Dirty Money

by Jessica Clare

  “So we’re still going to West Texas . . . ? For . . . your blow job?”

  There’s a teasing note in her voice and I look over at her, skeptical. “Maybe just because I wanna spend the weekend with you.”

  She’s got a soft little smile on her face. “Fair enough. Can we just agree to disagree on all the other stuff? Please?”

  I hate that this is her avoiding confrontation again. I want to know what’s going on. I’m worried to hell and back about her, but there’s nothing I can do if she won’t tell me a thing. But I’m also a fool in love. “If that’ll make you happy.”

  “It will.”

  Ivy

  My other client is all too happy to reschedule, even without the promise of a car. After that, there’s no excuse left to give, so it looks like I’m headed out with Boone for the weekend. I send my sister a note telling her I’m staying with a work friend, but I’m sure she’ll ask questions. I’ll figure something out before I get home. Until then . . . I’m with Boone.

  As we drive west, the landscape flattens out until it looks as if we’ve left familiar Texas and somehow gone into the Texas of the movies, full of cactus, tumbleweeds, and endless dry, dusty roads. San Antonio is all buildings and color, and neither of those seem to apply the further west we head. “What’s the name of the place we’re headed to?” I ask.

  “Big Lake. It’s a drillin’ town, not much to look at. Some fracking, some oil, lots of rigs. ’Bout three, three and a half hours west of San Antonio.” His hand is on my knee as he drives, and has been ever since we got in the cab. I think he just likes touching me. And really . . . I like him touching me, too.

  “I thought most of your stuff was further west than that?”

  “It is. I purchased up some property from an old friend who ran dry. Pretty sure I can squeeze a few more wells out of it. Ran my rods over the place and there’s still life there.”

  “Your rods?”

  “Dowsing rods.”

  I look over at him. “Like . . . the little sticks that shake if you find water?”

  “They point, and it works for oil as well as water.” He grins. “And I’m pretty good at it.”

  “So it’s not just an old wives’ tale? It works?”

  He nods slowly. “It’s how I find all my wells. I don’t let my boys drill without me picking the spot first. I used to do consulting, you know. Dowse for the competition. Now I just buy up all the adjoining land and milkshake ’em like the bastard I am.”

  I don’t even know what milkshaking is. “I’m surprised you’re superstitious, Boone. You didn’t seem the type.”

  “Oh, I ain’t as bad as some. I know some guys that put laxatives down the hole, convinced that works. And some get a preacher or any other sort of holy person to come and pray over their wells. Me, I just stick to the dowsing.”

  I give my head a little shake, surprised by all this. “It’s just strange to me to hear a billionaire say that. What do your investors think?”

  “Eh, I don’t really ask ’em.” He shrugs. “I don’t run my business like most do. I let my suits run the company and I do my thing. I know rigs, and drilling, and that’s what I stick to. I let the company do what it wants as long as it makes me money, and I meet with my suits to make sure they’re doing their jobs. Other than that . . .” He shrugs.

  “You don’t want more control over your company?”

  “Nah.”

  “But . . .”

  “What if it goes under?” He shrugs again and switches lanes. “I got my money tucked away. My brothers are investing in some other businesses. Clay’s got some camo technology business he’s big into right now, and Knox is looking at what to do with his shares. Oil goes bust all the time. Wells dry up. Oil prices drop. You make hay while the sun shines.”

  It’s crazy to me that he’s so blasé about potentially losing a fortune. I can’t even imagine. I’ll eat an expired can of soup just because I can’t imagine tossing it out and wasting the money. We come from such different worlds, he and I, even though we have a lot of similarities.

  But it just drives home to me that all this money he spends means nothing to him, and it’s everything to me.

  We chat a bit back and forth as he drives, his hand remaining on my knee like a possessive brand. Even though I’ve lived in Texas all my life, I’ve never driven west, and it’s amazing to me how different things seem. Eventually there’s a little sign that says BIG LAKE, TEXAS and a motel. There’s a couple mom-and-pop diners, and then more of the strange skeletal metal contraptions that are the lifeline to the oil industry. It’s all so foreign.

  Boone eventually takes a few turns down a gravel road, and then we pull up to a row of pickup trucks parked in front of a metal trailer. Off to one side is a rig, and I can see men moving on the platform. Two other men in hardhats are talking in front of the trailer. Both of them wear suits despite the heat, and look just as out of place as I feel.

  “Here we go. You finish your cookies?” Boone asks as he parks the truck. “Or do you need to eat some more?”

  “I couldn’t possibly eat another bite,” I assure him, patting my stomach. The man bought practically a dozen and made me eat every single one over the last few hours. The plasma donations have been taking a lot out of me, but with the sugar and carbs, I’m feeling better.

  He studies my face, as if making sure I look healthy enough, and then nods. He gets out of the truck, then comes to my side and opens the door, offering me a hand to help me out.

  “I’m not dressed for this,” I chide him as my heels wobble in the dirt.

  “I got some boots you can wear inside the trailer. We’ll get you a hardhat, too.” He tucks my hand in his arm and escorts me forward. “You look beautiful, anyhow.”

  Do I? My hair’s a mess after our makeout session, my panties are still damp, and my suit is wrinkled from hours in the car. I probably don’t have a lick of makeup left on my face. I feel awkwardly out of place as he leads me toward the others. I can almost guess what they’re thinking as they eye me. Gold digger.

  “Boys,” Boone greets as we approach. “Say hello to Ivy, my fiancée.”

  Oh shit, again? My cheeks heat with an awkward flush even as I extend my hand in greeting toward them. “Realtor,” I correct with a smile on my face. “He meant realtor.”

  “Sure, realtor. For now.” Boone seems undeterred. He gestures at one man, then the other. “This is Roberts, and this is Gorham. They’re on the board at Price Brothers Oil. I came out to check on the new rig and dowse for another. Thought I’d bring company with me.” He smiles at me.

  He’s the only one. The two men in suits are completely stone-faced under their hardhats, gazing at me with completely blank expressions. I can’t tell if they’re pissed or annoyed or pleased to see me.

  “I promise not to get in the way,” I say politely, keeping my smile on my face.

  Roberts nods, and then turns to Boone. “There’s some business we need to go over that came up at the last meeting. Do you have a moment?”

  Boone glances over at me. “You want to go grab yourself some shoes, baby? They’re inside the trailer.”

  Both men in suits are staring at me and I’m starting to feel like a bug under a microscope. “Sure.”

  He kisses my forehead. “I’ll be in in a moment, then we’ll start the tour.”

  I climb up the metal steps into the trailer, and as I do, I’m half expecting him to slap my ass. He doesn’t, and then I feel like a jerk, because of course he wouldn’t. He doesn’t need to be a macho asshole to let the others know that I’m his. Boone doesn’t have to show off in front of anyone. He never does. I feel a twinge of guilt that I’ve been unfair to him, even in my own head. He’s given me no reason to doubt him.

  I’m just a jerk and keep looking for excuses to be frustrated with him, I guess. Like I want to somehow find
this massive flaw so I can be justified in keeping him at arm’s length.

  I enter the trailer and a wash of cool, recycled air hits me. There’s a window unit chugging away, but the inside of the trailer is empty. It’s a bit of a mess, too. There’s a few maps on the wall that I can’t make heads or tails of, and a corkboard covered with notes, schedules, and other bits of paper. There’s a shelf full of binders behind a cheap desk, and the desk itself is covered in more papers, more binders, and a phone. Everything looks cheap, just a little bit dirty, and cluttered. There’s a row of boots behind the door, along with a few extra hardhats. I pick up one pair of boots that look the smallest, but they’re dirty and there’s no socks. Erm.

  Boone enters a moment later, talking with either Roberts or Gorham—I don’t remember which is which. They discuss meters and barrels and I sit in a folding chair in the corner, so I don’t interrupt. The man in the suit hands over stacks of paperwork and Boone signs them even as the two argue about investments and drilling and other things I politely try not to listen to, since it’s none of my business.

  “That’s the last of it,” Roberts says, closing a folder after Boone signs off. “There’s a meeting with the board Tuesday at ten in the morning—”

  Boone shakes his head. “Change it to Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday at ten in the morning,” Roberts amends smoothly. “Will you and your brothers be there?”

  “I’ll be there. Dunno about them.”

  Roberts nods at him and heads toward the door. He nods at me as well, and then leaves without a good-bye. The door shuts behind him. Boone rubs his beard, an irritated expression on his face.

  “Friendly,” I say to Boone, teasing.

  Boone snorts. “I didn’t hire him because he’s a nice guy. But he likes to be in charge of all the shit I don’t like to be in charge of, so it works out well.”

  “I don’t think he liked me,” I point out.

  “He don’t like anyone,” Boone says. “Even me. You’re in good company.”

  That makes me chuckle. “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Long as he spends all day in the boardroom and not me? Hell yeah.” He gets to his feet and comes to my side. “You find some boots?”

  “Yes, but there’s no socks.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure I like the thought of cramming my foot into someone else’s boot without one.”

  He laughs and opens up a file cabinet, pulling out a package of socks. “Fair enough. Now, come on. I wanna show you my rigs.”

  A few minutes later, I’m wearing new socks, boots, a hardhat, and my hand is in Boone’s as he leads me forward. The work on the rig doesn’t stop as we approach up the ramp, but we also don’t get too close. Instead, Boone pulls me aside and points out how the process works, and I try to follow along. From what I can tell, they constantly add more pipe to the hole as they dig, then someone brings in a chain and wraps it around the pipe to tighten things, and then it all starts over again. I’m pretty sure I’m missing about eighty percent of the process, but Boone seems pleased with how things are going.

  “See that guy right there?” he tells me, pointing at one with a broom. “The worm?”

  “Worm?” I ask.

  “That’s my little brother, Seth. I’m making him work for the summer before he gets his shares, so he knows what this shit is about.”

  I nod slowly. “So he gets a share of the company?”

  “Family share. It’s Price Brothers Oil, and he’s a Price. I have majority, but all of my brothers get an equivalent family share.”

  “How much is the share?” I can’t help but be nosy.

  “Right now? Probably a billion or so.”

  My eyes go wide. I stare at the scruffy, lean guy in a hardhat. He’s the blond kid from before, with the downy beard on his jaw. He’s wearing a dirty jumper and the other guys pause every now and then to give him shit, which he ignores.

  He’s going to be a billionaire at the end of the summer.

  I feel like I’ve stepped onto another planet right about now. One summer of hard work and you get a billion dollars. If only it were that easy. Shaken, I turn to Boone. “W . . . which is the job you did? Before you hit oil?”

  He points at a man standing at what looks like a control panel. “I was the driller, but I’ve worked all the positions and gotten my hands dirty.” He winks at me. “Something you’ll never have to do.”

  “Ah.” My stomach tightens.

  Boone puts an arm around my shoulders. “You want me to go in there and show you how it’s done?”

  I watch as someone flings a chain around the pipe and all the roughnecks move into motion. Mud sprays and everyone steps backward. “No, I’m good, actually.”

  He chuckles. “You wanna go dowsing, then?”

  “Sure.” I pause as he turns away. “Are you going to say hi to your little brother?”

  Boone shakes his head and leads me back down the ramp. “Nope. He needs to concentrate. Could lose a finger if I mess with his mojo.”

  I blink in surprise, because that sounds awful. And then I remember that Boone’s missing a finger, too. Is that how? The work seems a lot more dangerous all of a sudden. I look back and watch them tighten the chains on the pipe, all of them covered in mud as the driller shouts at them. I’m rather glad that Boone’s in charge and not on the rig any longer. The thought of him being in any kind of danger makes me feel . . . nervous and unhappy. I slide my hand around his waist and tuck my fingers into his belt loop. “I’d like to see the dowsing.”

  “You just wanna see me play with my stick, don’t you?”

  I snort.

  ***

  Several hours later, I feel as if I’ve crawled all over the flats of West Texas. Boone and I met up with another one of his workers, this one with a topography map, an iPad, and two all-terrain vehicles. We’d set off on the vehicles, me clinging to Boone’s back, and then arrived at the spot Boone wanted to investigate. From there, Boone pulled out his dowsing rods and I watched as he moved slowly over the ground, calling out locations for his worker with the map to mark down. It’s the most bizarre thing, but both Boone and the worker took it extremely seriously. Boone even handed the dowsing rods to me and asked if I wanted to give it a shot. I did, but didn’t feel a thing, and quickly handed them back.

  Perhaps some people are just better at finding money than others. If that’s the case, I’ll never be able to dowse a thing. Money seems to elude me.

  By the time Boone seems satisfied, there’s at least twenty spots noted on the map that he goes over with his employee, and the sun feels like it’s baking me to a crisp in my suit. Boone notices I’m starting to wilt and claps the guy on the back. “We’ll finish early today and hit the next field tomorrow.” Then, Boone comes to my side. “You ready to head out, darlin’?”

  Now I feel guilty. “I don’t want to keep you from working—”

  “If there’s oil in the next field, it’s been there for sixty-five million years. It can keep for another day.” Boone glances back at his employee. “I’m taking my fiancée home. I’ll see you in the morning. Take the rest of the day off.”

  “Will do. You have a good one, boss.” He tips his hat to both of us and gets on his ATV.

  Boone drives us back to the trailer and I change back into my heels. We get in the truck and Boone looks over at me. “Is the motel okay? Big Lake doesn’t have anything fancy like the place I took you last week.”

  “If it has a shower, I’m completely fine with that.” I’m sweaty and gross and ready to change out of my clothing. “I don’t have anything to change into.”

  He grins. “One shower, coming right up. As for the change of clothing . . .” He puts the truck in park and grins at me. “Be right back.”

  I watch as he races back into the trailer and returns a few moments later with a plastic package.
He tosses it over at me as he buckles back in. It’s a T-shirt: Price Brothers Oil. I chuckle. “Perfect.”

  “It’ll go great with your silky panties.” He winks at me as he puts the truck in reverse.

  That it might.

  The motel is across the street from a truck stop diner, which, Boone tells me, makes incredible hamburgers. It’s a tiny place but the lady at the front desk knows Boone and beams a friendly smile at me as she hands him the keys. The room is small and dark, but the sheets look clean and there’s fluffy towels and a shower that’s practically screaming my name. I pry off my heels and it feels as if a shower of dirt emerges from my shoe even though I wore boots most of the afternoon. “Good god, how is it I got so dirty?”

  “It’s the wind. It carries the grit and it just gets into everything.” Boone pulls off his cap and tosses it on the king-size bed then glances speculatively over at me. “Thought you liked being my dirty girl.”

  I giggle and give a small shake of my head, shrugging off my jacket. “It’s amazing how you can manage to make everything sound completely filthy.”

  “Ain’t it?” He wiggles his brows at me as I toss my jacket onto the bed. “So what’s your plan now?”

  “Shower? Then sleep?” I’m exhausted from the day, and I think some of that has to do with all the plasma donations I’ve been giving. I can’t say that, of course. Boone will flip his lid if he finds out, and my story will go bust. He’ll want to know why, and someone giving plasma is downright suspicious, so I know he’d see through it. And . . . I don’t know if I’m ready to be done yet. I keep telling myself it’s a bad idea to be with him, because once he finds out the truth, he won’t want me. But I can’t seem to help myself.

  “That sounds good,” he says, and pulls his shirt off. “I’ll wash your back.”

  “You . . . you want to shower with me?”

  “Fuck yeah, I do.” He grins, all white teeth and gorgeous, smiling face.