Dirty Money

“We are?”

“Yup. Remember I told you I wanted to buy a golf course?”

I head to the opposite side of the bed and pull my suit off the floor. It’s wrinkled badly. Ugh. I’m going to have to iron it before I dare leave the room, or else the staff downstairs really will think I’m a hooker. “I remember. I thought we’d focus on the house first, and then—”

“I bought one,” he says, interrupting me.

I stop, surprised at the stab of hurt I feel at his announcement. “You did?”

“Yeah, there’s one I wanted in particular, so I set my money guys on it. They made an offer on the business and signed the paperwork lickety-split.”

“Oh.” I don’t know if this particular business would have fallen into my jurisdiction, but I’m strangely wounded.

“Don’t be sad, baby girl,” Boone says. He comes to my side and wraps his arms around me in a bear hug. “I know I promised you the commission on this one but the owner was motivated to sell fast, and so I needed to get my guys in there. We threw so much cash at him it made his head spin.”

This isn’t making me feel any better. If anything, I feel worse. There goes one commission, and I never even had a stab at it. What if Boone gets bored or tired of waiting on me to find him the perfect house and goes under my nose again? “I see.”

“Get dressed, because we need to go meet my brothers at the golf course and I wanna show you off to them.”

I feel a stab of irritation and pry out of his arms. “I’m not sure I want to go. I have a lot of work to do and I’m already eating into my schedule by being here.”

The boyish enthusiasm on his face dims, and I feel like a jerk. “Am I hogging all your time?”

“It’s not that,” I say quickly.

“Tell me how much it’ll cost to keep you with me today—”

“I’m not a hooker,” I snap. “You can’t buy me by the hour.”

Boone looks utterly abashed. “Well, shit, Ivy. I didn’t mean it like that.”

And now I really feel like a jerk. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just hurt about the golf course.” And I’m woman enough to admit it. “I’ll go with you. I just need to tidy up my suit.” I hold up my wrinkled skirt.

Some of the excitement returns to his face. “I’ll show you a good time. It’s gonna be fun.”

I’m not sure how me seeing his new purchase that I didn’t get a commission on is going to be “fun” but I have to admit that every time he gives me one of those broad smiles, I get weak in the knees. “While I iron, do me a favor and find me a hand towel I can pin to the front of my jacket to act as a slip?”

He nods and pulls me against him. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Ivy.” The look on his face is utterly somber. “I’m just used to declaring that I want a thing and going after it. I completely forgot that this might take money out of your pocket. I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to,” I say quietly, because I don’t know why I’m mad. It was pie-in-the-sky money, anyhow. As in, I won’t believe there’s a sale attached until I see the money in my bank account.

“I do. And I’m gonna. Starting right now.” The naughty gleam returns to his eyes and he drops to his knees. “Think you can iron while my mouth’s on your pussy?”

Oh, dear lord help me, because I think I’m about to find out.

Chapter Ten

Ivy

A short time later, we pull up to the Silver Birch golf course. The parking lot is near-empty despite it being Saturday morning, and I worry that Boone’s made a bad purchase. There’s a few men standing near the front entrance talking, but other than that the place is deserted.

Not that this bothers Boone. He just grins and smacks a hand on the steering wheel. “I see my brothers are here. Those are their trucks.” He points at a row of pickups that stick out like sore thumbs in the parking lot. Each one is enormous, older, beat up, and covered with mud. Well, except for one. There’s a brand-new, tricked-out Sierra Denali . . . that is also covered in mud. One brother apparently has expensive taste.

As he parks the truck, I check the front of my suit in the mirror. The pinned-on washcloth is covering my very gaping cleavage, but it looks ridiculous. “Am I all right?”

“Yup,” he drawls, and leans in to give me a quick, possessive kiss. “You can hardly see the scorch marks.”

“The scorch marks are your fault,” I scold as he jumps out of the truck to go open my door. Of course, I didn’t exactly do a lot of protesting, so I guess it’s my fault, too. I’m blushing as he helps me out of the truck, but I’m smiling, too. Boone’s practically beside himself with excitement, and it’s hard not to get caught up in it as he takes my hand in his. “Boone, you’re practically giddy. I had no idea you liked golf so much.”

He just throws back his head and laughs, which mystifies me.

As we cross the parking lot, I notice that the men standing out front are there with what look like red gas cans. There’s a golf cart or two parked on the lawn, so maybe they’re fueling up? Though directly in front of the main clubhouse seems an odd place to do so. There’s also a box on the lawn, and one of the men has a dirty boot propped up on it.

“Well lookee there,” calls one man. “Who’s that fancypants asshole headin’ for us?”

“Can’t be Boone,” yells another. “That fucker ain’t never seen a hairbrush.” He elbows the third man, while the fourth looks occupied with his phone.

“Fuck all y’all,” Boone says amiably. “And don’t be fuckin’ cussin’ in front of my fiancée. She’s cultured, damn it.”

“F-fiancée?” I sputter as we approach. “Excuse me?”

He just gives me another one of those panty-melting smiles. “Told you I was gonna marry you, Ivy. But don’t you worry. I’ll propose all nice and right when you’re ready for it.”

“That doesn’t mean we’re engaged,” I protest, but it’s clear that Boone’s already decided. This man is pure pigheadedness. I think of his words—that I’m cultured—and inwardly cringe. If only he knew the truth.

Of course, it’s kind of hard to bring it up right now when his four brothers are staring me down. They eye me like I’m some sort of strange beast, though one keeps staring at my breasts. I move a little closer to Boone and he puts a possessive arm around my shoulders. “This here’s Ivy. She’s the one that’s gonna sell me a mansion to make all those assholes weep that they ever talked shit about us.”

“Uh-huh,” one says. “’Cause a mansion is gonna fix things.” He tilts his head, and for a moment, he looks shockingly like Boone, bushy beard and all. The others don’t look much like him—the youngest is blond and looks a little familiar, though I can’t place it. One brother has slightly darker skin that hints at Hispanic ancestry. They’re all wearing Price Brothers Oil trucker caps, and I swear that they all shop from the same closet, because they all look like they just came from a construction site. Good lord. Here I thought Boone was an anomaly with his rough talk and even rougher appearance, and he’s got four clones lined right up in front of me.

“Shaddup, Clay. I like the idea of a big fancy house. And so does Ivy.” He squeezes my shoulder.

One of the brothers narrows his eyes at me, and I suddenly feel like a gold digger. “I’m his real estate agent,” I tell them quickly. “Our personal relationship has nothing to do with business.”

As a one, they smirk. “Uh-huh,” drawls the first one again. He taps his boot on the box under his foot. “Before you ask, I brought the good stuff, bro.”

Boone howls with laughter. “You got some dynamite this early in the morning? You’re a genius, Clay.”

Wait . . . dynamite? Perhaps I heard wrong.

Even as I wonder, a loud horn honks behind us. Everyone turns, and I see two big fire trucks full of men pull up in the parking lot. The firefighters are grinning and one bounds out of his truck. Boone crosses over to meet him, and they shake hands.

“Thanks for inviting us out for this,” he says to Boone. “Gonna be a great exercise for my men.”

“Anytime,” Boone declares. “We’re just about to get started.” He looks over at his brothers. “Everyone gone from inside?”

“Almost,” Clay says. “The manager didn’t much appreciate gettin’ fired. She’s takin’ her time packing up her stuff.”

Fired? I blink at the brothers, then back at Boone, where he’s talking to the firefighter. “I’m afraid I’m a bit confused,” I say. Okay, I’m a lot confused. “I thought Boone just purchased this place?”

“Oh, he did,” Clay drawls. “This is all part of the plan.”

There’s a plan here? Because this just seems like chaos to me.

As if I can’t get any more confused, the doors to the clubhouse open and a woman comes out with a box in hand. It looks like a bunch of desk junk, and she’s weeping. Is this the manager that got fired? I want to ask what’s going on, but the others are staring at her like she’s some sort of viper. This just gets weirder and weirder. As she passes us, she glares at Boone and his brothers. “Trash!” she spits at them. “I wish you’d go to hell!”

“Wish in one hand, shit in the other,” one of the brothers murmurs, and that sends them all into a fit of laughter.

The woman gives me a haughty look, as if I’m some kind of idiot for being here with them, and sticks her nose in the air. She marches through the parking lot and gets into her car, and when she drives off, Boone turns to the fireman and rubs his hands. “Shall we get started?”

“Be my guest,” the man says, gesturing at the building.