Dirty Money

There’s a faint, acrid scent in the air as I step inside, and it’s silent in the lobby. It’s so quiet that I almost miss the fact that someone’s sitting at the front desk. It’s Boone, wearing a suit, his back to me. His shoulders look broad and gorgeous in the jacket, and I experience a pang of loss so great it nearly brings me to my knees.

I had this gorgeous man and I lost him.

He turns slowly in the chair, and I see he’s playing with a book of matches. As I watch, he plants one foot and then the other on the top of Janet’s desk. “Just the person I came here to see,” he drawls. “Do you go by Ivy or by Reba?”

I’m momentarily taken aback. We’re playing with all the cards out on the table, are we? Then, I realize there’s nothing else to hide, not anymore. I’m already at rock bottom. “Only my sister calls me Reba, and I’m pretty sure she does it just to piss me off.”

Boone smiles a little. “Ivy, then.”

“Yes, just Ivy. I’m the same person, no matter what you think.”

He nods slowly and studies my clothing. “What is that getup?”

“The official employee uniform for Two Scoops Ice Cream and Malt Shoppe. I think I just got fired, though.”

“Do I need to go burn it down, too?”

For some reason, that strikes me as incredibly funny and I start to laugh. I press my fingers to my lips, because it shouldn’t be funny, and yet I can’t stop laughing. A moment later, though, my laughter is turning into sobs. “When did everything go to such shit?”

“Baby girl, it’s always been shit. You’ve just been too stubborn to notice.”

Another laugh hiccups out of me. “I guess you’re right.”

“Come here.” He gestures, indicating I should join him at Janet’s desk.

I swipe at my stupid, leaky eyes and glance back through the tinted glass windows of the lobby. Out in the parking lot, another fire truck is pulling up, and I see Jack Jack pacing while on his phone. Everyone else is waiting, their boxes in hand, confused and uncertain looks on their faces. No one knows what’s going on. “I came to talk to you,” I tell him as I approach, my steps slow and cautious. I want to rush forward and fling myself in his arms, but I’m not exactly sure how that’d be received, so I play it cool. I’m holding my breath as I approach Boone, and as I do, I wish I had taken off my stupid cap, or not spilled quite so much ice cream on the front of my shirt. He wants a lady and right now, I’m the furthest thing from it.

But there’s no more hiding between us. I have to be who I am—dirty shirt, dirty past, and all.

There’s a hint of defiance in my stance when I move to the side of the desk and stand next to him. “Here I am.”

He swings his feet back down off the desk. Boone’s hands go to my hips, and he looks at them thoughtfully, as if trying to decide what to do with me. I can feel my body respond just to that small touch, and I’m disappointed when all he does is pick me up and set me gently down on top of Janet’s desk, right in front of him.

I look around, because it feels too vulnerable to look right into his face. There’s burned-out matches on the desk, and I pick one up. “What are you doing, Boone?”

“Thought it was obvious, baby girl. I’m gonna fuckin’ torch the place.”

I give him an exasperated look and point the dead match at him. “You can’t buy and burn down every building in San Antonio just because the people inside are dicks.”

“I,” he says, and pulls the match from my fingers, “am a billionaire. I can do whatever I want. And if they’re dumb enough to sell the place to me, then they don’t get a say in how I treat the building.”

I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling, because wasn’t that just the very thing I said to the others outside? Not five minutes ago? “And you’re going to burn this place down?”

“To the fucking ground,” he agrees, a devilish smile curving his mouth. His beard brushes against the starchy white collar of his suit, and my fingers itch to touch him.

God, I miss him so much. I feel like an addict that’s had to go cold turkey . . . and doesn’t want to. “Just because they’re jerks?”

“No.” His gaze moves over my body. “Because they were mean to you.”

My heart seems to stop in my chest. My body prickles with awareness of him, and I’m on the verge of crying again. This time, though, I give in to my impulse and reach out and caress his cheek, letting his beard tickle my hand. “You’re doing this . . . for me?”

He turns his face and kisses my palm. “Ivy, I’d do everything for you.”

“I thought you hated me,” I whisper. The tears I’ve been fighting against so hard start flowing like rain.

Boone captures my hand in his, and kisses my palm again. “I love you, Ivy or Reba or whatever you want to call yourself. I was hurt, yeah, but I think I was more hurt that you lied to me than the fact that you’re not this person I built up in my head. None of that shit matters.” He nips at my fingertips.

“You never called me back—”

“I was fuckin’ depressed because it felt like I’d lost you, somehow. Took Clay coming over to kick my ass and make me realize that nothing had changed. I still feel the same way about you.”

“Even though I’m poor?” The words feel like they’re strangling me. “I live in a trailer, Boone. My father—”

“He’s in prison, I know.” He kisses my fingertips again. “I know all of it, baby.”

“How—how did you find out?”

“Clay hired a private investigator. Pulled a bunch of records. You ain’t mad about it, are you?”

I stare at him. I’m not mad. It just . . . feels a bit like all of my clothes have been peeled off and I’m naked and vulnerable. “I’ve tried really hard not to follow in my parents’ footsteps. Tried to give my little sister the life she deserves to have—”

He gently bites down on the fleshy pad under my thumb, sending tingles through my body. “I know, Ivy. I ain’t judging you.”

“I’m not classy—”

“Baby, you are the ultimate in classy.” He kisses the inside of my wrist. “That has nothing to do with you living in a trailer.” He presses another kiss on my arm, moving up the soft inner skin toward my elbow. “I know you grew up in a trailer. And I know I said I wanted a classy woman, but I changed my mind. I want one that’s like me.”

“You think I’m like you?”

“Aren’t you?” He looks up from my arm and grins. “We both come from poor backgrounds, we’re both hard workers, we’re both addicted to each other . . . and we’re both pigheaded as fuck.”

I give a little snort of amusement. “Well, you’re not wrong about that.”

“We’re the same, you and I. And that’s who I want by my side. Not someone that I can dress up pretty and trot out to parties like a doll. I want a real living, breathing, gorgeous woman at my side, who will occasionally tell me to go fuck myself and maybe let me put my hand up her skirt while I’m driving.” He goes back to kissing my arm. “I love you, Ivy Reba Whoever You Want To Be. And that hasn’t changed.”

“I love you, too,” I tell him, breathless. “I love you so much, Boone. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you—”

“I know, baby. I understand why you didn’t.” He kisses the inside of my elbow, and I feel a shiver move through my entire body at the caress. “Took me a few days, but I got it. Will you forgive me for being a stubborn ass?”

“Only if you forgive me for the same.”

“I think I can manage that.” He gets to his feet and pulls me against him. “Can I kiss you now?”

“I think I’d be sad if you didn’t.”

“Can’t have that,” he murmurs, and leans in to brush his mouth over mine. His lips and his taste sweep over me and I’m lost again. I lean into his embrace, eager for more of his kisses. I’m hungry for him and it’s been far too long since I’ve felt his touch. His hand cups my cheek and then our lips are locked in a fierce caress, my tongue tangling with his.

He groans and his hands slide to my ass, cupping my butt through my cheap slacks. I twine my arms around his neck and sigh happily when the kiss breaks. “I love you, Boone.”

“You are mine, Ivy. Ain’t nothing coming between us, baby.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “I may not be a smooth man, but you will never find anyone more devoted to you.”

“I’m not looking for a smooth man. I want my man, beard and all.”

Boone growls low in his throat and claims my mouth in another scorching kiss. “This man and his beard want to take you upstairs and go fuck on a boardroom table.”

I gasp at the lewd statement . . . but I’m also kind of turned on by it. “The boardroom?”

“Right on top of that dickface’s paperwork, if you like,” he tells me, rubbing his beard against my neck as he nuzzles my ear.

“And . . . then you’re going to burn this place down? Like the golf course?”

He pulls back and grins at me. “You do know I donated that land to the city, right?”

“You did?”

“Yup. They’re building a park there. You wanna build a park here, too?” He nips my ear. “I think we could call it the Ivy Smithfield Takes No Shit From Her Bosses Park.”

I giggle. “I don’t know if that sounds like me. I took their shit for a long time.”

“But that’s why you’ve got me to back you up, baby,” he says, gazing down at me. The expression on his face is completely serious. “I’ve got your back. Right now, and forever.”

I tremble with the force of how wonderful that statement is. “I love you,” I whisper again, just because I need to tell him. “I’m the luckiest woman alive.”