about the new well?”

  My brother lights up with enthusiasm. Gage leans back in his chair and talks about the new well for a long time. How many barrels a day we’re averaging, and how long before production slows. How much it’s costing a day to run the thing. The numbers are good. The barrels are good. I knew it was a good spot. The suits are pleased, too. They scribble down notes and one types into his laptop like we’re shitting nuggets of wisdom at them. Like this is a surprise? The Prices always know oil. It’s in our blood. I’m only half paying attention, though. I’m thinking about Ivy and what she’ll look like when I see her again. Short skirt? Or one of those sexy numbers that gets tight at the knees and makes her legs look like a wet dream? More fuck-me shoes? Will her glossy hair be up or down?

  As Gage goes on and on about whether or not production can be increased with a second crew on an adjacent well, Clay leans over to me.

  “You snare the classy blonde?”

  “Not quite yet, but I’m going to.” I glance over at him. “Meeting her tomorrow to look at a starter house.”

  “Starter house?”

  “Yeah, small-time shit. Three million dollars or something. Only eight bedrooms.”

  He grunts. “Doesn’t sound that impressive. I thought you wanted forty rooms.”

  “I know. She wants us to start small so we can see ‘what we like.’”

  Clay looks amused at the thought. “She doesn’t know you all that well, does she?”

  She doesn’t. But she will.

  Ivy

  I’m nervous as could be on Wednesday. I’m supposed to meet Boone at the office and drive him out to the potential house. It’s a bit outside of Canyon Lake, which means we’re looking at close to an hour drive. It’s going to be just me and Boone, alone in the car together.