Dirty Money(28)

He grimaces and pats my shoulder. "That's my ringtone for the money guys. Hang on a sec."

I watch, mystified, as he goes to answer the phone. Sure enough, the  scream echoes through the room again a second later, and he answers.  "What is it?"

He's silent for a long moment, and so I close the bathroom door to give  him some privacy. I put my grooming kit away, twist my wet hair into a  bun, and pin it tight, and then work on moisturizing my face again. I'm  still a little pink from last night but I can't find it in me to ask him  to cut the beard . . . I like it too much, heaven help me.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Boone's grinning ear to ear. "Get dressed, darlin'. We're about to go have some fun."

"We are?"

"Yup. Remember I told you I wanted to buy a golf course?"

I head to the opposite side of the bed and pull my suit off the floor.  It's wrinkled badly. Ugh. I'm going to have to iron it before I dare  leave the room, or else the staff downstairs really will think I'm a  hooker. "I remember. I thought we'd focus on the house first, and then-"

"I bought one," he says, interrupting me.

I stop, surprised at the stab of hurt I feel at his announcement. "You did?"

"Yeah, there's one I wanted in particular, so I set my money guys on it.  They made an offer on the business and signed the paperwork  lickety-split."

"Oh." I don't know if this particular business would have fallen into my jurisdiction, but I'm strangely wounded.

"Don't be sad, baby girl," Boone says. He comes to my side and wraps his  arms around me in a bear hug. "I know I promised you the commission on  this one but the owner was motivated to sell fast, and so I needed to  get my guys in there. We threw so much cash at him it made his head  spin."

This isn't making me feel any better. If anything, I feel worse. There  goes one commission, and I never even had a stab at it. What if Boone  gets bored or tired of waiting on me to find him the perfect house and  goes under my nose again? "I see."

"Get dressed, because we need to go meet my brothers at the golf course and I wanna show you off to them."

I feel a stab of irritation and pry out of his arms. "I'm not sure I  want to go. I have a lot of work to do and I'm already eating into my  schedule by being here."

The boyish enthusiasm on his face dims, and I feel like a jerk. "Am I hogging all your time?"

"It's not that," I say quickly.

"Tell me how much it'll cost to keep you with me today-"

"I'm not a hooker," I snap. "You can't buy me by the hour."

Boone looks utterly abashed. "Well, shit, Ivy. I didn't mean it like that."

And now I really feel like a jerk. "I know you didn't. I'm sorry. I  guess I'm just hurt about the golf course." And I'm woman enough to  admit it. "I'll go with you. I just need to tidy up my suit." I hold up  my wrinkled skirt.

Some of the excitement returns to his face. "I'll show you a good time. It's gonna be fun."

I'm not sure how me seeing his new purchase that I didn't get a  commission on is going to be "fun" but I have to admit that every time  he gives me one of those broad smiles, I get weak in the knees. "While I  iron, do me a favor and find me a hand towel I can pin to the front of  my jacket to act as a slip?"

He nods and pulls me against him. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, Ivy." The  look on his face is utterly somber. "I'm just used to declaring that I  want a thing and going after it. I completely forgot that this might  take money out of your pocket. I'm gonna make it up to you."         

     



 

"You don't have to," I say quietly, because I don't know why I'm mad. It  was pie-in-the-sky money, anyhow. As in, I won't believe there's a sale  attached until I see the money in my bank account.

"I do. And I'm gonna. Starting right now." The naughty gleam returns to  his eyes and he drops to his knees. "Think you can iron while my mouth's  on your pussy?"

Oh, dear lord help me, because I think I'm about to find out.





Chapter Ten



Ivy

A short time later, we pull up to the Silver Birch golf course. The  parking lot is near-empty despite it being Saturday morning, and I worry  that Boone's made a bad purchase. There's a few men standing near the  front entrance talking, but other than that the place is deserted.

Not that this bothers Boone. He just grins and smacks a hand on the  steering wheel. "I see my brothers are here. Those are their trucks." He  points at a row of pickups that stick out like sore thumbs in the  parking lot. Each one is enormous, older, beat up, and covered with mud.  Well, except for one. There's a brand-new, tricked-out Sierra Denali . .  . that is also covered in mud. One brother apparently has expensive  taste.

As he parks the truck, I check the front of my suit in the mirror. The  pinned-on washcloth is covering my very gaping cleavage, but it looks  ridiculous. "Am I all right?"

"Yup," he drawls, and leans in to give me a quick, possessive kiss. "You can hardly see the scorch marks."

"The scorch marks are your fault," I scold as he jumps out of the truck  to go open my door. Of course, I didn't exactly do a lot of protesting,  so I guess it's my fault, too. I'm blushing as he helps me out of the  truck, but I'm smiling, too. Boone's practically beside himself with  excitement, and it's hard not to get caught up in it as he takes my hand  in his. "Boone, you're practically giddy. I had no idea you liked golf  so much."

He just throws back his head and laughs, which mystifies me.

As we cross the parking lot, I notice that the men standing out front  are there with what look like red gas cans. There's a golf cart or two  parked on the lawn, so maybe they're fueling up? Though directly in  front of the main clubhouse seems an odd place to do so. There's also a  box on the lawn, and one of the men has a dirty boot propped up on it.

"Well lookee there," calls one man. "Who's that fancypants asshole headin' for us?"

"Can't be Boone," yells another. "That fucker ain't never seen a  hairbrush." He elbows the third man, while the fourth looks occupied  with his phone.

"Fuck all y'all," Boone says amiably. "And don't be fuckin' cussin' in front of my fiancée. She's cultured, damn it."

"F-fiancée?" I sputter as we approach. "Excuse me?"

He just gives me another one of those panty-melting smiles. "Told you I  was gonna marry you, Ivy. But don't you worry. I'll propose all nice and  right when you're ready for it."

"That doesn't mean we're engaged," I protest, but it's clear that  Boone's already decided. This man is pure pigheadedness. I think of his  words-that I'm cultured-and inwardly cringe. If only he knew the truth.

Of course, it's kind of hard to bring it up right now when his four  brothers are staring me down. They eye me like I'm some sort of strange  beast, though one keeps staring at my breasts. I move a little closer to  Boone and he puts a possessive arm around my shoulders. "This here's  Ivy. She's the one that's gonna sell me a mansion to make all those  assholes weep that they ever talked shit about us."

"Uh-huh," one says. "'Cause a mansion is gonna fix things." He tilts his  head, and for a moment, he looks shockingly like Boone, bushy beard and  all. The others don't look much like him-the youngest is blond and  looks a little familiar, though I can't place it. One brother has  slightly darker skin that hints at Hispanic ancestry. They're all  wearing Price Brothers Oil trucker caps, and I swear that they all shop  from the same closet, because they all look like they just came from a  construction site. Good lord. Here I thought Boone was an anomaly with  his rough talk and even rougher appearance, and he's got four clones  lined right up in front of me.         

     



 

"Shaddup, Clay. I like the idea of a big fancy house. And so does Ivy." He squeezes my shoulder.

One of the brothers narrows his eyes at me, and I suddenly feel like a  gold digger. "I'm his real estate agent," I tell them quickly. "Our  personal relationship has nothing to do with business."

As a one, they smirk. "Uh-huh," drawls the first one again. He taps his  boot on the box under his foot. "Before you ask, I brought the good  stuff, bro."

Boone howls with laughter. "You got some dynamite this early in the morning? You're a genius, Clay."

Wait . . . dynamite? Perhaps I heard wrong.

Even as I wonder, a loud horn honks behind us. Everyone turns, and I see  two big fire trucks full of men pull up in the parking lot. The  firefighters are grinning and one bounds out of his truck. Boone crosses  over to meet him, and they shake hands.

"Thanks for inviting us out for this," he says to Boone. "Gonna be a great exercise for my men."

"Anytime," Boone declares. "We're just about to get started." He looks over at his brothers. "Everyone gone from inside?"