Dirty South (A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance) (2 page)

Chapter One

Six years later…

"Just on the left here," I tell the cabdriver.

"Wow," he says with a whistle as he pulls over to
the sidewalk. "That's your place?"

"Well, it's my dad's," I tell him as I hand him
the fare, plus tip. "But I'm going to be living here. Think you could help
me with my bags?"

I don't know when I started thinking of this house as my
dad's home and not mine. Sometime during college, I guess. I look up at its
impressive English Regency architecture and then turn and gaze over Forsyth
Square. Growing up, I never realized how privileged I was to live in this
neighborhood in Savannah. With its historic homes, moss-covered trees, and
white marble fountains, it looks like something straight of Southern Living.

Mrs. Hunt opens the door and waves. "Welcome
home!" she shouts from the porch. "Hot enough for you?"

"I always manage to block the humidity from my
memory," I say as I walk up. "Thanks very much," I add to the
cabdriver as he deposits the last of my bags.

"Ma'am," he replies as Mrs. Hunt sweeps me into a
hug.

"You look so grown up!" she cries.

"You saw me over Christmas!" I reply with a laugh.

"I know, but it's different now. You're a college
graduate and everything." She takes one of my rolling suitcases and I take
the other, and together we head inside. "You want sweet tea? You can
unpack later."

"Sure."

"So where are you working? Your father didn't
say," she asks as we walk back to the kitchen. I study her now graying
hair, pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck.

"That's because I was waiting to tell him until I got
home," I reply with a smile. "I knew if I told him, he'd call and try
to wield his influence, and I just wanted to get the job on my own merits. I
even used my mom's maiden name on my application."

"That must have gone over well," Mrs. Hunt remarks
with her eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, he just about had a meltdown, but luckily it was
just over the phone."

"And's how's Tara?" Mrs. Hunt asks, taking a
pitcher of sweet tea out of the fridge as I sit at the counter. She was our
housekeeper going all the way back to when my parents were still together.

"She's...you know. Still drinking a bit too much.
Actually, I should text her to let her know I got in safe."

"And she's not with Mark anymore?"

"No, they got divorced a couple years ago. Wasn't as messy
as her divorce with my dad, though."

"It's easier when there aren't kids involved. Your dad
asked me to remind you about this party tonight at the Historical
Society."

"Oh, god. I managed to avoid all that stuff over the
holidays, but I guess I'm a bit more obligated now."

She laughs. "I knew you wouldn't want to go, but you
just try telling that to your father. He's been their biggest donor for the
last two years, you know."

"Yeah, he told me that Woodall & Sons is opening
another office in Atlanta now. I can't believe how well the business is
doing." My father's always been wealthy and dislikes talking about money,
but from what I can gather, the company is on another level now.

"Well, it's all thanks to Boone. He's practically
running things now, even though your father still has the title."

"And the majority shares, I assume," I add with a
smile.

"Yeah, I don't think he's about to give those up!"
She turns to wipe down the counter, and I slide my finger across the sweat on
my glass.

I've kept up with Boone Tillman's evolution more than I'm
letting on. The local newspaper's gossip columnists cover his exploits
exhaustively, even as the business section details Woodall & Sons'
expansion. My father's willingness to take a chance on him certainly paid off,
and it seems like Boone is happy to take advantage of the good life. There's
not a young society woman in town who hasn't been seen on his arm, though no
one's been able to nail him down for very long.

"Do you know who's going to be there tonight?" I ask
casually.

"Oh, gosh. I wouldn't know," Mrs. Hunt replies
with a smile. "You want help bringing your things up to your room?"

"No, I've got it," I reply. I know she had a hip
replacement last summer, though she hasn't let it slow her down much.

"It's at the Owens Thomas House. Your father said he'll
just meet you there. Should I call a car for you?"

"No, I'll walk. It isn't far." I drain the rest of
my glass and head back to the foyer. It takes me a couple trips to get my
suitcases up to my bedroom on the second floor, and I wince as I look around at
the old posters on the walls. I already feel lame enough moving home after
college, but thanks to my insistence on not using my family name, I only
managed to score a low-paying internship at the graphic design company of my
choice, so it made sense to stay at home and save up. But I'll definitely need
to redecorate in here.

I have time for a quick shower, and take a moment to savor
the feeling of the plush towels that Mrs. Hunt laid out. They're far nicer than
the thin ones that my roommates and I had in our little apartment in Ann Arbor.
I sigh. I miss my college buddies, but we all scattered to the winds after
graduation, going where the jobs were.

Shaking off the memories, I pull a white, crocheted lace dress
out of my suitcase. The wrinkles flatten out quickly, and I pull it on. I never
had much occasion to wear it at college, but it's one of my favorites.

I complete my look with a gold clutch and a pair of wedge
espadrilles, and apply some tasteful makeup. Mrs. Hunt is off by the time I
head downstairs, so I quietly lock the door behind me as I head out. The walk
to the Owens Thomas House is about twenty blocks, so I go slowly to avoid
showing up all sweaty, though the heat is abating as the sun goes down.

As I walk under the towering live oaks toward the river, I
feel my heartbeat slowing down. The rhythm is different here. Slower than in
the Northeast, slower than Michigan. Maybe that's why I came back. Certainly
there are graphic design firms all over the country, but something kept pulling
me back here.

There are town cars pulling up at the stately Owens Thomas
House when I walk up. I give my name to the woman with a clipboard standing out
front, then head up the steps into the house. The side rooms are roped off, as
the historic home is now a museum, but a tuxedo-clad waiter stands at the back
of the hall with a tray of champagne flutes. I take one as I pass on my way
back into the garden.

I step out onto the terrace and look over the landscaped
gardens, filled with members of Savannah's finest families. A mixture of
recognition and nervousness bubbles up inside me. I'm home.

Chapter Two

I spot my dad in a seersucker suit among the crowd, and take
the iron-wrought staircase on the right down to see him.

"There's my girl!" he calls out as he catches
sight of me. He gives me a hug and turns back to the woman he was talking to.
"I feel like just a second ago, she was this awkward little girl with
braces, and now: poof! Grace, do you remember Harper Dunleaf?"

"I'm not sure we've ever met. Grace, is it?" the
well-heeled woman asks, extending her hand.

"Grace is just a nickname, actually. It's Callie.
Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dunleaf."

"Oh, Harper, please. I can't say I can picture you ever
being awkward, Callie!" she says with a laugh. "I mean, just look at
you!"

I feel myself blush. "I'm afraid it's true."

"Harper, is Vernon coming tonight?" my father
asks.

"You know, he's around here somewhere," Harper
replies, her eyes lighting up. I don't need to be told that Vernon is her
marrying-age son. I can smell a set-up coming from a mile away.

"Harper's husband is
Mayor
Dunleaf," my
father quickly murmurs to me as Harper looks around the garden.

"Ah," I reply. My father is constantly cozying up
to politicians, making sure Woodall & Sons gets all the lucrative
government contracts and is always able to secure zoning changes.

"Oh, where has he gotten to?" Harper murmurs.
Thankfully, an older couple joins our group and Harper never locates her son.
The next hour, or maybe it's two, are spent in a blur of greetings. My father
knows everyone, and wants to show off his newly-graduated daughter. I shake so
many hands and kiss so many cheeks that all the conversations are starting to
blend into one.

"Do you want a drink? I'm going to head to the
bar," I cut in before my cheeks fall off from smiling so much.

"Whiskey," my dad replies, barely taking a break
from the anecdote with which he's regaling the group. I head off through the
crowd. There's a bit of a line at the open bar, so I people watch as I wait. I
frown at the back of a petite blonde's head, but it's not until I hear her
voice that I recognize her. Virginia. My old high school bully. I want to run
and hide before I remember that I'm not fifteen anymore. The place at the bar
in front of me clears, and I'm forced to move next to her.

"He said he'd call me, and I could tell by the way he
said it that he meant it," Virginia's saying. I want to snort. She gasps.
"Oh my god, there he is. And he brought
Tessa
? I thought they
weren't seeing each other anymore," she says, sounding aghast. I turn to
see who could be causing this reaction, and freeze as I see him.

Boone.

God, he looks good. He's wearing a pale grey suit with a
white shirt, open at the collar and without a tie. He and the pretty brunette
on his arm are standing at the railing on the patio, having just entered. Even
from a distance, I can see that he's lost none of the musculature that first
caught my eye over seven years ago.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" I finally hear the bartender
repeating.

"Sorry. Ah, whiskey. And champagne," I reply.
Boone is making his way down the stairs, nodding to familiar faces in the crowd
as he goes. I feel like my body's on fire, and as the bartender hands me back
my drinks, I find myself heading to a hedge in the back corner of the garden,
rather than returning to my father. Without thinking, I toss the whiskey back,
and wince as it runs down my throat like fire.

"Damn," a soft voice remarks, and I see a young
woman with a smattering of freckles across her nose smiling at me from next to
the fence.

"Didn't see you there," I reply.

"That's because I'm hiding," she says. "I'm
not really comfortable at these things."

"Me neither."

"If it weren't for the whiskey, I wouldn't have
known."

"Thanks. I mean, it took me years of practice to seem
comfortable, but I'm not, really."

"Huh. I took you one of those Calvary girls."

I giggle. "Oh, man, I did go grade school and part of
high school there. But I wasn't one of those girls that you're talking about.
Those girls would have never hung out with someone like me. Where'd you
go?"

"Veritas. Surprised I've never run into you
before."

"I went to live with my mom after sophomore year."

"Lucky. I'd love to have escaped. I'm Lynn, by the
way."

"Callie." I glance over my shoulder and spot Boone
making his way through the crowd. If anything, age appears to have made his
cheekbones even more defined. "Sorry," I say, turning back.
"There's this guy here..."

"I used to have an awful time when my ex and I would be
at the same party."

"Oh, does she run in the same circles? That's
tough." I watch her eyes widen, and backtrack. "I'm sorry, I thought
you—"

"I... I am. But how did you know?"

"You just remind me of one of my friends from school,
and she's gay, so I guess it just popped into my head. Don't worry, if you're
not out, I won't say anything."

"I'm not out around here, is the thing. My dad's
running for reelection, and he asked me to keep it quiet for a little
longer."

"Wait, is your dad the mayor?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

I smile. "No, but your mom just tried to set me up with
your older brother."

Lynn laughs. "Well, Vernon's OK. But who's the guy
you're hiding from?"

"Um..."

"Don't worry. You know my biggest secret, so I won't
tell yours."

"Oh, god, alright. You know who Boone Tillman is?"

"Everyone knows who Boone Tillman is," she replies
with an arched eyebrow. "You guys used to date?"

"No! It's so embarrassing...I had this big crush on him
when I was a teenager. He and my dad are business partners."

"You're Callie Woodall!" she says, with a look of
recognition. "So you've got a great 'in' with Boone, right?"

I sigh. "I don't know. I was in my childhood bedroom
today, and it's like I'm still a teenager, you know? Plus, he's here with some
girl." I bring my thumb to my mouth for a second and begin to chew my nail
before I realize what I'm doing.

"They never last long."

"So I hear," I reply with a smile. "I'm too
nervous to talk to him tonight, anyway."

"You know what helps with that?" she asks
mischievously, opening her clutch and holding it out to me. I look inside and
giggle as I see a joint at the bottom.

"I don't know," I demur.

"Come on, now I feel like one of those kids that
parents think are a bad influence."

"OK, but just for a minute. And don't tell anyone!"

"There's a bathroom on the first floor, toward that
side," Lynn says, gesturing.

"Meet you there in five minutes," I whisper
conspiratorially.

"Got it," she replies, and walks the far way along
the garden wall, hugging the fence. I head back to the bar and get another
whiskey, then take it back to my father. He's in the middle of a conversation
with a bunch of people I don't know, so I slip it into his hand with a wink.
I'm turning back toward the house when a handsome man in a navy blazer steps in
my path.

"Are you Callie?" he asks, and I can tell by his
strawberry blonde hair that this must be Lynn's brother.

"And you're Vernon," I reply, shaking his hand.

"My mother said you're just home from college," he
says.

"That's right. University of Michigan."

"The Wolverines. Y'all have a great fight song."

I laugh. "I have to agree with you there." I miss
the next thing he says because I get a strange feeling that I'm being watched.
My gaze flits around to Vernon's right until it lands on a pair of golden eyes
that seem like they're about to bore right through me. I shiver under Boone's
unnerving stare. How long has he been looking at me? Does he remember me after
all?