Beefcake

by Jenna Jacob

  Her proposition made Noble’s stomach twist.

  “Are you for fucking real?” he barked, brushing her hand off him. “Haven is a small town. No one keeps a secret here. No way could we carry on an affair under Calvin’s nose.” Not that he’d even want to. “We might as well strip naked and fuck in the middle of Main Street. Gossip is its own goddamn food pyramid around here. You should already be worried. Your neighbors have seen my truck parked in your driveway twice now. It won’t be long before Calvin hears that I’ve been sticking my dick in his woman.”

  “What? You mean…someone might tell him?” Trudy blanched.

  “There’s no might about it.”

  “B-but they don’t know you were here for sex. I mean…you could have come by to…I don’t know…fix my sink.”

  “Sure,” Noble said with a humorless laugh. “And Calvin’s going hear all about how the big, bad-assed man-whore of Haven was here laying pipe.”

  “Oh, god. The neighbors won’t put it like that, will they?”

  The last thread of Noble’s patience snapped. Anger seared his veins. After launching off the bed, he jerked his clothes on. “Maybe not, but since the whole town knows my reputation, you might want to start trying to save yours. Oh, and you won’t ever be banging my beast again. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Hell, if you see me on the street, don’t even bother talking to me. Got it? Or I’ll tell Calvin what a cheating, skank-assed bitch you are myself.”

  Shock and outrage flashed like lightning across her face as Trudy sat up. “You son of a bitch. Are you threatening me?”

  An evil smile stretched across his mouth. “No, darlin’, that there was a promise. I don’t threaten women, nor do I lie to them, either. My momma raised me better…which is far more than I can say about yours. Good luck with your marriage, ’cause you are definitely going to need it.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Noble turned and stormed out of her room. As he hurried down the hall, Trudy let out a high-pitched scream, followed by a string of obscenities. Noble slammed the door behind him, hurried to his truck, and peeled out of her driveway in a cloud of smoke and burning rubber.

  Cursing under his breath, Noble headed to the Hangover. He needed a drink—several in fact—to burn away the caustic guilt scorching his veins.

  “Engaged! Son of a bitch,” he snarled. “People wonder why I won’t find a good girl and settle down? Because of women like Trudy…the deceitful slut…that’s why.”

  Still seething, he pulled to a jarring halt in front of the bar. After killing the engine, he climbed out, pocketed his keys, and jogged inside.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Ivy Addison was clinging to her omnipotent southern charm by a thread. Her mother, Janice—who’d drilled the importance of proper behavior into Ivy’s head since she was a fetus—would not be proud. Unfortunately, at the moment, she felt like a rabid mountain lion instead of the sweet and retiring woman her mother expected her to be.

  As Ivy held the phone to her ear, she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “No, Alma. We’ve discussed this a hundred times. I do not want a local construction crew doing the renovations. I’ve already given Rick Hastings a hefty deposit to start work on the shop, Monday morning at eight o’clock sharp.”

  And if she could keep her meddling landlady, Alma Anderson, out of the mix, Rick and his crew might actually succeed and transform the defunct clothing boutique into the classic bakery Ivy had always envisioned owning.

  “Oh, I remember, dear,” Alma assured. “Just checking to make sure you haven’t changed your mind is all.”

  “Thank you, but I rarely ever change my mind. All I need you to do is drop the key off to Rick at eight on Monday morning so he can start the work. As soon as this wedding is over, I plan to load up my things in Dallas and move into the apartment above the shop.” Ivy wished she could do that right this minute.

  “Of course, dear. I’ll deliver them to him, myself.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry to impose on your time, but if my sister had only learned to plan ahead, I wouldn’t have to beg this favor.”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble,” Alma assured. “Love can’t be planned. Why, when I was getting ready to marry Mr. Anderson, I was as nervous as a moth in a bug zapper. I’ll take care of everything. You just keep your sister calm,” Alma instructed and ended the call.

  Keep Celina calm? There weren’t enough sedatives on the planet for that. The past few days before the wedding, Ivy’s usually sweet, docile sister had turned into a bitchy, temper-tantrum-throwing diva. In turn, Ivy’s attitude had grown into a jungle of resentment.

  Instead of overseeing the fabrication of her new bakery, she had to hold her surly sister’s hand while Celina prepared to marry the biggest misogynistic pig on the planet. Ivy had met her future brother-in-law twice. She couldn’t find a single redeeming quality about the man. Why her sister wanted to marry him was beyond Ivy’s comprehension. Celina was stunningly gorgeous. She could have men falling all over themselves by simply flashing a shy, southern belle smile. Instead, she’d picked Harvey Hays, a loudmouthed, egocentric, prematurely balding, overweight, waddling troll.

  Seriously. What the hell did Celina see in him?

  Even if Harvey was a multi-billionaire who could lick his damn eyebrows and had a twelve-inch cock in his boxers, Ivy wouldn’t give that slime bag a second glance.

  But then she hadn’t given any man a second glance in…forever. Sadly, the only hot and sweaty time she’d had lately was at the gym. She hadn’t had a good workout between the sheets since Jesus wore diapers.

  She glanced at the clock and blanched. Oh, hell! I’m late…again.

  Frantically, Ivy grabbed her purse and raced out the door. Weaving through the traffic like a maniac, she pushed the beat-up truck she’d had since high school for all it was worth. Obscenities that would make her mother stroke out and die slid off her tongue. Twenty minutes later, Ivy skidded to a stop in front of the bridal store, turned off the engine, and grabbed her purse before she raced toward the shop. She gripped the handle of the door, sucked in a fortifying breath, and stepped inside.

  “She’s always late. I swear to god, she’ll be late for her own funeral.” Celina’s agitated voice scraped Ivy’s flesh like razor blades.

  “Relax, darling,” Janice, their mom replied in a soothing tone.

  “I’m here. I’m here,” Ivy announced frantically.

  “Finally,” Celina huffed.

  “I’m sorry. I was on the phone with my landlord, trying to get everything set up before we fly out in the morning.”

  “I wish you’d put as much time and attention into my wedding as you do that stupid bakery,” Celina bit out hatefully. “Honestly, throwing all your settlement money on a business that’ll be bankrupt in a year is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

  The mere mention of the settlement awarded her nine months ago stunned Ivy like a slap to the face. Memories of her former boss, Eugene McMillian—CEO and president of Fiduciary Freedom Investment Corporation—sent humiliation and rage pinging through her. Ivy swallowed the bile rising in the back of her throat, balled up her fists, and clenched her jaw as she worked to shove memories of the man out of her head.

  She pinned her sister with a glare. “Listen here, bridezilla, I’ve taken all the spoiled-brat diva bullshit I can from you. Take a pill and chill your shit, or better yet, hop a plane to Aruba and elope. But don’t ever mention that settlement to me again. Got it?”

  A flash of regret flitted over her sister’s face, but Celina quickly banked it by sliding a brittle, condescending smile in place. “Fine, but you have no room to talk about attitudes. Yours is ten times worse than mine these days. I’m not being a diva. I’m simply trying to save you time, money, and heartache. Your bakery won’t ever see a lick of profit and we both know it.”

  “Says the woman whose business is drowning in debt?”

  “My sales might be a little low.” Celina tossed
her nose in the air. “It’s natural for a new business to run in the red in the beginning.”

  “In the beginning? You’ve been trying to make a profit for five years! Mom and Dad are bleeding money left and right to help cover your lease.”

  “That isn’t a proper subject to discuss in pub—”

  “Not anymore, they’re not,” Celina spat, interrupting their mother. “After Harvey and I get back from our honeymoon, I’m closing my shop. He wants to start a family right away. I won’t have time to run Jaded Jasmine once I’m a mother, so get off my nipples.”

  “You’re the one who started tugging mine first!” Ivy screeched.

  “Girls!” their mother hissed, shooting them both an angry scowl. “Stop your ridiculous squabbling. Immediately. You’re causing a scene.”

  Ivy rolled her eyes and waited for her mom to launch into her favorite lecture about how proper southern ladies should never cause a scene. It was pointless to remind Janice that she was anything but a proper southern lady. Her mother was rattled and stressed out enough…they all three were.

  “Oh, Mom! Stick a sock in it, will you?” Celina bit out. “I’m not in the mood to hear any of your pompous lectures right now. I have enough on my plate, thank you very much.”

  “Then stop acting like a couple of hissing, spitting cats. Honestly, I raised you both better.”

  Ivy sucked in a deep breath and sought her Zen. It was a pointless exercise. All semblances of peace and serenity had packed their bag nine months ago and hopped a shuttle to the moon.

  She’d have to deal with her cranky sister and anal-retentive mother as best she could for the next seven days. After that, she could pour all her energy into the bakery. Then maybe one day, she’d get brave, let her guard down, and give dating a try again.

  “All right,” Janice breathed out on a heavy sigh. “Everyone just relax. Let’s all head back to the dressing room so you can try on your bridesmaid dress again and see how the alterations on Celina’s dress turned out.”

  On the outside Ivy smiled, but inside she cringed. The bridesmaid dress her sister had picked out was a ghastly combination of green and purple. Of course, it could have been worse. She could have chosen the colors orange and black for her late-October wedding.

  Gag me!

  “I swear to all that’s holy, if they’ve fucked my dress up, heads are going to roll!”

  “Watch your language, Celina,” Janice spat before raising her head to the heavens. “Lord, please give me strength.”

  “Oh, Mother! Do you have to be so over-dramatic all the time?” Celina growled before turning and stomping away.

  Ivy and her mom shared a look of exasperation. “You hold her, I’ll beat the crap out of her.”

  “You’re on,” Janice replied without batting an eye. “But wait until we get her in the dressing room. We don’t want to cause—”

  “A scene. Yeah. I know, Mom,” Ivy drawled. “We wouldn’t want to do that.”

  “Certainly not.” Her mom’s face softened as she cupped Ivy’s cheek. “At least one of my girls has paid attention to the things I’ve been saying all these years.”

  When Janice turned and started toward the dressing room, Ivy shook her head.

  Yeah, I listened, Mom. But that didn’t stop me from bringing a shitload of embarrassment down on the family, now did it?

  The inky memories Ivy had staved off earlier plowed through her in an icy wave of revulsion. Like fragments of glass, sharp and wicked, the image sliced at the scars she’d worked so hard to heal. She could still feel the weight of Eugene McMillian’s fat body pinning her to the wall. Feel his hand squeeze her wrists as he restrained them high over her head. Feel his other hand slide up her skirt to jab at her pussy while his eel-like tongue wiggled down her throat. She’d struggled and twisted as she tried to fight off the vile pig’s assault. Thankfully, she’d managed to break free before she’d driven her knee between his fat, stumpy legs. When he’d dropped to the carpet, red-faced and gasping for air, Ivy ran…ran from his office…ran for her life. Tears had streamed down her face while his contemptible scream, You bitch had chased her down the hall.

  Mentally slamming the horrific ordeal beneath a wall of lead, Ivy forced the acidic residue from her veins and sucked in a deep breath.

  Digging up the past was poisonous.

  Justice had been served.

  Dwelling on Eugene McMillian and the ensuing trial served no purpose.

  She was on a new path, making a fresh start…reinventing herself. And soon she’d be building the life she’d always wanted.

  “Ivy, darling…what’s keeping you?” her mother called out.

  Skimming a glance over the wedding dresses drenched in tulle, sequins, and lace, Ivy shook her head.

  “Nothing, Mom. I’m coming,” she hollered back.

  Thankfully, the alterations were completed perfectly, but even more impressive was that Celina actually smiled. Ivy had to admit her little sister looked like a princess. Too bad she’d be standing at the altar next to a pig shoved in a tux. She wished there was a way to talk some sense into her sister, but Ivy feared it was too damn late.

  The next morning, bright and early, she and her family loaded their luggage and drove to the airport. As Ivy stood in line with her mom and sister to get coffee before boarding their flight, the young woman behind the counter studied her intently.

  “I know who you are.” The employee smirked. “You’re that woman who sued—”

  “Please,” Ivy interrupted harshly. “Can you just fix our coffee? I’d rather not discuss that…here.”

  The young woman blushed and nodded. “Sorry.”

  Ivy trembled with anger for being recognized yet again. Janice simply jerked her chin in the air, like she’d done during the trial. It was her mother’s silent reminder to keep a stiff upper lip.

  Yes, Ivy knew how to build walls around her. She’d grown lax in these past months following the media circus that had consumed her. The publicity had been beyond brutal. Ivy’s name and face had been plastered all over the Internet, newspaper, and every television station in the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex. It was major news that the out-of-work bakery shop worker was taking on a powerful, mega-millionaire philanthropist like Eugene McMillian.

  Ivy couldn’t step outside her door, couldn’t go to the store or the cleaners without a microphone or camera being shoved in her face. Even her old boss, who’d reopened the bakery, didn’t want to her back due to all the adverse publicity.

  She’d hidden in her apartment for months. Then one day her father had knocked on her door. He’d helped Ivy pack her things and then moved her back to the safety of her childhood home. Each morning she’d wake surrounded by the joyful memories of her past, but then the oily drama of the trial would sluice through her veins and coat her flesh.

  Nothing had prepared Ivy for the repugnant and emotionally crippling venom spewed during the trial. McMillian’s attorney had tried to paint Ivy as a scheming extortionist who had attempted to seduce his client in order to get rich by blackmailing him. Thankfully, Margaret Neill had had the foresight to interview every woman who’d left his company. Out of the forty-five women who no longer worked for the prick, twelve had agreed to testify. As it turned out, McMillian had offered each one of them the same vacant title of senior vice-president, the same six-figure salary, and the same penthouse apartment. But Ivy had been the only woman McMillian had touched inappropriately.

  The jury had been quick to unanimously side with Ivy, awarding her a massive settlement. Unfortunately, no amount of money could have assuaged the humiliation and degradation she’d endured. Or the embarrassment she’d felt while recounting the details of her hideous encounter with Eugene McMillian, while a slew of reporters and a courtroom chocked with strangers hung on her every word.

  Even after the news crews had left to chase their next sensational story, Ivy remained reclusive and withdrawn. Then one day, she’d ventured out of the house to retrieve the
mail and looked up. The sun had warmed her face and the sound of children’s laughter echoed in her ears. She’d stood, mesmerized, watching them run and giggle and play. It then had dawned on her that locking herself away wasn’t really living…it was merely existing.

  With her wounds still weeping, Ivy had vowed to rejoin the human race.

  Her coveted culinary degree wasn’t getting her anywhere while she remained in hiding. So she’d started researching. She’d spent hours and hours online, learning how to start her own business. Desperate to leave Dallas and the inky film that still clung to her flesh, she’d scoped out small towns. Towns that were far enough way to provide anonymity from the trial but still close enough she wouldn’t be cut off from her family. They were her lifeline and had kept her sane during the trial. Even her mother hadn’t let the slanderous comments send her cowering. Janice had simply lifted her head and projected a regal strength.

  In her heart, Ivy knew that their love had kept her from falling into an even deeper depression than the one she’d struggled to claw free from.

  Standing at the coffee counter in the airport, Ivy leaned over and kissed her mom on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  “For what, love?”

  “For everything.” A genuine smile tugged Ivy’s lips.

  The flight from Dallas to Las Vegas was uneventful except for her dad, Jeff, teasing his three girls unmercifully. Between laughs, Ivy paused and stared at her family. They might be dysfunctional as hell, but they were hers. Even after all the emotional hell she’d gone through, she was blessed in ways she’d never imagined.