Dirty Money

  “It has been a weird, weird evening,” I tell her, sitting down at the small, built-in corner table that acts as a kitchen in our tiny trailer. “Did you change your flat? I passed the spot on the highway you said it’d be at and I didn’t see it.”

  My sister looks upset. “No. Do you think someone stole it?”

  I shake my head. “More like it got towed by the city. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out in the morning.” I don’t want Wynonna to stress about money—I’ll do all the stressing when it comes to that. So I nudge the stack of books on the table. “Did you find the right books for your classes?”

  “Sort of? They’re an edition or three out of date, but I’m hoping the majority of the text is fine, because they were also cheap. I’m willing to take that risk.” She pats the stack of books. “Twelve bucks for all of these.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Books are so expensive, and it was a worry we both had. “One problem down.”

  “Yep.” She crosses her legs and gives me an expectant look. “So tell me about your day. Did you find another meth house in the suburbs?”

  “Weirder than that,” I tell her. “I got a new client today.”

  “And?”

  “And he took me out to dinner.”

  Her brows go up. “And?”

  “And he’s a billionaire.”

  Her eyes get huge. “What? Get out.”

  “I’m serious! His name is Boone Price and he works in oil. He told me all about it.”

  This time, Wynonna gives me a skeptical look. “Reba, are you sure someone’s not playing a joke on you?”

  “Call me Ivy, you doof. And I’m sure. Everything he told me was legit.” I pat the table. “Bring your laptop over here.”

  She does, and we immediately pull up dozens and dozens of webpages all about Boone Price, the Price brothers, and the “21st Century Spindletop.” In a way, I’m relieved to see that everything he told me was the truth, but now I’m also completely intimidated once again. He’s all over Wikipedia as one of the richest men in the United States, the oil well is the biggest producer on US soil in a century, and there are endless financial articles about wells and roughnecking and rigging and how people can become a billionaire like Boone Price. My sister skims a few articles and then goes back to Google and clicks on “Images.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Checking out his face.” She squints at the photos, frowning at the laptop. “That’s not him, is it?”

  She points out a picture and I click on it to enlarge it. In the photo are five big, dirty men with equally scraggly beards wearing baseball caps. There’s one in the center that’s not smiling, and I nod slowly then point him out. “That’s Boone.”

  “Wow. He looks . . . not like a billionaire.” She tilts her head. “More like a lumberjack that hasn’t had a bath in about ten years.”

  That’s . . . not an inaccurate statement about Boone. “I think he works directly on the wells sometimes? So I get why he’s dirty. I’m sure he’s not dirty all the time.”

  “Was he dirty today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mmhmm.” Her brows go up again. “So this big dirty billionaire wants you to sell him a house? You said he was a new client, right?”

  I nod. Should I tell Wynonna the rest or just let her assume it’s just about a house?

  “Okay, but why you? I love you, Reba, but we both know you don’t have the clout that the Jacks do. So why go to you?”

  Count on my clever sister to see right through things. She knows the struggles I’ve been having, and how the Jacks are always there to grab any worthwhile clients before I can make a move on them. “He saw my picture in the flyer and wanted to work with me . . . and go out with me.”

  Her lip curls in horror. “Seriously? Oh my god, Reba—”

  “Ivy—”

  “Whatever! You told him to fuck off, right?” When I hesitate, she gasps. “You are not serious! We do not need the money this bad! Look at this guy!” She stabs her finger at the screen. “He looks like Pig Pen from Charlie Brown, just aged a few years! Don’t tell me you said yes!”

  “He’s not that bad in person—”

  Her mouth falls open.

  “And besides! I didn’t say that I was going to date him. I turned him down.”

  “Darn right you did.”

  “And then he proposed marriage.”

  Her mouth falls open again. “Whaaaaat?” She waves a hand at me, indicating I should keep speaking. “I changed my mind. Tell me everything.”

  So I do. I don’t tell her about Winky Jack stealing my open house, or the fact that I have forty dollars in my bank account. My sister doesn’t need to know how desperate the situation is, or how anxious I am about keeping us afloat. She just needs to worry about college and her classes. I can handle everything else. I always do. Instead, I focus my story on Boone Price showing up at the elegant Three Jacks office, trailing mud and dirt with every step. I tell her about how he reserved the entire restaurant on the hopes that I’d go out with him. I tell her about the picture, and his rather forward suggestion that I should marry him.

  Wynonna just shakes her head, as if unable to believe the story. “I’ve heard billionaires are eccentric, but this story really is nuts. Crushing over a company advertisement? You’re pretty, sis, but can’t a billionaire have anyone? A model? Actress? Anything?” Her face is worried. “Are you sure this isn’t a prank?”

  “I know, I wondered about it, too.” I’m trying not to be hurt by my sister’s open skepticism, because it is strange. “He said I’m elegant, though, and he wants someone with a bit of class to them. It’s so odd. I get the impression he’s looking at this as more like a business transaction than an actual relationship. He’s decided he needs a classy girlfriend and I’m the one he wants.”

  Of course, that doesn’t explain the scorching looks he sent in my direction all night, but I don’t tell my sister about that.

  “Well, I’m glad you turned him down.” She gives a small shake of her head, as if unable to believe it. “We need money, of course, but not that bad.”

  I say nothing. She doesn’t realize how desperate I’ve been feeling lately, because I work hard to make sure she feels secure. Like she doesn’t have to stress about going to college. I want her to have the choices I didn’t have when I was eighteen. I want her to have a different path than I did when Mom ran off and Dad went to prison, and I was forced to drop out of high school a month before graduation. I want her to have fun and take the classes that excite her, and go to frat parties and whatever else she wants to do. I don’t want her to spend her college years flipping burgers or scooping ice cream like I did, because that put food on the table and kept my sister out of foster care.

  And if I have to work a little harder to make ends meet, I do. I always do. The last thing I want is for Wynonna to stress, like she is right now. Her young face is unhappy at the thought of me being harassed. Which it wasn’t—it was a very determined client taking me out for dinner. “I told him no, Wynonna. You don’t have to worry about it. It’s just a funny story and I thought I’d share it.”

  The worry on her face eases and she smiles. “You should pass him off to someone else, Reba. I don’t want some creepster bugging you because he thinks you’re pretty.”

  “He gave me his phone number and told me to call him with houses. I just won’t call him,” I soothe her. “I don’t think he lives super close to here so it’s unlikely I’ll see him again.”

  “Okay.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You’ll get other commissions, I promise. This one just seems sketchy to me.”

  I don’t know if it’s sketchy as much as it is just strange. But I nod. It’s not worth upsetting my sister. I’ll just scour Craigslist for some leads tonight and take some stuff to the consignment shop in the morning to get g
rocery money. No big deal. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Boone—Mr. Price—does have something shady in mind and I’m too gullible to see it. “So how was your day? Did you register for classes?”

  Wynonna’s face lights up. “Oh, Reba—”

  “Ivy,” I warn.

  “Ivy, you should see the college campus. It’s so cool!”

  I settle in and listen to my sister gush about her future, trying hard not to think about my own.

  Boone

  She won’t call me.

  Pretty, classy Ivy Smithfield won’t return my phone calls. I mean, it’s to be expected. I ain’t in her league. I ain’t even close. Even though I have shitloads of money now, to some people I’m still a dirt-grubbing, uneducated redneck. You can’t change some people’s minds, and even dangling an enormous commission in front of Ivy’s classy little upturned nose won’t get her to give me the time of day.

  I’m disappointed. I thought we connected at dinner. She didn’t leave early. She didn’t toss her wine in my face. She talked to me—steering it back to business, always—but she was pleasant and funny. I thought she’d call me in the morning.

  But she hasn’t.

  It’s been a week now, and I haven’t heard a peep. Not a call. Not a text. Nothing. I reached out to her a few times and left voicemails. She didn’t return those, either.

  She’s deliberately avoiding me, then.

  I ain’t even mad; I’m just disappointed. Did I want Ivy to fall into my arms and throw all her clothes off? Fuck yeah. But the fact that she’s not going to come easy just means that I’ve got a little bit longer to wait before she’s in my bed. That’s all right. I can be a patient man if it’s for something I truly want.

  After seven days of silence, though, I get tired of being patient and set my brothers on it.

  Well? I text Seth. He’s wearing a fancy suit that he recently purchased—Seth’s the one that likes nice clothes—and is sitting in the lobby of Three Jacks Real Estate. Even shaved his beard and slicked his hair down all nice and neat like he’s going to a wedding instead of a real estate office. Clay wanted to go and spy for me, but we look a lot like my dad and more like full brothers instead of half. Seth’s blond and baby-faced and eight years younger, so he’s the perfect one to go in “disguise.”

  SETH: She ain’t here I don’t think. I’m sitting w/some lady named Farah & she is telling me all about this bldg. Historic or some shit.

  Yeah, they did the same to me. Everyone there’s damn proud of that shit. To me, it’s just old. I text Seth back.

  B P: Where’s Ivy?

  Seth: Ivy’s desk is across from hers I think. Empty. Lunch maybe?

  I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Ten in the morning. Ain’t lunch, I send back.

  SETH: Maybe another client. Hey, u think I shld buy a house?

  B P: I don’t give a fuck.

  SETH: Some of these places r pretty sweet. I need a bachelor pad for the lil mamas to hang at.

  I rub my face, frustrated. Seth is the youngest of my stepbrothers and also the one that can’t be serious for a moment. Maybe it was a bad idea to send him. I stare at the street sign ahead of me, scowling. I’m parked at the curb a few blocks down so Ivy doesn’t think I’m stalking her.

  I mean, it’s not really stalking if I send someone else to do it. And really, I ain’t gonna bother her if she just doesn’t want my money. I just want to know she’s alive and showing up to work. If she is, it means she’s not laid up in a hospital somewhere, and I don’t want that at all. I’ll figure something out.

  SETH: Wait, she’s here now. Just came in.

  B P: She look ok?

  SETH: Ur right, she’s pretty. Amazing legs.

  I growl at my phone. I want to see her legs for myself. But is she ok?

  Seth: She looks tired. Just sat down. Keeping her arm clenched.

  A moment passes.

  Seth: Farah is chatting w/her. She donated blood.

  Huh. That’s a random thing to happen midday. She got any clients there?

  SETH: Nope.

  B P: I’m coming in, then.

  I’ve never been one to fear confrontation. All I want’s an answer. If Ivy’s ignoring me because she never wants to see me again, I’ll go away. If there’s something else going on, I need to know why she’s not answering my calls. She’s the one that I want. It’s all decided. The only thing I need is her to realize it.

  So I get out of my truck and walk the two blocks over to their snooty little office. I didn’t dress for the part like Seth did; I’m in a T-shirt and jeans, and wearing my favorite hat. Least I’m not covered in West Texas dust this time. I go in the office and the receptionist’s look tightens as she claps eyes on me.

  “I’m here to see Ivy Smithfield,” I drawl.

  “Did you have an appointment?”

  “Yup,” I lie. It’s kinda an appointment. She promised to call me back and never did. In my mind, that counts.

  The receptionist nods stiffly and picks up her phone. “Shall I let her know who’s waiting?”

  I shake my head slowly. “Naw. Just get her up here.”

  Her eyes narrow at me. “Ms. Smithfield? You have a client waiting in the lobby.” She sets the phone down and her mouth purses as she looks at me. I bet if this place had security she’d have called it on me already. She’s got that look about her. Like a guy ain’t allowed to be low class in her lobby. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so damn ridiculous.

  But then Ivy walks in, a cool drink of water. She’s so fucking gorgeous she takes my breath away. Her hair is pulled up in a high bun, and she’s wearing a beige suit jacket with a dark red skirt and tall fuck-me shoes. She looks so damn sexy I want to throw her over my shoulder and run off with her. Instead, I just smile broadly like this was all part of my grand plan.

  She looks surprised to see me, and then guilty. But she recovers quickly, moving forward and extending her hand toward me. “Mr. Price. It’s nice to see you.”

  “Is it?” I ask, and instead of shaking her hand, I raise it to my mouth to kiss her knuckles.

  Her face flushes bright with color, almost as red as her skirt. I half expect her to pull away but she lets me kiss her hand, and I make sure to brush my thumb over that soft skin afterward. “I wasn’t expecting any clients today.”

  “Then you got lucky I showed up, didn’t you?”

  “Would you like to sit down in one of the conference rooms and talk?” She’s all business as she pulls her hand from my grip, her smile as charming as ever.

  “Nah. I just want to know why you won’t return my phone calls.”

  “Work.” She gestures at the office. “It’s been insanely busy this week.”

  I look around at the office. Looks rather empty to me. In fact, Ivy and me are the only ones in the lobby. I have a sneaking suspicion that Seth’s probably the only client here. “Sure looks busy.”

  She blushes and bites her lip, glancing around.

  Time to stop beating around the bush. I give her my most disarming grin. “Is it me? Did I come on too strong?”

  She arches a perfect eyebrow. “Do you know how to come on as anything other than strong?”

  I laugh, because that’s a fair point. I love this woman’s brain. “Was kinda hopin’ you’d be dazzled by my determination and look past the fact that you’re too good for me.”

  Her teasing look falters, and for a moment her expression is soft and wistful. Shit, she’s pretty. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

  “The truth?”

  “No, that you’re not good enough.” She leans in, a little smile on her face. Her voice is low as if she’s whispering to me. “I don’t know if anyone has pointed this out to you, Mr. Price, but you’re a billionaire.”

  “No shit?” I drawl. I lean in, too. “And I told you to call me Boone.??
?

  Her cheeks are still bright with that pretty flush of hers that happens when I flirt, and she’s not leaning away. I realize, seeing her, that she likes me. She likes me and maybe she doesn’t want to because of her job. That’s fair. That also means I have an opening, though, and I’m ruthless enough to take it.

  “You know I haven’t changed my mind about that house,” I tell her. “Or the golf course.”

  Ivy looks torn. She crosses her arms over her chest and glances around, then moves in closer to me again. “Boone, I don’t know that I’m the right realtor for you. It’s just . . . complicated.”

  “Well, I think you’re the right one for me. I don’t want anyone else. I told you that.” I want to put my arms around her waist and pull her slim body against me. She’s a little pale today, but so beautiful and elegant it makes me ache. I haven’t ever wanted anything as badly as I want this woman, and I feel like she’s dancing just out of reach. I need to figure her out. Figure out the right words that will unlock her reservations and make her fall into my arms. Maybe I’m just not persuading her enough yet. So I lean in close again. “You want me to double your commission? I’m more than willing to do so.”

  Her eyes go wide. “That’s not necessary—” She pauses as another man comes sauntering into the lobby. “Hello, Jack.” Her voice grows cool and her smile a little more stiff. Her eyes meet mine before she gestures at the man in the suit approaching us. “Boone, this is Jack Jackson. He’s one of the head realtors of Three Jacks.”

  I nod at him, narrowing my eyes. This her boyfriend or something? She said she didn’t have anyone, but this guy’s showing a lot of interest in the fact that I’m standing in the lobby with her.

  “Something I can help you with?” Jack Jackson says, offering me his hand. I know this guy’s type immediately. He’s a slick motherfucker, the smile on his face oily and sly.

  “No,” I growl. I want to step between him and Ivy, who has a distressed look on her face. Her entire body language has changed, too. She was leaning in to me before, and now she’s pole-straight and nervous. This guy bothers her, and it makes me feel protective.

  Jack looks surprised at my vehement reaction. “Are you a client of ours, Mr. . . . ?” He trails off, expecting me to answer.