Really, I’d drop both jobs if it meant I got to see Boone again.
As I pull into the parking lot, I see Boone’s truck and my heart hammers.
I called him twice after we parted, and he never returned my calls. It’s a little twist of justice, I suppose, for all the times he called me and I never returned the calls. I should have, because it feels like crap to be ignored. And I hate that I only called twice. I should have called him more. I should have kept trying, tried to explain myself to him. Emailed. Shown up at his trailer. Something.
But . . . I was too ashamed. I hated that he’d found out, and I hated that he was so upset by it. What could I possibly say to make it any better? I still mentally cringe thinking of Winky Jack and his shitty comments about me flipping burgers at the black-tie dinner.
I hope Boone doesn’t hate me.
I park my car next to his and close my eyes, pressing my forehead on the steering wheel. “Please, give me a chance,” I whisper. “Please let me win you back.”
But over and over, I picture him burning down that golf course with the expression of smug satisfaction on his face. And I worry there won’t be forgiveness for someone who tricked him.
If there isn’t? I’ll . . . well, I’ll go on. I’ll be sad, miserable and alone, but I’ll carry on because that’s what I’ve always done. I’ll continue to put one foot in front of the other and give Wynonna the best life I can. But for once . . . it would be nice to have something that was for me. Someone that I could love as selfishly and wildly as I wanted.
Not just someone. I want Boone. I don’t want anyone else, don’t even want to entertain the thought. I’ve always been a cautious person, and I’ve been flirted with and dated a few times, but no one has interested me enough to want more, to want to rearrange my entire busy schedule just for a few minutes in his company. With Boone, it’s different. Everything’s different.
And I’ve fucked it all up.
My phone buzzes with another incoming text, and I’m positive it’s Farah, asking me where the heck I am. I can’t stall any longer, so I take a deep breath and get out of the car.
Farah’s there on the sidewalk, a box of desk stuff tucked under her arm, staring at her phone and texting with her thumb. She looks up as I approach, noting my pink Two Scoops sun visor and my chocolate-stained polo. “I’m glad you’re here. The Jacks are freaking the fuck out!”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Why do I care if the Jacks are upset?” I’m kind of glad they are, actually. “I don’t work here anymore.”
Behind us, a fire truck roars into the parking lot. Farah stares at it, then looks over at me. “You think this is all a stunt?”
“With Boone?” I laugh. “No. On our first date he burned down a golf course because someone pissed him off.”
“Is he a pyro?” Her eyes are wide.
I shake my head. “He just doesn’t like being ignored or mocked. So he finds a way to get people’s attention. This usually does it.” Funny how I thought this was the most bizarre thing when I met Boone, but now I understand him. He refuses to be treated as if he doesn’t matter, and if it means getting people’s attention in the most over-the-top way? He’ll do it to make his point. It’s all just money to him. Easy come, easy go, just like he said.
“Ivy!” Jack Jack crosses the sidewalk toward me and Farah, a weepy Janet in tow. “Thank god. You need to stop this madman!”
“Madman?” I ask politely.
“Yes! He went in the building with a can of gas and matches, and kicked everyone else out the moment the paperwork was signed!” Jack leans in. “He’s going to burn the place like some sort of arsonist!”
“Well . . . did you sell it to him?”
Jack straightens, his eyes narrowing.
“Because if he bought the building and you agreed to it, then it’s not really arson, is it?” I give him my sweetest smile. “He owns the place so I’m sure he can do what he likes to it.”
“But it’s the heart of Three Jacks,” Jack protests.
“I didn’t even get to take all my stuff,” Janet wails at his side. “There are entire file cabinets I didn’t get to!”
“He didn’t let you clean the place out?”
“He only gave us an hour,” Jack says, indignant. “The other Jacks have their offices locked. Can you imagine the shitstorm when they come in and find out that the place has been burned to the ground?”
“So why did you sell?” I ask. When Jack Jack’s face goes purple with outrage, a laugh threatens to bubble up in my throat. “It’s because he offered you an obscene amount of money, didn’t he?”
Jack narrows his eyes at me. “Are you laughing at this, Miss Smithfield? Because I fail to see what’s so fucking funny—”
“Ivy, can you please just go in and talk to him,” Farah asks. “I don’t think Jack would have sold the place if he’d have realized that the guy was planning on burning the building down.”
“This is an historic building,” Jack agrees, jumping into the conversation again. “It has been completely refurbished under my watch and brings pride to the name Three Jacks and—”
“And you sold it,” I butt in. “Which is on you.” Farah gives me an unhappy look and I raise a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll go in and talk to him.” Talking to Boone is pretty much my entire reason for being here.
“Thank you,” Farah says. She shoots an unhappy look at both Jack and Janet, and then looks at me, expectant. As if I’m going to fix this.
I . . . kind of don’t want to fix it. I want to take one of the gas cans and help Boone light the place up. Is that bad? I’m not sure I care.
I open the elegant glass door that leads into the Three Jacks lobby. I remember coming into this office for the first time, and thinking about how incredibly beautiful the building was, and how they must cater to a lot of high-end clients with such a fancy place. I remember thinking that I’d give anything to work at an office as posh as this one. That all my problems would be solved if I could work here.
Funny how perspective changes. I’ve been less stressed working at the ice cream shop for the last week, because at least there, I know my paycheck is guaranteed. I know no one’s going to swoop in and take it out from under me. And really, there are no high expectations I can never hope to fulfill.
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.”
“Does the luckiest woman alive wanna go find a nice boardroom and get my beard between her thighs?”
“Oh god, does she ever.”
He picks me up and carries me like a princess, heading up the elegant marble stairs to the upper offices. I’ve only been up here a few times in the entire span of my employment with Three Jacks. There’s a private bathroom, the three exclusive, swanky offices of the Jacks, and a small boardroom that they liked to hold their meetings in. I point at the door as Boone carries me upstairs, and he kicks it open.
“Nice table,” he comments as he sets me down on the beveled wooden edge of it. “Expensive.”
“For them, it’s all about looking the best,” I agree, scooting back a few inches to get comfortable.
“Maybe I’ll take it with me,” he says, a devilish look on his face. “So every time I lay you down on it, he’s getting fucked over by me.”
“Ew. I vote burn it.”
“Burn it, it is,” he agrees, his hands going to my nylon work belt and tugging at it. “And let’s get these off you. My mouth misses your sweet pussy something fierce.”
I moan at his filthy words, tearing at my belt. The clasp pops off and clinks to the floor, but I don’t even care. I miss him terribly and I want him more than anything I can imagine.
He stands between my spread thighs. His hands drag over my breasts, rubbing them through the thick weave of my cheap shirt, finding my nipples under the layers of fabric and coaxing them into aching little points. My hands tear at my pants, and I manage to work them down my hips, along with my panties.
“Look at how sexy and hot you are, Ivy,” he breathes, his hand sliding down my front to caress my smooth pussy. “God, I love touching you.”
“Then touch me more,” I encourage, pushing at the fabric of my slacks that’s gathered at my hips. “Get these off of me.”