Dirty Money (Roughneck Billionaires 1)

“Oh, come now, Jack,” I tell him smoothly as the accountant opens his books and poises his pen. “You and I are businessmen. I think we both know anything’s for sale for the right price. And I want this office. Here. Today. Right now.”

He frowns at me like I’m crazy. “You want us to vacate the office today?”

“I’m willin’ to make a very generous offer for this building and all the furnishings. I’ll even give you an hour to get all your important documents and computers out of here.” And I smile, trying to look like I’m just real focused on owning this particular building, like it’s no big deal.

Like I ain’t gonna burn this shit to the ground the moment we shake hands. Because Three Jacks? These assholes are going down in flames, and it’s gonna be for Ivy.

All for Ivy.

“Now,” I say, leaning forward. “Let’s talk business, you and I. I’m sure we can come up with a number that will make you a happy camper.”

Ivy

My phone rings just as I’m scooping a double-decker cone and getting chocolate ice cream all over my hands. The ringtone is loud and brassy, and I wince as it continues on even as I finish the customer’s order. Over in the tiny cubby that passes as an office at Two Scoops, the shift manager is glaring at me.

I wipe my hands clean on a towel and sigh at the stains of chocolate on my white work polo. I can’t afford a second shirt, so I’m going to have to wash this one in the sink when I get home. My phone gives one last buzz and I race toward the back counter where I left it. “Sorry,” I whisper to my boss, and go to turn off the ringer on my phone when a message pops up.

Farah: OMG IVY CALL ME ASAP

Farah: SERIOUSLY

Farah: You need to get down here. It’s important!

I shoot an uneasy glance at my boss, but she’s busy staring at her own phone. There’s no customers in line at the moment so I type a quick message back.

Ivy: What’s going on?

Farah: Your boyfriend is at 3Jacks and you need to come get him

Ivy: What? Boone?

Farah: Yep he’s looking for you

Farah: And he says he’s gonna torch the place!!1!! He just bought it and now he’s going to torch it! WTF!! There are firetrucks here and everything1!! I had to clean out my desk!1!!

What?

I immediately think of the golf course.

This is retribution. Oh my god. He was insulted at Three Jacks and so now he’s going to buy the building and raze it to the ground just like he did with the golf course. I’m alternately horrified and delighted. I hate the Three Jacks for how they treated me, but I’m also tangled up with worry about Boone. Does he still hate me? Is he going to come after me and Wynonna next?

Actually . . . I’d be fine with that, because I could use the money he’d give me for the trailer and pay all the bills I’m behind on.

I grab my purse from behind the counter. “I have to go,” I tell my boss.

“Your shift doesn’t end for three more hours,” she says, jumping up from her stool with an angry look on her face. “If you leave, you’re fired.”

“I know,” I call out, shoving my phone in my pocket as I race out the door. “I’ll pick up my check later!”

I have to see Boone. I have to know what’s going on.

And, okay, I want to watch Three Jacks burn to the ground if it’s going to go up in flames. Because I’m petty and vindictive like that.

My heart hammers as I drive over to the old office. I haven’t been back here in the week that’s passed since I got fired. I’ve been too busy scraping together work to pay the bills. I’m a little nervous that I just also quit my newest job at Two Scoops, but I’ve got Burger Grill that I start at on Monday, so there’s that at least.

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.