Dirty Money

by Jessica Clare

  “I’m getting fired,” I tell her, picking up my day planner and shoving it into my purse.

  “You’re what?”

  I nod. “I had a big client and didn’t tell the Jacks about him.”

  “The guy with the beard?” she asks, surprised. “He’s a big client?”

  I nod. “Billionaire.” And wonderful. And thoughtful. And funny. And determined. And amazing in bed . . . I sigh. “Anyhow, now the Jacks are all upstairs waiting to have a meeting with me so they can bitch at me about him. I thought I’d save them the trouble and just clean out my desk.”

  “Good for you,” she says fiercely.

  I look at her in surprise. “Good for me that I’m cleaning out my desk?”

  “No! Good for you in that you kept it from them.” She shakes her head. “Do you know how many big clients of mine they’ve stolen over the last few years?” She gestures at the office. “Why do you think they can’t keep any of the talent? They’re poachers, through and through.” Farah gives me a firm look. “I’m switching in the fall, I think. I have a lead with another real estate place. Might be smaller customers, but at least I’ll get to keep all of ’em.”

  I smile faintly at her and unplug my laptop. “Maybe I’ll start looking, too.” But my résumé is slim, and I need money now. I’m trying hard not to think about it.

  Something will come up. Something always does.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Boone

  One week later

  There’s a knock on my trailer door. Third time today. “Go the fuck away,” I groan, rolling over on the couch.

  Instead of going away, the door crashes open and sunlight pours in. “You still moping like a little bitch?” my brother Clay calls out, entering the living room of my trailer and flopping down in the old recliner. “Seriously? Over a piece of ass?”

  “Don’t call her that,” I growl at him, shielding my eyes from the sunlight. “And fuck you.”

  “Just wondering how long you’re gonna hide in your trailer from the world and let your goons dig holes all over West Texas looking for oil.”

  I sit up on my couch, reaching for a nearby beer bottle. It’s empty, so I toss it back down. I’m out of beer. Think I ran out of beer yesterday, actually, because then I went to Knox’s trailer and stole his. “I gave them plans on where to dig.”

  “Yeah, and you also left the suits in charge. They put a company man out on site and let him run the show. Two dry wells this week.”

  Fuck. I can’t even let up for a damn week and things go to shit. “I’ll talk to ’em.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the money. We got more than enough. I’m worried about you, brother. It’s not like you to be this messed up over a woman.”

  “It’s not just a woman,” I point out to him. “I was gonna marry her. Make her my wife. Move into a fancy house and maybe have kids someday.” It’s been days and I’m still empty inside over Ivy. She lied to me, right to my face, so many times.

  Shitty thing is, I’m still in love with her. Finding out that she’s a liar hasn’t made me want her less. Now there’s just a lot of betrayal and anger mixed in with all the lust and need.

  I’m furious at her . . . and I still miss her like hell.

  “Have you talked to her?” Clay asks, propping his feet up on my end table. “Gotten her side of the story?”

  “No. Haven’t talked to anyone.” I pick up another beer bottle and shake it. Empty, too. “Don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not in much of a talky mood.”

  “Oh, I noticed. I was just curious how you feel about her.”

  I squint at him, then rub my face. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, let’s say it’s the worst. She’s a gold digger and a hooker or something—”

  “She ain’t a fuckin’ hooker—”

  “I know, I know. Calm down. I’m just saying worst-case scenario. What if she’s, like, the worst you can imagine. She only wants your money. What would you do then?”

  I picture Ivy. Smiling, sweet Ivy, with that sleek bun of hair that just begs to be taken down. Ivy with her long legs that go on for miles. Ivy with my hand up her skirt, her pussy soaking wet. Ivy telling me not to take the house we just looked at, because it’s not good enough for me.

  Ivy standing like a statue, while that buffoon Jack puts his hand on her shoulder and laughs at us.

  “Don’t know,” I mutter. I do know, though.

  I still fuckin’ love Ivy. I still want her. If all she wants is my wallet, I’d take that as long as I get her smiles, her laughter, her sweetness . . . and I’d hope that over time, she’d come to love me, too.

  “I do know,” Clay announces, and tosses something down on the table, knocking over beer bottles. “That’s why I decided to step in.”

  I lean forward and pick it up. It’s a folder. Manila. There’s several pieces of paper inside. “What’s this shit?”

  “It’s about Ivy. I hired you a private investigator so you could find out all the truth about Ivy since she wasn’t keen on sharing it. Find out her dirty secrets and all that.” He grins at me like a loon. “Or shall I say, Reba Lee Smithfield?”

  “Huh?”

  “Damn, you are drunk, aren’t you?” He reaches over and bats at my hat, knocking it off my face. “She changed her name, dummy. Her birth name’s Reba, like the country singer. Her sister’s Wynonna. If that ain’t a redneck calling card, I don’t know what is.”

  Reba? My blonde, elegant Ivy is Reba? I flip open the folder and squint at the documents. Sure enough, there’s a picture of her driver’s license, a duplicate underneath it with a different name. Two years ago, she went from Reba Lee Smithfield to Ivy Smithfield, no middle name. Six months later, she got her real estate license.

  “Shit’s pretty juicy if you ask me,” Clay drawls, crossing one foot over the other. “Lil’ Reba was an honors student back in high school. Student council, varsity academics, all that nerdy shit. Then a month before graduation, she drops out. Boom. Just stops showing up to school. You wanna know why?”

  “Why?” I flip through the papers, curious.

  “Her parents suck. It’s somewhere in there. Seems like her momma ran off and daddy got arrested at about the same time for robbing a liquor store. Sister was twelve at the time, so I’m guessing Ivy—sorry, Reba—dropped out to take care of her. Her employment history is all there, too. She’s worked just about every shitty minimum wage job there is—usually two at once. Still managed to get her GED and her real estate license.”

  I flip through the paperwork. There’s her credit history—it’s terrible, and her debt-to-income is through the roof. I pull up a copy of her 1099 from last year. It’s from Three Jacks and she made all of four grand. Jesus. I think of her fancy, elegant suits and her expensive shoes.

  I think of that beater of a car she drives.

  I wanted to attract a higher caliber of client.

  She wants to make something of herself. She wants a better life for herself. I know that feeling. I know what it feels like to be stuck in a hole and trapped by your circumstances. She’s clawing herself out, any way she can. I keep reading, because I have to. I see her dad’s arrest records. I see Ivy’s current list of bills, all far more than she’s bringing in. I see her sister’s school records and her upcoming schedule for college.

  I see a list of plasma donations to private corporations in exchange for money, and my stomach clenches. I think of all the marks on her arms, and scan the dates. Some of these are two or three times a week, all at different places, never for more than fifty bucks a donation. That is fucked up.

  No wonder she was so excited to get my business.

  I close the folder and toss it aside, rubbing my face. I feel tired. Weary. Defeated. And so damn in love with her I don’t know what to do with myself.

  “Well?” Clay dema
nds.

  “Well what?”

  “She’s pulled herself up by her bootstraps, just like you,” my brother says. “Well, maybe not like you. You were successful. She ain’t there yet.”

  I glare at him, because that sounds perilously close to an insult and I’m feeling more than a little protective of Ivy at the moment. I picture her working one shitty job and then turning around to go work another, all so her sister can keep the same roof over her head. I picture her dropping out of high school to go flip burgers, the very thing that those assholes laughed in her face about.

  “Just wondering why you’re so mad about this shit,” Clay drawls.

  I don’t even know if I’m mad anymore. I don’t know what to do. “Because she wasn’t who she said she was. She said she was Ivy, and she’s been Reba Lee the whole time.”

  “You’re wrong. She made herself into someone new. She doesn’t want to be that old person. Don’t see why she’s gotta be tagged with her past for the rest of her life when she’s working so hard to change things.”

  He’s got a point . . . but I’m a stubborn son of a bitch. “I picked her out because I wanted a lady. I wanted respect from all those assholes out there that think they’re too good for a few roughnecks that have more money than them.” Assholes like the Jacks.

  Clay shrugs. “So get a new lady. One with a real pedigree.”

  “I don’t want a new lady. I want her,” I growl at him. The thought of anyone in my life other than Ivy leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

  “So go get her.”

  “I can’t have her and the respect I want.” The Jacks showed me that.

  “You damn blasted fool-headed idiot.” Clay flings himself up from the chair, irritated. “You gotta decide if this ‘respect’ stick you got stuck up your ass is worth more to you than Ivy. Who the fuck cares if a few dumbasses in suits don’t respect you?” He slams a fist into his palm. “You make them respect you. If they think you’re trash, buy their businesses and burn ’em to the ground. Show ’em who’s their daddy.”

  I laugh, because it’s a fuckin’ ridiculous plan . . . and it’s one I’ve already done before. I think about my new golf course, all burned out and nothing but ash and rubble. I have to admit that was mighty satisfying, blowing that shit up. Funny thing is . . . I don’t know if they respected me more when I destroyed the golf course, but it made them realize that I was in charge.

  Maybe it ain’t about respect as much as showing them I got the balls to back up my talk, then.

  I rub my beard thoughtfully. I started this whole thing because I wanted Bates to eat shit. I wanted him to realize I was someone to be respected, and I thought I’d do that with a big, showy house and an even more showy woman in my bed.

  Thing is, though, none of that matters much anymore. I think about Ivy, and she’s really the only thing I want. I don’t care about a house with a pool and a staircase. I don’t care if I can swan in to a hoity-toity party and Ivy won’t know which fork to use.

  But I think about never seeing her smile again. Never feeling her soft lips pressed to mine. Never seeing that sweet flush creeping over her cheeks when she thinks dirty thoughts about me.

  That? I’d miss it. I miss it already. Feels like I’ve been hollow for days.

  “I want Ivy back,” I tell my brother.

  “Then go git ’er,” he tells me, like I’m the stupidest man in the world. And maybe I am, because I’m letting her get away.

  That shit’s about to change.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Boone

  “Jack here?” I ask, heading to the front desk. My accountant scuttles in behind me, holding his briefcase. I act like this is normal shit and smile. “Tell him Mr. Price is here to see him.”

  The receptionist is all fake smiles for me today. “Jack Jackson, Jack Farrington, or Jack Richards?”

  Like I remember? They’re all the same to me—con men and chauvinist assholes that talked over Ivy and tried to steal her business. I’m going to make them respect her . . . the hard way. I glance around the office, looking for a familiar blonde head, but I don’t see her. “First one,” I say, since I need to pick a name.

  She nods and dials a number. “Mr. Jackson? Mr. Price is here to see you.”

  Before she can put down the phone, Jack’s heading down the stairs toward me, all smiles. He’s even more orange today than last time. “Boone,” he calls out as if we’re great buddies. “I’m so glad you decided to come back.”

  “Wanted to buy some real estate,” I drawl. “Thought you’d be the man to see.”

  “I am absolutely the man to see,” he agrees, giving my accountant a curious look. He extends a hand to me and, when I ignore it, gestures at a conference room, his smile growing a little more forced. “Interested in the house I mentioned?”

  “Actually, I’m wantin’ to buy a business office,” I tell him as we stroll into a fancypants tiny office with a ridiculous table. I look down the hall as we head in, but there’s still no Ivy. God, I miss her. Soon, I tell myself. You’ll see her very soon.

  My accountant sits down next to me and opens his briefcase, pulling out the checkbook.

  “Where’s Ivy today?” I ask.

  Jack’s smile gets a little thin. “I’m sorry to say that Ms. Smithfield is no longer with the company. We had to let her go.”

  “I see.” Rage burns in my gut. I think of Ivy—my Ivy—being cast out on her ass by this jerk. Ten bucks says she did nothing wrong. They’re punishing her for something to do with me. I clench my hands under the table. Today, I was just gonna buy this business and give it to her.

  Now? Time for a new tactic.

  “I can assure you that this won’t interrupt your business with us in the slightest, Mr. Price. There are many excellent real estate agents here—”

  “Such as yourself?” I drawl.

  He grins at me like we’re buddies. “Such as myself. So what kind of office are you looking for?” Jack asks quickly, changing the subject. “How many employees are you looking to house?”

  “I want this office.”

  His eyes widen. “This one? But it’s not for sale—”

  “Oh, come now, Jack,” I tell him smoothly as the accountant opens his books and poises his pen. “You and I are businessmen. I think we both know anything’s for sale for the right price. And I want this office. Here. Today. Right now.”

  He frowns at me like I’m crazy. “You want us to vacate the office today?”

  “I’m willin’ to make a very generous offer for this building and all the furnishings. I’ll even give you an hour to get all your important documents and computers out of here.” And I smile, trying to look like I’m just real focused on owning this particular building, like it’s no big deal.

  Like I ain’t gonna burn this shit to the ground the moment we shake hands. Because Three Jacks? These assholes are going down in flames, and it’s gonna be for Ivy.

  All for Ivy.

  “Now,” I say, leaning forward. “Let’s talk business, you and I. I’m sure we can come up with a number that will make you a happy camper.”

  Ivy

  My phone rings just as I’m scooping a double-decker cone and getting chocolate ice cream all over my hands. The ringtone is loud and brassy, and I wince as it continues on even as I finish the customer’s order. Over in the tiny cubby that passes as an office at Two Scoops, the shift manager is glaring at me.

  I wipe my hands clean on a towel and sigh at the stains of chocolate on my white work polo. I can’t afford a second shirt, so I’m going to have to wash this one in the sink when I get home. My phone gives one last buzz and I race toward the back counter where I left it. “Sorry,” I whisper to my boss, and go to turn off the ringer on my phone when a message pops up.

  Farah: OMG IVY CALL ME ASAP

  Farah: SERIOUSLY


  Farah: You need to get down here. It’s important!

  I shoot an uneasy glance at my boss, but she’s busy staring at her own phone. There’s no customers in line at the moment so I type a quick message back.

  Ivy: What’s going on?

  Farah: Your boyfriend is at 3Jacks and you need to come get him

  Ivy: What? Boone?

  Farah: Yep he’s looking for you

  Farah: And he says he’s gonna torch the place!!1!! He just bought it and now he’s going to torch it! WTF!! There are firetrucks here and everything1!! I had to clean out my desk!1!!

  What?

  I immediately think of the golf course.

  This is retribution. Oh my god. He was insulted at Three Jacks and so now he’s going to buy the building and raze it to the ground just like he did with the golf course. I’m alternately horrified and delighted. I hate the Three Jacks for how they treated me, but I’m also tangled up with worry about Boone. Does he still hate me? Is he going to come after me and Wynonna next?

  Actually . . . I’d be fine with that, because I could use the money he’d give me for the trailer and pay all the bills I’m behind on.

  I grab my purse from behind the counter. “I have to go,” I tell my boss.

  “Your shift doesn’t end for three more hours,” she says, jumping up from her stool with an angry look on her face. “If you leave, you’re fired.”

  “I know,” I call out, shoving my phone in my pocket as I race out the door. “I’ll pick up my check later!”

  I have to see Boone. I have to know what’s going on.

  And, okay, I want to watch Three Jacks burn to the ground if it’s going to go up in flames. Because I’m petty and vindictive like that.

  My heart hammers as I drive over to the old office. I haven’t been back here in the week that’s passed since I got fired. I’ve been too busy scraping together work to pay the bills. I’m a little nervous that I just also quit my newest job at Two Scoops, but I’ve got Burger Grill that I start at on Monday, so there’s that at least.