Dirty Money

He stops, and turns to look at me. There’s a hard expression on his face. “See, that’s the thing. I don’t think you’re sorry you lied. I think you’re sorry you got caught.”

I bite my lip because . . . he’s not wrong. I am ashamed of who I am. I hate that I live in a trailer and my dad’s a convict. I hate all of that, and I didn’t want him to find out, ever. I don’t want him to think I’m so desperate for money that I slept with him to try and get a chunk of it. It’s not like that. It’s never been like that.

Boone points at me. “See? You got all quiet again. You don’t like it when someone confronts you, Ivy. You don’t like it when someone gets too close.”

“I just didn’t know what to say, Boone—”

He shakes his head, and his mouth is a firm line of anger. “That’s not the problem here. The problem is that I’ve opened up all of who I am to you and all you did was give me half-assed lies and a few smiles when all that would have mattered was the fucking truth.” He stabs a finger at the building. “And you’re gonna sit and let those assholes laugh at the two of us? Like they’re fucking better than us?” His jaw clenches and he shakes his head again. “That may be you, but it ain’t me, Ivy, darlin’. It ain’t me.”

“I should have said something.”

“Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

I rub my arms, chilled even though it’s a hundred degrees outside, the sun baking the sidewalk under my shoes. “Because I was afraid of losing you now that I’m in love with you.”

“See, that’s the problem with a relationship built on lies. I don’t know when I can believe you.”

And he turns and storms away again.

I watch him get into his truck, my nails digging into my palms to stop from crying. Please stop, I mentally beg. Stop and tell me it’s going to be okay. That we’re going to be okay. Give me one of those ravenous, playful looks that tells me you still want me.

But he just shakes his head and starts his truck. I watch him leave the parking lot, my hands throbbing and bloodless from clenching them so tight. He drives away and I just . . . stare.

He’s gone. I don’t know if he’s ever coming back. He’s furious at me, and he has every right to be. I did lie to him. I did let the Jacks smirk and laugh at him, even though I know that’s the thing that trips his trigger more than anything. I should have said something.

I said I was sorry, but we both knew I was lying. He’s right; I’m not sorry I lied, I’m just sorry he found out my secrets.

God, I am the worst ever.

I dash at the tears rolling down my cheeks, because it’s stupid to cry. I knew this would happen. I knew this would blow up in my face. And yet . . . I keep picturing Boone in the tux, the sly, pleased-with-himself smile on his face as he greeted me. Like he was being naughty and didn’t care. And the sight of that smile on his face filled me with so much joy and love. This time, I wasn’t going to push him away. This next time, things were going to be different.

Except now there’s no next time. Because now he knows I’m a fraud. He wanted someone with class, and instead he got a burger flipper with a redneck name and a dad in prison.

After a few minutes of staring longingly into the parking lot, I realize he’s not coming back. I . . . can’t let him walk away.

I’ll call him. This time, I’ll go after him. I’ll make him see where I was coming from, and maybe we can start over again. If he truly loves me, maybe he won’t give up on me.

I race back inside the office, and stop when I see the box he’d brought in. There’s a pink lid with a jaunty bow. I must have set the box down in one of the lobby chairs at some point, because I vaguely remember him handing it to me. I’m drawn to that box, and I lift the lid off. Inside, there are black sparkles, and I pull a dress out and hold it up. It’s all spaghetti straps and gauzy skirt, but it’s designer and lovely. Every dress in the box is the same, just a different size. He wanted to see me dressed up and sexy. He wanted to take me out to a nice dinner and show me off, because he’s proud of me.

Was proud of me.

My heart hurts.

“Ivy.”

I look up at Janet, the receptionist.

She points at the stairs. “The Jacks are waiting for you in their office. They said it’s important and they need to see you right away.”

Oh great. I can just imagine. I know how this is going to go. “They’re going to fire me, aren’t they?”

Janet practically wiggles in her seat with excitement, the gossip-hound. “They didn’t say, but I heard them talking about how unprofessional it is for you to date a client.”

Oh, please. The only thing they’re mad about is that I had a big client on the hook instead of them, and I didn’t tell anyone so they could steal it. I smile thinly. I’ve worked here long enough to know how the Jacks operate. It has nothing to do with who I’m dating and everything to do with the size of Boone’s wallet. If Boone wanted to buy a house from one of them instead of me? They’d fling me in his bed lickety-split and probably even hand me the condoms.

And then I shudder at that mental image.

I glance back at the box, and then pick it up and head for my desk.

“Ivy,” Janet calls out, a whine in her voice. “They told me you need to go upstairs right away—”

“They can fire me,” I call back at her. After all, that’s what they’re going to do anyhow. I take the box toward my desk and study my things. This day is just going from bad to worse.

Farah immediately puts down her phone and leans over her desk. “What’s going on, Ivy?”

“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.