Dirty South (A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance) (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Boone

I head to the Hail Mary, the bar I go to on the outskirts of
Savannah when I just want to be able to relax. I've fought my entire life for
status and stability, but I never knew how exhausting it would be to maintain.
I don't want to see and be seen right now. I just want to sit in a dark corner
and drink.

Sydney's bartending when I head inside. Hank's playing on
the speakers, and there's only a few other customers around. She gives me a nod
when I walk in. She's busy with a regular, so I head to the back corner booth.
We've had flings now and then, but we both know where we stand. Not that I'm in
the mood tonight anyway.

"Bad deal?" she asks when she comes over and sets
a beer and a shot of Jack on the table in front of me and slides into the other
side of the booth.

"Bad date," I reply. She chortles, and I shoot her
a glare.

"Sorry," she says with a shrug. "Just didn't
think you cared enough."

"What's that mean?" I frown.

"Usually for you, a bad date means you didn't get laid,
which is fine, because you can just call another girl in your rolodex. Or, you
know, phone contacts or whatever. So, what's she like?" she asks, leaning
her forearms on the slightly sticky table.

What's she like?
Funny, smart, her emotions play across
her face like a cattail dancing in the breeze. But she's not fragile, either.
She can ride a horse like hell, her perfect thighs gripping the saddle and
guiding the horse with just the smallest flexion. She's pale, with a rope of
thick, dark hair, like she's jumped here from another time. She seems like a
perfect Southern debutante on the outside, but I know she's got a wild heart.

"Doesn't matter," I grunt.

Sydney whistles. "Turned you down, huh? Well, I get off
in a couple hours." I shake my head no. "You've got it bad."

"Just not in the mood tonight," I reply, trying to
keep the defensiveness out of my voice.

"Alright," she says, backing off. "Keep 'em
coming?" she asks, indicating the drinks.

I nod.

* * *

My mood's no better the next morning, though the hangover
isn't helping. I stare at my bedroom window, admiring the moldings and custom
drapes. It's an old house built in the English Regency style that defines
Savannah architecture, but everyone else was scared off by its dilapidated
state. I bought it and fixed it up myself. Just finished it a year or so ago.

I live in the right house, wear the right clothes... but
still I feel I don't belong here. I can't tell if my outsider status is real or
imagined. Do these old money Savannah people really consider me one of them? Or
will I always be some kind of interloper, making off with their precious
daughters? And the daughters are never nearly as innocent as they claim, by the
way. The gatekeepers love to help me spend my money, putting me on the board of
this society and that charitable association, but I can't help but feel I'm not
truly accepted.

Or maybe I'm being paranoid. It's true that I've always had
a massive chip on my shoulder, needing to prove I'm better than my druggie
mother and absentee father. Well, it's always kept me working hard, harder than
anyone around me. I thought that by making myself into a successful
businessman, my insecurities would vanish, but I guess I was wrong.

I pull on a pair of short and sneakers and head out for a
jog along the Savannah River. It always helps me to clear my head, and I don't
want to get soft like some of the other people who work in Woodall & Sons
front office, especially Mason Woodall himself. Sometimes I walk in on him
studying his gut in the mirror in his office.

My gratitude to him knows no bounds, but he can't deny that
I've proved my worth to him ten times over. I wish I could say he trusts me
completely now, but he still pushes back on some of my ideas for the company.
Like the rebranding, for one. At least he finally relented on that issue, though
who knows why. Months of trying to convince him, with no headway, and then one
day he comes into my office all ready to go and has even picked out the company
we should hire.

My head snaps and I almost trip as a leggy brunette jogs
past me. I thought for a second it was Callie. Shit. I need to let that one go.
Clearly she's got something going on. My money's on a boyfriend, maybe from
college and living in a different state. Probably she was just feeling lonely,
and then pulled back at the last second when the guilt was settling in.

I just wish she'd tell me straight out. I pull out my phone
and type in her number, then shut it again. If it is a boyfriend issue, then
I'm not getting involved. All the women I go out with need to be free and
clear. And if it's not... well, then a phone call isn't going to do a fucking
thing.

You know what? To hell with her. I don't need some girl
fucking with my brain. I have my pick of Savannah's eligible women. All I have
to decide is blonde, redhead, or brunette.

My phone beeps and I start. Is it her? No... but it could be
just what I need right now.

"Virginia," I say as I answer. Blonde it is.

"Boone," she drawls. "I thought maybe you
lost my number." I smile. A woman like Virginia isn't used to being kept
waiting.

"Not at all. I've been replaying that time in the
shower over and—"

"Boone!" she protests, but I can hear her breath
catch over the phone. I smile. I do enjoy the effect I have on women. "You
are too much, you know that?"

"Why don't I take you out this Saturday?" I
suggest. The best way to forget about Callie is to get right back in the game.
Virginia might act prudish in public, but she's a more than willing participant
once we're in my bedroom.

"Really?" she says, then backs off her excitement.
"Well, I have to check my schedule."

"Pick you up at nine," I reply with a smile, and
hang up.

Chapter Eight

Callie

I stare absentmindedly out the front window of the parlor. I
don't hear my dad come in until he's standing almost next to me.

"What's going on with you? You look like hell," he
comments.

"Dad..." I sigh. "I just had a bad date last
night, alright?"

"A bad date!" he exclaims. "Not with Vernon
Dunleaf?"

"No, not with Vernon Dunleaf," I assure him.

"Who then?" he asks, sitting down across from me.

"It's not important. I'm not going to see him
again."

"Give me his name. I'll have a talk with him."

I can't help but giggle. "Dad! You can't be
serious!"

"I'm dead serious. No one messes with my daughter and
gets away with it." I consider him, surprised by the flashes of real anger
in his eyes.

"Dad. I'm fine. It was my fault the date went
badly."

He snorts. "Well, you let me know if you want me to get
involved."

"I'll do that," I reply gently, not wanting to
bruise his ego.

"I hope you feel up to dinner tonight."

"What do you mean?" I ask, frowning.

"We're having guests over."

"Who?"

"It's a surprise."

"I'm still annoyed at you for your last
'surprise'!" I exclaim, remembering his selection of Upland for Woodall
& Sons rebranding.

He throws back his head and laughs, delighted by himself.
"That's what you get for not keeping me informed!"

"Oh god," I mutter, burying my head in my hands. A
frightening thought occurs to me, and I look up. "It's not someone from
Woodall & Sons, is it?" I ask, worrying he's invited Boone for some
reason.

"No! Why would I invite someone from work? No, no, this
is a good surprise. You're going to like it," he promises.

I groan inwardly. My father has very little understanding of
what surprises I'm going to like and what I'm not. Still, I do my best to shake
off my mood, and head upstairs to take a shower.

I glance at my phone on my desk as I get undressed. I was
half-hoping Boone would call, but he hasn't. Either he's angry, or simply
doesn't care. I'm hoping for the first, even though I know the second would
make my life easier.

As I shower, I consider how I should proceed. Maybe it would
be easiest to not tell Boone who I am. It's already tough enough at work now
that Upland is working on the Woodall & Sons rebranding, and I would
essentially be asking him to also keep my identity a secret from my colleagues.
Last night was not a good night, but maybe the best move is just to let it be.

After I dry off, I blow dry my hair a little and then pull
on a simple cotton shift. I amble down to the kitchen, and inhale deeply as the
scent of Mrs. Hunt's cooking reaches me.

"Wow. What is that?" I ask as I meet her at the
stove.

"Pork tenderloin. Your father asked for it
specifically."

"I thought his doctor told him to eat healthier. He is
getting a bit of a belly."

She smiles and shakes his head. "That sneak. He didn't
pass that on to me, I can tell you that much."

"He claims it makes him look more imposing," I
say, rolling my eyes. "Maybe if he met a new woman, he'd try to get back
in shape. You ever see him date anybody?"

"Here and there, but nothing serious," she
replies. The doorbell rings, and she reaches for a dishcloth to wipe her hands.

"I'll get it," I say, stopping her. I head towards
the front door, wondering who I'm going to find on the other side of it. Maybe
a potential client my father is wooing? I open the door with a smile, which
falters drastically as I see the Dunleaf family gathered on the porch. James,
Harper, Lynn, and Vernon, whose calls I still haven't returned. Shit. "So
wonderful to see y'all!" I say, recovering.

"You too, Callie," Harper says. "I don't know
if you've met my husband, Mayor Dunleaf."

"Call me James," he says, in a smooth voice as he
shakes my hand.

"Please, come in," I say, waving them into the
parlor. "Can I get anyone anything to drink?" Vernon pauses by the
foyer with me as I listen with half an ear to the drink requests. The rest of
his family moves further into the parlor and begins to admire the fireplace, so
before he can say anything, I turn to him and murmur, "Vernon, I'm so
sorry I haven't returned your call. My father told me we'd all be having dinner
tonight, so I figured since I hadn't spoken to you yet, I might as well do it
in person."

"Oh, of course," he replies, looking mollified by
my mostly white lie. He heads into the parlor with his parents and Lynn jumps
up.

"I'll help you with those drinks, Callie," she
says, hurrying after me. We head down the hallway, but I duck into the study
and pull her in after me.

"Why didn't you warn me?" I whisper.

"I didn't know! They're always dragging me to parties
and dinners, so I just stopped asking after a while. Your dad didn't tell you
either?" I shake my head. She leans in. "So? How was last
night?"

I cover my face. "I don't know. Amazing. Awful. I'm
afraid I led him on, but I also don't know if he was just feeding me the same
lines he feeds to the rest of the women he dates."

"Well, what does that mean? You going out with him
again?"

"No! Definitely not. I should never have gone out with
him once. I must have a self-destructive instinct."

"Vernon is wearing his favorite shirt, just so you
know."

"I cannot believe our parents!"

"It's all my mom, trust me. My dad just goes where she
tells him and gives his stump speech."

I sigh. "Well, I hope you remember the drink orders,
because my head was too busy exploding to listen." Lynn laughs and we head
back into the hallway. My dad is walking down the stairs, and I glare at him.
"Our surprise guests are in the parlor. I'm getting drinks."

"Lovely," he replies with a grin. "I'll have
a whiskey."

"We'll see," I respond, and head back to the
kitchen.

By the time we sit down for dinner, I have to admit that I'm
not having a terrible time. The Dunleafs are friendly and talkative, with
charming anecdotes to spare. Vernon is more interesting than I gave him credit
for, even if his mother can't stop bragging about his MBA from Vanderbilt. I
smile as he makes eye contact with me as she does so, and subtly rolls his eyes.

I missed this aspect of Savannah. The feeling of an old town
where everyone knew each other. When I was young that feeling drove me crazy,
but now there's something comforting about it.

After dessert, we move back into the parlor. Lynn, Vernon,
and I end up on one side, with the older adults on the other. Lynn and Vernon
have a sweet, teasing relationship with each other, even if they are very
different. Vernon is much more formal and polite, without Lynn's rebellious
streak. When the doorbell rings, I look toward my father.

"Are you expecting someone else?" I ask with
raised eyebrows, wondering what more he could have in store.

"No, actually," he replies, looking genuinely
surprised. "I think Mrs. Hunt might have left already." I stand, but
he glances between Vernon and me and gestures me down. "I'll get it,"
he assures me. I watch him until he disappears behind the wall into the foyer,
then turn back to Vernon.

"Did you always plan to move home after college?"
I ask.

"Yes," he responds immediately. "This is
where I want to raise my family."

My ears prick up as I hear my father answers the door.
"Boone!" he exclaims.

I freeze.

Chapter Nine

"Sorry to bother you after hours, Mason," comes
Boone's deep-voiced reply. "Just got these contracts for River Street that
need your signature." I make eye contact with Lynn, who looks somewhere
between alarmed and amused. "I was in the area, and figured I'd drop them
by myself." I hold my breath, one ear toward the door, as Vernon continues
talking at me.

"What about you? Planning to stick around?" he
asks.

"Want to come in for a drink?" my father asks
Boone.
Please no, please no.

"That's all right, I can see you've got company. I do
want to meet Grace at some point, though," Boone replies.

My face flushes. "Yes, for now, at least. I love
Savannah...the trees..." I say to Vernon absentmindedly.

"The trees?" Lynn echoes, her mouth twitching with
the effort to hold back her smile.

"Maybe she can come to the office sometime," my
dad offers.

"Um, yes, the live oaks, the history," I say to
Vernon, struggling to remain in the conversation.

"Alright then, see you Monday," Boone says to my
dad, and I hear the front door close. My dad reenters smiling.

"Business never stops!" he says apologetically.

"Was that Boone Tillman? I warned Lynn to stay away
from him!" James says with a fake laugh. Lynn rolls her eyes.

"Hey, as long as he keeps my profits soaring like he
has, I don't care what he does in his off-time!" my dad laughs.

"Oh, really, Mason," Harper says with a smile.
"So you'd be alright with Boone Tillman taking his off-time to spend time
with your only daughter?"

My dad waves her away. "What, Boone and Grace? She's a
little young, don't you think?"

"What's the age difference, seven, eight years?"
Lynn pipes up innocently, and I shoot her a glare.

"No, more than that," my dad says, frowning at
this new idea.

"To be fair, Dad, Mom is twelve years younger than
you," I point out. I would never push his buttons like this in private,
but I know he won't lose his temper at me with people around.

"That's different!" he protests.

Harper laughs. "It's always different when it's your
daughter, Mason!"

"Vernon, how old are you?" my dad asks him.

"Twenty-six, sir," he replies.

"Now that's more reasonable. Grace is twenty-two, so
that's only four years!" my dad exclaims.

"Dad!" I protest, turning tomato red.

"Oh, Mason! You really are terrible! It's one thing to
ask a man's age, but another thing to reveal a lady's!" Harper says,
struggling to keep her laughter under control.

"Well, it's... you know..." my dad says,
blustering.

"I'm going to go get some water," I proclaim,
standing up and heading toward the kitchen.

"See, now you've scared her off!" Harper says as I
retreat.

In the kitchen, I gulp down a glass, and press the back of
my hand to my cheeks. My father really is incorrigible. He sees me as a little
girl in one moment, then can't wait to marry me off in the next. I hear a creak
in the floorboards, and turn around, expecting to see Lynn. I smile awkwardly
when I see that it's Vernon.

"Sorry about all that," he says. "My mom can
be quite determined once she's got an idea in her head."

"It's not your fault," I reply. He runs a hand
through his slightly reddish hair and takes a deep breath.

"At the risk of seeming desperate, would you like to go
to dinner with me next Saturday? There's a restaurant right by the river that
has jazz on the weekends, I don't know if you've been since you've been back in
town..."

I look at his kind, hopeful eyes, and melt a little.
"Yes, I'd love to. Do you think our parents are going to try to tag
along?"

"Oh, definitely," he says, his face breaking into
a wide grin.

"You know they're in there right now, talking about us,
right? They probably started whispering the second you followed me in
here."

"I had to risk it," he replies. "I can't let
you slip through my fingers again."

I blush, and tuck my hair behind my ear. "So, do you
plan to follow your father into politics?" I ask.

"Not if I can help it," he replies. "I'm not
as good at working a room as he is, and I do really enjoy business. I'm working
for this start-up right now, but I'm not sure if it's got legs, to be honest
with you. Where are you working?"

"This place called Upland Designs. But keep it to
yourself, OK? I used my mother's maiden name to get the job, and I'm still
going by it. My father's name casts a long shadow around here."

"Mine, too," he says with a smile. "But who
are we to complain, right? I mean, look at all this," he says, gesturing
around to the perfectly decorated kitchen.

"You're right," I concede. "I just want to
make my own reputation, that's all. What's your mother's maiden name?"

"Varney," he replies.

"Vernon Varney? Hm, I think you'll have to stick with
your own last name," I say with a smile. "Shall we?"

He holds the door open for me and we head back into the
parlor. The room gets quiet as soon as we enter, and I watch Harper attempt to
nonchalantly play with a button on her cardigan.

"Y'all look so innocent in here," I remark, sitting
on the sofa. "What were you talking about? The weather?"