Dirty Scoundrel

“Yup. We’ll be there soon.” He sounds distracted.

I wonder if it’s impolite to ask if my date should brush his hair. Probably. My phone buzzes with an incoming text from Alice, and I pick it up, forgetting all about Clay. It’s a brief update on how dad is doing—she’s so thoughtful. She knows I’m nervous and is giving me updates every couple of hours just to keep me in the loop. Right now he’s napping and she’s letting me know what she has planned for his dinner. Even though I can’t be there, I’m beyond thrilled with how conscientious and attentive she is so far. I’m starting to relax about leaving my father alone with them. A little.

But when the limo stops for a second time, we’re in front of a steakhouse. A . . . chain steakhouse. I look over at Clay in surprise as the driver gets out. “Are we making another temporary stop?”

“Nah. This is where we’re having dinner.” He gives me another lazy, heart-stopping grin and I can’t decide if I want to kiss him or punch him in the face.

“I’m wearing a cocktail dress for The Sizzlin’ Skillet? Are you serious?” I stare at him, aghast. “I thought you said this was a business dinner.”

“It is. My buddy Fred’s meetin’ us there and we’re gonna talk business.”

“I didn’t need a three-hundred-dollar dress and eight-hundred-dollar shoes for The Sizzlin’ Skillet!”

“You did if I wanted you to have ’em.” The look in his eyes grows heated. “I wanted to look at you dressed up. And I felt like showin’ you off. So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

I just gaze at him blankly. I can’t believe this. “It’s a huge waste of money.”

Clay laughs. “Like I give a shit about that? I have money to burn for days.”

“It’s wasteful.”

“Not to me. Not when I get what I want.”

Chapter Nine

Natalie

Dinner is . . . well, the nicest word I can think for it is “weird.”

It’s not that it’s bad. The food is great, and when I order a salad, Clay makes a face and orders me a steak, just like everyone else at the table is having. The business partner, Fred, turns out to be an older gentleman in a cowboy hat and bolo tie, and with a wife as round as I am. She’s the happiest, giggliest person, and I spend most of dinner smiling because they’re just such a sweet couple to be around. I’m the only one dressed up, and even though a couple of people give me funny looks, after a while, I don’t notice it anymore.

I’m quiet through dinner, listening as the two men discuss things like camouflage, hunting seasons, and then “responsive fibers.” From what it sounds like, Clay’s product is a camouflage that will respond to the environment, which seems pretty smart to me. I’m even more impressed when he begins discussing how to make it affordable for troops overseas. Fred wants to sell it to the military, but Clay isn’t having any of that. He wants it made cheap enough so that families can buy it for their sons serving overseas. He’s heard stories about soldiers having to have body armor sent to them and wants to do one better with the cheap camo. I’m impressed at his altruism, though I don’t point out that it’d be easier for him to just send body armor to the soldiers overseas if he wants to spend his money. There’s clearly enthusiasm for the project, and since I don’t know much about it—or the business—I just sip my glass of iced tea and listen politely.

It’s also clear to me that Fred and his wife think that I’m Clay’s girlfriend instead of his paid assistant. I can see why they’d think that, given I’m dressed up in heels and a slinky dress . . . and because Clay keeps his hand on my knee or around my shoulders at all times. Actually, he pretty much insists on touching me in some way all through the evening. Not in a creepy, grabby sort of way. Just as if he needs to reassure himself that I’m there. Like I’m a touchstone of some kind. It’s interesting.

I should hate it, but instead . . . it makes me feel like I did back when I was seventeen, and my world revolved around Clay Price and how good he made me feel. It’s completely different now, I remind myself. And yet . . .

It doesn’t feel all that different. I’m bigger around and Clay’s grown a big bushy beard and gotten a tan, but . . . those things don’t matter, I guess. Not when it’s the same person underneath.

Tonight, as he puts his hand on my knee and rubs it for what feels like the tenth time in a row, it does feel like the same person. It’s not the awful, brutal Clay of the past few days that’s made terrible deals and expected me to jump running. When he throws his head back and laughs, it makes me smile, and reminds me of the boy from high school, the one with the infectious smile that everyone returned. The boy who’d never met a stranger or made an enemy. I’d loved him so much.

Right up until he’d wanted me to stay home and be his little wife. Or at least, I’d thought that was what he wanted. If it was anything like tonight, it’d be something that sounds terrible in theory, but the reality would be cozy dinners together, laughing among friends with Clay’s hand on my knee . . . and kisses like the one we’d shared in the limo.

Somehow, I don’t think marrying Clay and being his “little wife” would have been so bad, after all.

The thought makes me sad. Why was I so angry when my dad brought it up? Why had he made it sound so terrible? I should have talked to Clay more instead of lashing out at him. But I can’t go back and change the past, just like I can’t go back and prevent my dad from having his stroke and turning my life upside down. I can’t go back and tell my dad not to spend his fortune.

I can’t go back and tell Clay Price that I would have loved to have been his wife.

That ship has sailed and it left without me. All I get now is to be his paid mistress.

Clay

Having Nat at my side’s like a dream. Being able to touch her whenever I want? Hearing her quiet laughter, seeing her pretty smile slowly cross her face. God. I wish I’d thought of this years ago. I don’t care that I had to buy Natalie to get her back. I love having her here. I feel complete. She’s mine now for as long as I want her. I glance down at my hand, but the R there—or was it an S?—has been completely rubbed away from washing my hands and then just the vagaries of the day.

Maybe that’s a sign that I don’t need revenge.

Nah.

As the night wears on, though, Natalie grows quieter. She’s always been a bit shy in social situations. One on one, she’s as charming as anything, but put her in a room full of people, and she clams up. I’ve always known that about her and thought it was kinda cute—how the prettiest, most attractive girl I ever met gets tongue-tied around strangers. Doesn’t seem right to me. Tonight it’s just four of us—me and her, and Fred and his wife, Irma. Nat’s gracious and pleasant to them, but she listens a lot more than she talks, and as the night goes on, her smiles grow less and less frequent. She’s got a sad look in her eyes that makes me wonder what she’s worryin’ about.

Probably her dad, I realize.

The thought makes me burn with jealousy. I hate that she’s with me and even now, she’s focused on that old man. That even if I pay Natalie to be with me—really be with me—her thoughts still aren’t here. Even now, Chap Weston’s pushin’ in between us, like the destroyer that he is.

It sours my mood, too. I keep up the act for Fred and Irma, though. They don’t need to know that I’m seething inside. Business talks wind up going nowhere, but that’s okay. I know Fred’ll work with me. Always knew that. Tonight was just to establish a bond between us and to show Natalie off a little. I’m proud of how sexy she is, even if I did have to buy her. That don’t matter to me.

When we get out to the limo, I nod to the driver. I’m stayin’ at a hotel in downtown San Antonio—one of the most expensive ones. Thought about bringing Nat back to my trailer, but that seemed wrong and insultin’ somehow. So I rented the fanciest suite I could get at Ivy’s suggestion. As we head to the hotel, though, she checks her phone again. And again.

And the sad, distant look on her face just keeps growin’. Any conversation I try to make with her falls limp, and by the time we get to the hotel, I ain’t even tryin’ anymore.

I’m burnin’ up with bitter anger. Didn’t I buy her? Didn’t I pay for her to be my assistant for as long as I want her? But even now, she ain’t with me. Maybe it ain’t her dad . . . maybe it’s someone else. A boyfriend I’m unaware of.

The thought fills me with rage. I didn’t even ask. What if she does have a man?

My hands clench into fists at the thought, and for the first time in my life . . . I feel murderous. It’s weird.

I hate bein’ jealous. I’m not that guy. Least, I didn’t think I was until I saw Nat again. Now I want to deck anyone that looks at her a little too hard. I feel possessive. She’s mine. Mine alone.

I’m moody by the time we get to the hotel. Nat makes a little noise in her throat at the sight of the hotel itself, but she doesn’t question it. Reckon she doesn’t wanna go back to my trailer, either. Then again, she might not know that I don’t have a real house. I ponder that. Maybe it’s time to see about gettin’ a real home now that I want to bring a lady back to my place. I’ll talk to Ivy, I think.

Tomorrow. Tonight I don’t wanna think about any girl but Natalie.

We head up in the elevator and I pull out my keycard. Natalie’s still quiet, though she’s starting to twitch at my side. I wonder if she’s nervous or if she just can’t wait to get away from me. The thought burns in my gut. Like I want her just rarin’ to escape. I want her hungry for more kisses.

Maybe that’s why I’m all surly when we pause in front of the suite. She eyes the double doors and gives me a curious, innocent look. “Is my room nearby?”

I push the keycard into the slot and then press my thumb to the reader to let it know that it’s me. “Only one room,” I tell her, and then hold the door open so she can enter.