Dirty Scoundrel

by Jessica Clare

  I remember her ancient father and her too-young stepmother. That was a creepy dynamic, and I’d always wondered how she handled it. I knew that back in high school she resented her father for his string of wives and the lack of attention he showed his daughter. Guess she got over it.

  But if that’s all it is . . .

  “He needs a caretaker? That’s easy enough to acquire.”

  She gives me a skeptical look. “It’s expensive.”

  I can’t believe she’s gonna poor-mouth me. If it weren’t so ridiculous, it’d be downright amusing. “You do realize I’m rich, right? You just tell me what your price is and I’ll pay it.”

  Natalie says nothing, but there’s a bleak look on her face, and her eyes are suspiciously shiny. Shit. This isn’t how I want things to go. I pull out a business card and offer it to her. “That’s my phone number and my email. Send me your list of demands. The job’s exactly what you think it is. You’re my assistant for as long as I need assisting.”

  “You’ve watched too much Fifty Shades of Grey,” she mutters, but plucks the card from my fingers.

  I turn and leave, heading back out to the limo. Feels like eternity has passed, even though it might have been only five minutes. I’m not sure if that went well. She might hate my guts. She might turn me down flat.

  One thing’s for certain, though—after seeing her again today?

  Doesn’t matter her price. I’ll pay it.

  There’s nothing I want more than Natalie Weston in my bed. Nothing.

  When I’m back in the limo, my phone buzzes with an incoming text. My heart hammers in my chest as I click on the screen, and I’m disappointed to see it’s only Knox, not Nat.

  KNOX: How’d it go?

  How did it go? Good question. I can’t stop thinking about Nat’s breasts . . . and those shiny, sad eyes. I’m going to get what I want, I think. Natalie doesn’t have much room to bargain.

  Can’t help feeling like a dick, though.

  CLAY: I feel like an asshole.

  KNOX: Ur not an asshole. Ur a scoundrel. A rogue.

  KNOX: Own it, Scoundrel.

  CLAY: Just a fancy word for asshole.

  KNOX: You gave her the offer. Up to her if she takes it.

  CLAY: And if she does take it, it’s because she has no choice. She’s broke enough to sell herself. Still makes me an asshole.

  KNOX: But then you’ll be a well-laid asshole. If ur gonna be an asshole either way, might as well get ur dick wet.

  Natalie

  I stare at the mountain of overdue bills on the corner of my desk as it pours rain outside. All of the notices are brightly colored and scream things like “Past Due” or “Final Notice.” Business taxes, medical bills, repairs on the museum, property taxes, credit cards, invoices for souvenirs—all of them have been slowly piling up on my desk. I tackle them the best I can, but no matter what I do, the number owed seems to grow and grow.

  It feels like there’s no climbing out of this hole.

  I make minimum payments, only to have the interest eat me alive. One bill gets paid off and something new appears. If we pay off the air conditioner we had to have replaced last year, the car breaks down, or a wheelchair ramp needs to be updated. Dad fell six months ago, and I’m still paying the hospital bills for that one, because the insurance company says it wasn’t truly an emergency. It’s just one frustrating thing after another. I can lift my chin, keep my head above water, and keep going . . .

  Or I can sell myself to my high school boyfriend.

  The thought is both loathsome and wildly appealing at the same time. God, how many times have I imagined having sex with Clay? How many times did I regret that I never gave up my virginity to him? How many times have I pictured tackling him and hopping into his bed with all the gleeful passion I’d felt for him?

  For Clay to demand it for money . . . it changes things. He’s not the sweet, laughing boy I fell in love with. The person that showed up wears his face, but he’s hard and cold and a little cruel.

  I don’t know what to think.

  This is worse than Clay never coming back into my life, ever.

  I tilt my head back, closing my eyes. I need a sign that what I’m doing is the right thing. That staying the course and keeping my pride means I can get us out of this hole. That I shouldn’t sell myself into my ex-boyfriend’s bed. That it’s just money and it can’t buy me happiness. That I’d be trading my self-esteem and self-worth away and it’s not worth it. It’s wrong and—

  Something drips on my forehead.

  I squeeze one eye open and peer up at the ceiling. There’s water damage, a yellowish stain on the ceiling. As I examine it, another fat droplet of water falls and splashes on my forehead. I sit up, wiping away the wetness.

  That wasn’t the sign I wanted.

  “Natalie?” My father’s quavering voice floats down the stairs.

  I jump to my feet. “Coming!” The bills and all my worries will have to wait a bit longer. I grab a pot from the kitchen, put it on my desk chair, then head up the stairs, ignoring how much they creak.

  My father’s seated upright in his bed, his blankets tucked at his waist, and for a moment, he looks so cheery and so normal that my heart squeezes. I can’t help but smile at him. We’ve never been close, but when he smiles . . . I dearly wish we were. I wish he were the dad I always wanted instead of the one I got.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say as I shut the door behind me. “What’s up?”

  He gestures at the chair next to his bed. “I need a favor, my dear.”

  “Of course.” My father knows I’d do anything for him. I’m encouraged by his mood—and the fact that he called me Natalie. Maybe he’s going to have a good, coherent spell for a few days.

  Dad nods. “I need you to run through my lines with me.”

  “Your lines?” I echo, my heart sinking.

  “Yes. That reading is tomorrow and you know what a stickler Jimmy is. He doesn’t like it when the actors show up and don’t know the characters.” He gives his head a little shake and then waves a hand at me. “Your mother is busy so I need you to help me with it.”

  “Oh,” I say softly. “Why don’t you start?”

  My father presses a hand to his chest and begins a meaningful, heartfelt speech about the perils of war. I’m sure it’s from a movie that wrapped decades ago, just like I’m sure my father’s living in that moment again. He thinks my mom’s alive. He thinks he’s still acting.

  He’s not getting any better.

  Hot tears pour down my cheeks as my father waves a hand at me, encouraging me to reply, but when I don’t, he just continues on, happy as could be, lost in his own little world.

  This is my sign, I think.

  I can’t do this.

  I can’t keep it all together.

  I’ve been trying and trying and the only thing I’m managing is to stop the quicksand from pulling us under quite so fast. Dad needs someone at his side night and day, or he’s going to hurt himself again. The business—and the ranch—can’t be managed by just one person.

  And me . . .

  I need a hero.

  But since all I’ve got is Clay Price, I’m going to have to make do.

  * * *

  NAT: Lexi, I’m going to do it.

  LEXI: You’re going to take his indecent proposal? This is just like that movie! What was it called?

  NAT: Indecent Proposal?

  LEXI: Ha! Right! In all seriousness, what made you decide to go for it?

  NAT: We made out a lot in high school. I planned to give him my virginity then. I guess it’s not much different than doing it now.

  LEXI: Except he morphed into a mighty asshole between now and then. You sure about this?

  NAT: Of course I’m not sure, but I’m running out of options. Dad’s completely lost lately and I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself again. I can’t watch him and the museum. I’ve had to leave the honor jar out on the counter for most of the day today, and the only
thing it got me was a not-so-startling realization that people have zero honor.

  LEXI: Aww :(

  LEXI: Ur my friend, Nat. I hate to see you give up on yourself like this. I can loan u some money.

  NAT: You goober.

  NAT: You’re the only person I know that’s as broke as me.

  LEXI: Yes, but some foolish bank sent me a credit card through the mail! Mwa-haha!

  NAT: It’s sweet of you to offer, but no. I’m going to do this. It’ll solve all my problems. Girls sell their virginity online all the time now, right? This is . . . sort of like that. It’s just that I know who’s buying.

  LEXI: I guess. I still don’t like it!

  NAT: I don’t, either, but I’m out of options. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go wrap my body in Saran wrap to try and sweat out five pounds before Clay sees me naked.

  LEXI: Apple cider vinegar b4 every meal 2!! Works!!

  LEXI: And make your price a good one! He’s got billions!

  LEXI: And don’t shave the bush! Fuck him! Go Sasquatch on his ass!

  NAT: Lol—I love you girl.

  LEXI: Love you too. XOXO

  NAT: Thanks for not trying to talk me out of it.

  LEXI: Why would I? Like u said, it solves all ur problems. I might not like it, but I get it.

  LEXI: Just keep me posted!

  NAT: You know I will!

  * * *

  NATALIE: Is this Clay’s phone?

  CLAY: It’s me. Have you come up with your price?

  NATALIE: You just get right down to things, don’t you?

  CLAY: I know what I want, yes.

  NATALIE: I’ve scanned in my father’s hospital bills and attached them via email to the address you sent me. I will expect those to be paid in full.

  CLAY: And?

  NATALIE: And there’s some other debt that I also have, attached in a second email and itemized. Again, those will need to be paid in full. There’s also a card for a live-in nursing attendant service, and that will need to be arranged for the length of time that I’ll be “servicing” you since I won’t be here to take care of my father myself.

  CLAY: Go on.

  NATALIE: That’s it. I accept your deal.

  CLAY: You’re not asking for money for yourself? No millions to keep you in the lifestyle you’re accustomed to?

  NATALIE: First of all, you’ll see that my father’s medical expenses aren’t exactly cheap. And second of all, I don’t know who you think I am that I’d try to shake you down for as much as humanly possible. I’ve done the math and this is the price I feel comfortable asking. It’s all detailed in your email.

  CLAY: First of all, I expect a shakedown. I’m bargaining for sex here. My end isn’t fair and I don’t expect yours to be, either.

  CLAY: Second of all, as to who I think you are? I thought I knew, but that changed right after graduation, remember?

  NATALIE: You’re an ass. And okay, fine, I want a million dollars on top of everything else I’ve asked for. Happy?

  CLAY: I’ll be arriving at 4 pm sharp on Monday with contracts for our deal and payment arrangements. Be waiting with a suitcase.

  Natalie

  It’s done. I don’t know how to feel. I’m a bundle of emotions that are all vomiting to get out.

  I’m sick at heart that I’ve stooped to selling myself.

  I’m relieved that the mountain of bills will be handled.

  I’m secretly looking forward to a few days away from my dad and the endless caretaking.

  I’m ashamed that I feel like that at all.

  I stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom and feel like the world’s worst daughter and the whore of Babylon both. It’s not a fun combination.

  But whatever I feel doesn’t matter. I’m doing this. Clay will get me in his bed, humiliate me or whatever he plans on doing with me, and then he’ll let me go home. I’ll be done with him and I’ll have enough money that I can breathe without feeling like the world’s about to crash down on me.

  It’s awful, but I’m kind of looking forward to that part. I just need to get through the awful “humiliation sex” part. Because that has to be why Clay wants me this much, right? He’s determined to fuck me and make me regret how I dumped him back after high school. It’s got to be revenge. I shiver a little, thinking about how he stares at me. There’s an intensity to it that wasn’t there seven years ago. Maybe it’s the beard that makes him look a lot rougher and like he’s got an edge. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s gone from a rangy, good-looking teenager to a tall, sculpted man who’s got broad shoulders that can’t be hidden even by the world’s rattiest T-shirt. He looks twice as good as he did seven years ago—despite the scruffy beard and clothes—and I look like a roly-poly version of myself.

  I get up from the bed and move to the full-length mirror in my room, studying my body. Nothing looks like it used to. Back in high school I had almost no breasts, a small butt, and a tiny waist. Now I practically spill out of my clothing on both ends, and I wince, hefting my boobs in my hands. Guys like a girl with curves, but I think I’ve gone straight from “curvy” to “pillowy.” Not a good look, especially when I was so lean back in high school.

  I think of the cookies downstairs . . . and then I think of the Saran wrap Lexi mentioned. Shit. Maybe I have time to sweat out the five pounds before Monday. Not that five pounds is going to make a dent, but I’ll feel a little better about myself naked if I lose them.

  And then I panic.

  Oh god. Clay Price is going to see me naked.

  This is going to be the longest weekend of my life.

  Chapter Six

  Clay

  Sunday nights, we all head over to Boone’s fancypants house so Ivy can cook us dinner and we can pretend to be a normal family. We gather around the long mahogany table, scrape the dirt off our boots, and try to be polite. Ivy likes polite, and Boone likes whatever Ivy likes. Most nights it ends in chaos, like the time that Gage and Knox pushed Seth’s face in a plate of spaghetti and then a fistfight broke out. Tonight’s pretty quiet, though. I been sippin’ my beer, watching the others as they chat about a weird house Ivy sold this last week, wonderin’ when I should break the news to them that I’m paying my high school sweetheart to have sex with me.

  Knox keeps glancing over at me from his side of the table, and I ignore his ass because I’ll speak up when I’m good and ready.

  It’s my little brother, Seth, who decides he needs to front me out, though. “You’re quiet tonight, Clay. Ain’t like you.”

  “Ain’t it?” I say mildly, playing with my beer bottle.

  “Normally you don’t shut the hell up,” he says with a cocky grin.

  Knox just smirks and grabs another piece of bread. “This pot roast is bangin’, Ivy.”

  “Why, thank you, Knox.” She beams at him and then gives me a concerned look. “They’re right, though. You’re very quiet, Clay. Is anything wrong?”

  “Just thinking up baby names,” I tease. It’s a running joke with her and I—I keep coming up with the worst names possible and she keeps shooting ’em down all polite-like. “Read somewhere it’s popular to name the baby after historical figures. Thought Genghis would be a good name.”

  Ivy makes a face. “No.”

  “Abraham?” I ask. “Or Lincoln?”

  “No and no.” She shoots Boone a help-me look, but he just reaches over the table and rubs her belly, all proud.

  “Eisenhower?”

  “Dumbass, you can’t even spell Eisenhower,” Gage tells me between bites of pot roast. “It’d have to be something easy for you. Like Ford.”

  “I like Ford,” I say mildly. “Good truck.”

  “I’m not naming the baby after a truck,” Ivy says patiently. “And you’re very good at changing the subject, Clay, but I’m onto you. What’s the matter?”

  “Ain’t nothin’ the matter,” I confess, and take another swig of my beer. All of us have bottles in front of us—mostly because you can’t take t
he country out of the boy—but Ivy’s drinking water. I finish the beer and get to my feet. “Gonna get a refill. Anyone else?”

  “Sit down and spill,” Boone tells me. “You’re hidin’ something.”

  “Yeah,” Knox says, a sly grin on his face. “You should tell everyone what’s going on.”

  Shithead. I rub at my hair, wishin’ I had my hat on so I could hide my eyes. “So, uh, you know how last year Boone bought up all them properties to impress you? ’Cause he had the money to throw around and he figured, why the fuck not?”

  Ivy’s brows go up and Boone’s go down. My brother probably thinks I’m gonna say something to piss Ivy off. He’s been all Papa Bear ever since she got pregnant and it don’t take much to set her off.

  “Go on,” Ivy says.

  “Well, I thought I’d skip buyin’ myself a house and a golf course. I went to my ex-girlfriend’s house and told her I’d pay off her debt if she’d be my personal assistant for a while.” I feel all weird bein’ on my feet and everyone else sitting. Feels all weird to be the one makin’ a big proclamation instead of tryin’ to smooth things over, too. “‘Cept I didn’t really mean assistin’, I meant fuckin’. Anyhow, I’m gonna be throwin’ a few mil her way and just figured if anyone saw her hangin’ around, that was the situation.”

  Ivy’s jaw drops.

  Gage snickers. Knox just grins into his pot roast.

  Seth cocks his head at me, confused. “Dude, hookers are waaay cheaper than that.”