Dirty Scoundrel

“Your lines?” I echo, my heart sinking.

“Yes. That reading is tomorrow and you know what a stickler Jimmy is. He doesn’t like it when the actors show up and don’t know the characters.” He gives his head a little shake and then waves a hand at me. “Your mother is busy so I need you to help me with it.”

“Oh,” I say softly. “Why don’t you start?”

My father presses a hand to his chest and begins a meaningful, heartfelt speech about the perils of war. I’m sure it’s from a movie that wrapped decades ago, just like I’m sure my father’s living in that moment again. He thinks my mom’s alive. He thinks he’s still acting.

He’s not getting any better.

Hot tears pour down my cheeks as my father waves a hand at me, encouraging me to reply, but when I don’t, he just continues on, happy as could be, lost in his own little world.

This is my sign, I think.

I can’t do this.

I can’t keep it all together.

I’ve been trying and trying and the only thing I’m managing is to stop the quicksand from pulling us under quite so fast. Dad needs someone at his side night and day, or he’s going to hurt himself again. The business—and the ranch—can’t be managed by just one person.

And me . . .

I need a hero.

But since all I’ve got is Clay Price, I’m going to have to make do.

* * *

NAT: Lexi, I’m going to do it.

LEXI: You’re going to take his indecent proposal? This is just like that movie! What was it called?

NAT: Indecent Proposal?

LEXI: Ha! Right! In all seriousness, what made you decide to go for it?

NAT: We made out a lot in high school. I planned to give him my virginity then. I guess it’s not much different than doing it now.

LEXI: Except he morphed into a mighty asshole between now and then. You sure about this?

NAT: Of course I’m not sure, but I’m running out of options. Dad’s completely lost lately and I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself again. I can’t watch him and the museum. I’ve had to leave the honor jar out on the counter for most of the day today, and the only thing it got me was a not-so-startling realization that people have zero honor.

LEXI: Aww :(

LEXI: Ur my friend, Nat. I hate to see you give up on yourself like this. I can loan u some money.

NAT: You goober.

NAT: You’re the only person I know that’s as broke as me.

LEXI: Yes, but some foolish bank sent me a credit card through the mail! Mwa-haha!

NAT: It’s sweet of you to offer, but no. I’m going to do this. It’ll solve all my problems. Girls sell their virginity online all the time now, right? This is . . . sort of like that. It’s just that I know who’s buying.

LEXI: I guess. I still don’t like it!

NAT: I don’t, either, but I’m out of options. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wrap my body in Saran wrap to try and sweat out five pounds before Clay sees me naked.

LEXI: Apple cider vinegar b4 every meal 2!! Works!!

LEXI: And make your price a good one! He’s got billions!

LEXI: And don’t shave the bush! Fuck him! Go Sasquatch on his ass!

NAT: Lol—I love you girl.

LEXI: Love you too. XOXO

NAT: Thanks for not trying to talk me out of it.

LEXI: Why would I? Like u said, it solves all ur problems. I might not like it, but I get it.

LEXI: Just keep me posted!

NAT: You know I will!

* * *

NATALIE: Is this Clay’s phone?

CLAY: It’s me. Have you come up with your price?

NATALIE: You just get right down to things, don’t you?

CLAY: I know what I want, yes.

NATALIE: I’ve scanned in my father’s hospital bills and attached them via email to the address you sent me. I will expect those to be paid in full.

CLAY: And?

NATALIE: And there’s some other debt that I also have, attached in a second email and itemized. Again, those will need to be paid in full. There’s also a card for a live-in nursing attendant service, and that will need to be arranged for the length of time that I’ll be “servicing” you since I won’t be here to take care of my father myself.

CLAY: Go on.

NATALIE: That’s it. I accept your deal.

CLAY: You’re not asking for money for yourself? No millions to keep you in the lifestyle you’re accustomed to?

NATALIE: First of all, you’ll see that my father’s medical expenses aren’t exactly cheap. And second of all, I don’t know who you think I am that I’d try to shake you down for as much as humanly possible. I’ve done the math and this is the price I feel comfortable asking. It’s all detailed in your email.

CLAY: First of all, I expect a shakedown. I’m bargaining for sex here. My end isn’t fair and I don’t expect yours to be, either.

CLAY: Second of all, as to who I think you are? I thought I knew, but that changed right after graduation, remember?

NATALIE: You’re an ass. And okay, fine, I want a million dollars on top of everything else I’ve asked for. Happy?

CLAY: I’ll be arriving at 4 pm sharp on Monday with contracts for our deal and payment arrangements. Be waiting with a suitcase.

Natalie

It’s done. I don’t know how to feel. I’m a bundle of emotions that are all vomiting to get out.

I’m sick at heart that I’ve stooped to selling myself.

I’m relieved that the mountain of bills will be handled.

I’m secretly looking forward to a few days away from my dad and the endless caretaking.

I’m ashamed that I feel like that at all.

I stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom and feel like the world’s worst daughter and the whore of Babylon both. It’s not a fun combination.

But whatever I feel doesn’t matter. I’m doing this. Clay will get me in his bed, humiliate me or whatever he plans on doing with me, and then he’ll let me go home. I’ll be done with him and I’ll have enough money that I can breathe without feeling like the world’s about to crash down on me.

It’s awful, but I’m kind of looking forward to that part. I just need to get through the awful “humiliation sex” part. Because that has to be why Clay wants me this much, right? He’s determined to fuck me and make me regret how I dumped him back after high school. It’s got to be revenge. I shiver a little, thinking about how he stares at me. There’s an intensity to it that wasn’t there seven years ago. Maybe it’s the beard that makes him look a lot rougher and like he’s got an edge. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s gone from a rangy, good-looking teenager to a tall, sculpted man who’s got broad shoulders that can’t be hidden even by the world’s rattiest T-shirt. He looks twice as good as he did seven years ago—despite the scruffy beard and clothes—and I look like a roly-poly version of myself.

I get up from the bed and move to the full-length mirror in my room, studying my body. Nothing looks like it used to. Back in high school I had almost no breasts, a small butt, and a tiny waist. Now I practically spill out of my clothing on both ends, and I wince, hefting my boobs in my hands. Guys like a girl with curves, but I think I’ve gone straight from “curvy” to “pillowy.” Not a good look, especially when I was so lean back in high school.

I think of the cookies downstairs . . . and then I think of the Saran wrap Lexi mentioned. Shit. Maybe I have time to sweat out the five pounds before Monday. Not that five pounds is going to make a dent, but I’ll feel a little better about myself naked if I lose them.

And then I panic.

Oh god. Clay Price is going to see me naked.

This is going to be the longest weekend of my life.

Chapter Six

Clay

Sunday nights, we all head over to Boone’s fancypants house so Ivy can cook us dinner and we can pretend to be a normal family. We gather around the long mahogany table, scrape the dirt off our boots, and try to be polite. Ivy likes polite, and Boone likes whatever Ivy likes. Most nights it ends in chaos, like the time that Gage and Knox pushed Seth’s face in a plate of spaghetti and then a fistfight broke out. Tonight’s pretty quiet, though. I been sippin’ my beer, watching the others as they chat about a weird house Ivy sold this last week, wonderin’ when I should break the news to them that I’m paying my high school sweetheart to have sex with me.

Knox keeps glancing over at me from his side of the table, and I ignore his ass because I’ll speak up when I’m good and ready.

It’s my little brother, Seth, who decides he needs to front me out, though. “You’re quiet tonight, Clay. Ain’t like you.”

“Ain’t it?” I say mildly, playing with my beer bottle.

“Normally you don’t shut the hell up,” he says with a cocky grin.

Knox just smirks and grabs another piece of bread. “This pot roast is bangin’, Ivy.”

“Why, thank you, Knox.” She beams at him and then gives me a concerned look. “They’re right, though. You’re very quiet, Clay. Is anything wrong?”

“Just thinking up baby names,” I tease. It’s a running joke with her and I—I keep coming up with the worst names possible and she keeps shooting ’em down all polite-like. “Read somewhere it’s popular to name the baby after historical figures. Thought Genghis would be a good name.”

Ivy makes a face. “No.”

“Abraham?” I ask. “Or Lincoln?”

“No and no.” She shoots Boone a help-me look, but he just reaches over the table and rubs her belly, all proud.

“Eisenhower?”

“Dumbass, you can’t even spell Eisenhower,” Gage tells me between bites of pot roast. “It’d have to be something easy for you. Like Ford.”

“I like Ford,” I say mildly. “Good truck.”

“I’m not naming the baby after a truck,” Ivy says patiently. “And you’re very good at changing the subject, Clay, but I’m onto you. What’s the matter?”