Dirty Scoundrel (Roughneck Billionaires 2)

“Mmm. So this isn’t about Dad. This is about regrets, huh?” Knox leans back and puts an arm on the back of the pew, and for a moment he looks wise beyond his years.

Is this about regrets, then? Is that burning fireball in my stomach because I’m picturing what my own funeral would be like? That I’m not imagining anything but a few employees and my brothers? I try to picture Natalie here, but yeah right. Her ass wouldn’t be here if wild horses dragged her.

The thought’s fucking depressing—both in that Natalie is disgusted by me, and that I’m still hung up on her after all these years. I must be an idiot. “You’re wrong,” I tell Knox. “I’m good.”

He ignores me, tilting his head. “So what is it you want out of life? Money? Success? You already have both.” He nods over to Ivy and Boone. Our brother has his hand on the small of Ivy’s back, and he’s gazing down at her as she speaks like pearls are dropping out of her damn mouth. Boone’s totally fucking besotted. It’d be funny if I wasn’t so fucking jealous. Not of him and Ivy—they’re perfect together. I just . . .

I rub my jaw again, feeling the bristles of my beard. I haven’t looked at anyone like that since . . .

Goddamn it. That’s twice now I’ve thought of Natalie in the same day. Must be getting moody. “Dunno what I want. Ain’t this, that’s for sure.”

“No one wants this,” Knox says with a shrug of his shoulders. “But it comes for all of us in the end. Question is, you gonna end up in that box with regrets?”

The knot in my gut returns. “Maybe.”

“That’s your problem,” my wise little brother says. He wags a finger at me like he’s scolding a child. “You ain’t ruthless.”

“Huh?” I squint at him like he’s crazy.

“You’re the nice one, Clay.”

“I am?”

Knox nods sagely. “You’re the one everyone goes to when Boone needs softening up. You’re the one everyone looks to for a laugh, or to smooth things over. Everyone’s friend. You don’t know how to be ruthless. You’re so busy making sure everyone else is happy and smiling that you don’t go after what you want.”

Is that who I am? Just a happy-go-lucky piece of shit who’s miserable on the inside? I don’t think that’s me, but then again, this ache in my belly might be telling me otherwise. I look over at Boone and Ivy. She’s got her head on his shoulder, and I know when they leave here, he’s probably gonna rub her feet or rub her belly or, hell, just rub her all over. And she’ll fuss over him and they’ll end up doing it on the sofa in the foyer and someone will catch ’em. Again. And they’ll just laugh like it’s funny and Ivy will blush, and they both won’t be able to stop smiling. They’re so goddamn happy.

I look over at the widow and her boys. She’s herding them out of the building, tears streaking her face. She’s sobbed through the entire ceremony. Loved Eddie to pieces.

And I think of Nat again. Nat, and the way she curled her lip at me the last time I saw her. Nat, and how I wasn’t good enough for her. Nat, who chose her daddy and her family money over me, when I would have given her the moon if I’d have had two nickels to rub together.

Nat, who I still jerk off to because I’m a sick son of a bitch with a massive hang-up.

“Gotta be ruthless,” Knox says. “That’s the only way you’re gonna get what you want.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s time I nut up and use some of this ridiculous money and be ridiculous with it. I glance over at Boone again. He threw around all kinds of money to push Ivy into dating him. Maybe I need to throw my weight around and act like the big man. Buy my way into the heart of the girl I always wanted but I could never have.

And then, once I’ve bought her heart, I can hold it in my hand and decide if I want to crush it or keep it.

Gotta be ruthless, after all.

Chapter Two

Seven years earlier

Clay

It’s time.

I can’t say I’m not nervous, though. Any guy would be. My palms are sweaty as I shove them into my jeans, but I’m determined. Tonight’s important. High school is over, and that means that it’s time to move on to the next phase in my life. I stand in front of the diner that I’ve agreed to meet Natalie’s father at, and try not to fidget.

I’m dressed up—well, as much as a guy like me can be. There ain’t much money for fancy clothes, but I borrowed one of Dad’s old dress shirts and tucked it into my best, least worn-out jeans. The shirt’s a little big but ain’t much to be done about it now. Nat wouldn’t care, though. She’s never cared that my T-shirts are about to fall apart or that my shoes come from Goodwill. She don’t care that I share a room in my dad’s shitty-ass trailer with my younger brothers. She’s never cared about any of that shit.

That’s why I love her.

That’s why I want to marry her.

A car pulls up to the restaurant I’m currently pacin’ in front of and my heart hammers in my chest. Tonight, me and Nat and her Dad are supposed to be havin’ dinner. I’m gonna meet Mr. Weston and do my best to charm him, and then tomorrow, I’m gonna go over and let him know I wanna propose to his daughter.

That I love Natalie Weston with all my heart, and that I might be poor right now, but I’m determined to give her a good life. That I’ll treat her like fuckin’ gold.

My mouth goes dry when the sedan idles in front of the restaurant and a driver hops out, then races around to the side of the car and opens the door. A moment later, Chap Weston steps out. I recognize the guy. Anyone would. He’s famous in a way that a lot of Hollywood actors will never get. In the fifties and sixties, there were some really big names in Hollywood royalty—Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart . . . and Chap Weston. Even though he’s more’n twice the age he was in those movies, he’s still got that famous smile and tall, strong shoulders. He’s wearing an expensive, fitted suit that makes me feel a little self-conscious in my too-baggy dress shirt and jeans, and his hair is immaculately combed. Shit. I didn’t even think to do somethin’ with my hair. I bet it’s stickin’ up in all kinds of cowlicks like Natalie teases me over. Ain’t nothin’ I can do about it now, though.

I still wither a little inside when Mr. Weston strolls forward and gives me a scrutinizing look. “Are you Clay Price?”

“Yessir.” I stick my hand out, surprised at the booming resonance of his voice. Guy looks damn good for being eighty. Still weird that he’s the dad of my seventeen-year-old girlfriend, but Hollywood’s weird like that. Nat’s told me she’s the daughter of wife number four and he’s on number six right now. “I’m real pleased to meet you—”

“Spare me the pleasantries,” Mr. Weston says in a cold voice. “This won’t take long.” He glances over at his driver and gestures. “Wait in the car.”

The driver nods and shuts the door, then hops back into the driver’s seat.

I try to hide my frown. “Natalie not coming tonight?”

“You’re not going to see Natalie again,” Mr. Weston says, with that polite smile on his face. His teeth are bright white in his tanned face, and perfect.

I can feel my back stiffening. My muscles clench and alarm pounds through me. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not an idiot, boy. I know exactly what this is about.” He continues to give me that charming smile, even though his words are hateful. “You’re interested in my daughter. I’m here to tell you she’s not interested in you. I’m trying to let you down easy.”

Huh? I just talked to Nat on the phone a few hours ago. We texted not long after that. “I’m not sure what you mean—”

He holds up a long hand, indicating I should be silent. “You’re here because you want to meet with me. Get to know me a little better. Best-case scenario, you want to move in with my daughter. Worst-case scenario, you’ve gotten her pregnant and I need to step in.” His eyes narrow at me.

Move in with her? “Sir, I want to marry Natalie. I love her—”

Chap Weston shakes his head at me, interrupting me once more. I’m all flustered and unable to think clearly, even as he continues. “That’s a nice thought, but what do you have to offer her?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve looked into your family, son. They’re not exactly what anyone would dream of for a son-in-law.” He gives me a pitying look.

I grit my teeth. It ain’t a secret that the Prices are trash. There’s five of us—all from different moms—livin’ in our shitty trailer while Dad roughnecks it out west. My brother Boone just joined him this last year, and I’m about to head off and do the same. “I’ve got a job lined up. I’m gonna work real hard.”

“And what, move my Natalie into a trailer? Don’t you think she deserves better than that?”

I clench my jaw, because he’s right. Natalie does deserve better than that.

“Son,” he begins again in that grating tone I’m startin’ to hate. “My daughter is smart. She’s got great connections. I want her to go to Stanford, just like I did. You know she’s been accepted, right?”

Huh? Stanford? I don’t even know where that’s at. And Natalie hasn’t mentioned college, not once. I thought we’d make plans now that we’ve graduated. “No, I didn’t know that.”

The look he gives me is pitying. “I see. Well, that doesn’t change things. Natalie will be attending in the fall and working on her degree. She’s got the world in front of her—that’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’d only bring her down.”

This can’t be true. Natalie loves me. Just last night, we kissed for hours and she promised me that she loved me as much as I loved her. It can’t all be lies. “I think you’re wrong, sir—”