Dirty South (A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance) (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

I glance at the designs for Upland's new logo. Not that
anyone's asked me for my opinion, but I don't think they're quite right. They
all look a bit too traditional to me, and the whole point of the rebranding was
to introduce people to a more modern Woodall & Sons.

I glance at the clock. Charlie could come back from lunch at
any time, so I should clear my desk up. He never takes lunch at the same time
every day or goes for the same amount of time, so I've taken to always eating
at my desk so that I'm always available. I'm going for dedicated, but I'm
worried that I'm coming off as obsequious.

I toss my empty Tupperware container back in my tote bag,
and freeze as a text message pops up on my phone. It's from Boone. I haven't
heard from him for three days. I've wanted to reach out to him, but I figured
that I'd already put myself out there by going to his office like I did. I pull
out my phone and my stomach does a flip.

Free after work tonight?
his text reads.

I look at my clock and wait a full minute before typing
back,
Yes.

Dinner at my place at 8
, he replies immediately, and I
grin. Maybe he's just inviting me over for dinner to make a booty call seem
more refined, but I don't know if I care. I still get to have dinner with him,
right?

"Make three copies of this and bind them in the blue
folders in the supply closet," Charlie says, putting a large stack of
papers on my desk. I jump. Shit. I never look at my cell phone at work, but of
course the first time I do, Charlie sees me.

"I was just—got it," I sigh as he walks back into
his office.

* * *

I was hoping I'd have time to go home before heading over to
Boone's, but everyone stayed late working at the office, so I did too. Not that
I had anything important to do. I'm learning that when a company hires you as
an "intern", what they really mean is "assistant earning less
than minimum wage".

In the car, I take my hair out of my low bun and comb it
through with my fingers. It's getting long, reaching almost halfway down my
back. I should get it cut soon. I give my cheeks a quick pinch, then step out
of the car. I glance around to make sure I don't know anyone on the street,
which is still rather well-lit in the summer sun, and hurry up Boone's steps.

It takes him a minute to answer after I ring the bell, but I
can't help but break into a silly grin when he opens the door. He's wearing an
undershirt and his suit pants, and has a spot of something red on his cheek.

"Tomato sauce?" I ask as I reach forward to wipe
it off with my thumb.

"Thanks. I'm making spaghetti, hope that's
alright."

"You know how to cook?" I ask as he gestures me
back toward the kitchen.

"I dated at Italian chef for a bit," he says with
a cocky smile.

"That’s one way to learn a new skill," I say as I
step into the kitchen. He moves behind the stove, and picks up a long wooden
spoon. "You see the new design ideas?"

"I did," he says, and I see a slight frown on his
face. "What do you think?'

"I don't know if it matters what I think," I say,
taking at seat across from him on a high stool pulled up to the kitchen island.

"Of course it does."

"I'm just an intern."

"You have a degree in graphic design and you lived with
the company for your entire life," he says.

"Well, when you put it that way... I guess it seems a
little traditional. Just sort of a different take on what you have now."

"That's what I think," he says with a sigh.
"When Mason came to the meeting—sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"I didn't mean to bring your father up. Especially
because..."

"You were going to say something negative about
him?" I smile. "Don't worry. I know he's not perfect. Far from it, actually.
He can be so jovial and fun when he's at a party or something, but in private,
he has the thinnest skin. I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around him most
of the time."

Boone watches me for a moment. "It must be hard to live
with that," he finally says.

"He takes up a lot of space. Not physically, I mean.
Although..." I add with a little smile.

Boone laughs. "See, that's why I've never settled down.
I just think it would be tough, coming home from work and having to deal with
someone else's whole mess. Sounds exhausting."

I feel a little pang in my chest, but ignore it. "So
that's it? Just wanting to be able to relax when you come home? That's why
you're a confirmed bachelor?"

"Yeah," he says, shrugging his shoulders.

"OK," I reply. "Want me to pick out a
wine?"

"Don't think I didn't notice that change of subject,
but yes, that would be—" he stops as the doorbell rings.

"Expecting someone else?"

"No," he replies in surprise. 

"I can get it," I offer as the oven timer goes
off.

"No... what if it's your father?" Boone asks,
wiping his hands on a dish cloth. I think he's mostly kidding, but I can't deny
that's it's a possibility. He leaves the kitchen, and I look around. Boone has
good taste. The lines of the cabinets are sleek, but they still work with the
old bones of the house. I hop up and head for the wine cellar, figuring I'll
choose something for us to drink while I wait.

When I return to the kitchen with a more moderately priced
bottle than I chose last time, Boone still isn't here. Curiosity gets the
better of me, and I put the bottle on the granite countertop and head down the
hallway toward the front door. I poke my head around and can see a woman's legs
just inside the door. Not my father, then. Another of Boone's women, perhaps?
The thought irks me, and I lean around the doorway further, trying to get a
better look.

No, she's too old for Boone. Her light hair is fried from
being dyed blonde, and her skin looks tired. I peer at her eyes. She actually
might be younger than I initially thought, though the years certainly haven't
treated her well. She tugs nervously at her faded denim jacket as she speaks to
Boone in hushed, hurried tones. I watch him run his hand through his hair, and
the tension rippling across the back of his shoulders.

"Boone? Is everything alright?" I ask, walking
forward. He steps immediately away from the women and looks down, seemingly
embarrassed, though I don't know why. "I can come back another time,"
I offer.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," the woman says in a
raspy voice that identifies her as a lifelong smoker.

"No, no, it's alright," I assure her.

Boone sighs. "Callie, this is my mother. Eileen, meet
Callie."

Chapter Seventeen

My mouth falls open in shock, but I quickly close it and
step forward, offering her my hand. "It's so lovely to meet you," I
say with a warm smile. Something in the downtrodden way she holds her shoulders
hunched forward makes me want to wrap a warm blanket around her.

"You too," she replies. I wait for Boone to say
something, but he and his mother just stand there awkwardly, looking like
complete strangers.

"Well, I'll give you two a chance to catch up. I'll
just—"

"No, Callie, don't leave," Boone says.

"Really, I didn't mean to barge in," Eileen
murmurs, looking uncomfortable. I wait another beat for either of them to offer
a solution, but neither does. Alright, I guess I'm in charge of this rodeo.

"Why don't you join us for dinner, then?" I ask.
"Boone, there's plenty of food, right?"

"Um, yes, if that's alright with—I mean, we—"

"It sounds perfect to me," I say. "Eileen,
can I take your jacket?"

"Oh, yes. Yes," she replies, shrugging it off.
Boone remains frozen by the door as I make a lucky guess and find the coat
closet on my first try.

"You can keep cooking, Boone," I urge him.
"Why don't you come back to the kitchen with us, Eileen?" They both
nod, and Boone finally shakes off his inertia. We all head back to the kitchen,
and I rummage for glasses in the cabinets, subtly putting the bottle of wine I
just took from the basement into one of them while I have my back turned. Boone
said his mom had substance abuse problems, and I don't want to make anything
worse. "So is this your first time here, Eileen?" I ask, filling up a
glass of water for everyone.

"Yes. Last time he was living in a hotel while he was
fixing this place up," she says.

"Ah," I reply, and sneak a glance at Boone.

Eileen clears her throat. "Thanks for putting all that
money in THE commissary, by the way."

"No problem," Boone says, almost too lightly.

"That's the place where you buy things in prison,"
Eileen explains to me. "Just little things, you know. But those are the
things that help get you through your time."

"Sure," I respond, because I don't really know
what else to say.

* * *

When dinner ends, I help Boone clear the plates. It's been a
meal of fits and starts, both Boone and Eileen extending themselves, and then
withdrawing.

"How long are you in town for, Eileen?" I finally
ask as I make coffee.

"Just passing through," she says. Boone shifts as
he stands next to me at the counter.

"You said were going to try to get a job here," he
says, narrowing his eyes at her.

"My friend said she could get me a job at this
restaurant in Memphis," she says. "All I need is bus fare."

"There are restaurants here," Boone points out. I
reach out and rest my hand on the small of his back, and feel him relax
slightly into me.

"I just don't think this is the right place for
me."

"I see," Boone replies curtly.

"Well, I better get going," Eileen says, and
stands. She pauses for a moment, eyes glued to the countertop. Boone reaches
into his wallet and pulls out a wad of cash, everything he has in it.

"Here," he says, handing it to her. "I'll
walk you out."

"Nice to meet you Eileen," I say, and follow ten
paces behind them to the front door and watch as she leaves without hugging
him. Boone closes the door, and turns to see me.

"Sorry about that."

"You have nothing to apologize for," I reply.

He sighs. "I've made my expectations for her so low
that I didn't think it was possible for her not to meet them, but she did it
again. I understand if you want to leave."

"Why would you say that?" I ask, cocking my head.

"I just...that's my mother, Callie," he says, with
a smile that reveals more than he might realize.

"There's something about her, isn't there?" I
murmur. "Something that makes you want to take care of her."

"Something wounded," Boone agrees. "Gets me
every time."

"At my mom's house in Maine, I have to check under the
couch cushions before I sit down to make sure I don't sit on a bottle she's
hidden and break it. And I had to wake her up every morning, but she'd pretend
it was because she's a heavy sleeper and not because she was too drunk to set
the alarm the night before."

"Doesn't she already know you know that she's an
alcoholic?"

"Yes. It's just her way of trying to keep her dignity I
think. That's my mother," I say with a wry smile. "Look, your mom
might have chosen a different substance, one that the legal system decided was
much worse, but I don't really think there's much of a difference between
them." We stand silently for a moment.  "You know what would
really hit the spot for me? Some decaf coffee and a movie," I say. He
looks a little taken aback, and for a moment I worry that I've overstepped and
suggested something that's too much of a couple activity.

"Alright, why not?" he replies, as though I've
just suggested something that's completely novel to him, which I probably have.

Chapter Eighteen

After the night I met Boone's mother, I was hoping something
in our relationship would shift, but it didn't. I suppose I can't really
complain. We've been meeting up every few days, and each time he finds some new
way of giving me pleasure. When I'm not with him, I'm constantly thinking about
him. But not just about whatever crazy position he put me in, I'm also
fantasizing about other things... surprisingly mundane things. Like how it
would feel to wake up in the morning next to him, or brush our teeth at the
sink together before we go to bed. My mind constantly wanders away from me, no
matter how much I try to pull it back, no matter how much I tell myself that
those things will never happen, not for Boone and me.

I pick up my phone to see a text from Vernon:
Headed over
.
I try to feel excited. I know intellectually we make a great match, and our
parents couldn't be more over the moon about the fact that we're still seeing
each other. We haven't had a talk about being exclusive yet, so it's not like
I'm breaking any rules by sleeping with Boone. Not that I don't still get a
knot of guilt in my stomach sometimes, but I have to tell myself something to
be able to sleep at night.

My dad has some work conference, so I'm able to slip out
without him needing to give me a pep talk. I don't understand why he thinks
that his involvement will actually help any romantic relationship that I have.
My current entanglement certainly proves that the forbidden fruit is the most
enticing.

I wave to Vernon as he walks around to the passenger side
door to open it for me, as he always does. He leans down to give me a kiss on
the cheek, and I feel how smooth his face is compared to Boone's, who always
seems to have a bit of stubble, no matter how recently he's shaved.

Vernon gets behind the wheel and we pull away from the curb.
"I know we were just going to get drinks, but my friend Peter is having a
little party on his boat tonight. You feel like going?"

"Um, sure," I say, pulling nervously at my skirt.
Meeting the friends is a step toward coupledom, that much I know. "Is Lynn
coming?" I ask hopefully.

"Naw, she doesn't much like a couple of the other
girls."
Oh, great
. I trust Lynn's instincts when it comes to
people, so I doubt I'm going to fit in.

We head across the river to the yacht club on Hutchinson
Island. My father bought a fifty-foot sailboat soon after Boone's changes
started massively improving Woodall & Sons' profits, but he never learned
to captain it like he planned to, so now it just sits there useless. Vernon parks
in the lot and we head down to one of the slips. At the end is a giant yacht
with the lights on deck turned up and music playing. Vernon takes my hand as we
head across the gangway and then climb the steps up to the main deck. I take a
deep breath, and fix my best debutante smile on my face.

 "Hey, y'all," a man says, heading toward us
with a beer in hand. "Glad you could make it."

"Peter, I'd like you to meet Callie," Vernon says.
I smile and shake his free hand. He's not very tall, but he has the wide
shoulders and stout build of a wrestler.

"This is a beautiful boat, Peter."

"A gift from my parents for finally finishing up my law
degree," he replies, and I have to consciously stop myself from guffawing.
Were they all sold out of briefcases and watches?
"I think the
ladies are just returning from a tour, actually," he adds, nodding behind
me. I turn, and tense up as I see Virginia leading a group of other women up
onto the deck.

They all greet Vernon warmly, and I find myself stepping
slightly behind him, trying to hide.
Come on, Callie. It's not high school
anymore.
I put my hand on Vernon's arm as though to steady myself, and step
forward.

"Virginia, good to see you again," I say smoothly.

She gives me a blank look. "Have we met?"

I wince, feeling like an idiot. "We knew each other a
long time ago. I went to Calvary for a while," I say with a light smile
that includes Vernon. "I'm Callie Woodall."

"Callie Woodall," she repeats, staring off into
the distance. "Oh! Are you related to Mason Woodall?"

"He's my father," I explain.

"What year were you at Calvary?" she asks.

I want to sigh. "We were the same year." She
stares at me. I do my best to maintain my polite smile as the women behind her
exchange glances. "I left after sophomore year," I add, as though
that explains her amnesia.

"Wait, Callie Woodall..." Virginia says, with some
light of recognition in her eyes. To my horror, she giggles. "No..."

"What is it?" Vernon asks, glancing between us
innocently, though he seems to sense there's something he's not understanding.

"You look so different! Oh my god!" Virginia
exclaims. "We always used to say you looked like one of those creepy
Victorian dolls from movies that would come to life and scare everyone!"
My smile disappears, and she seems to catch herself. "But we were so cruel
back then. Look at how gorgeous you are now!"

One of the women behind her takes pity on me and jumps
forward to introduce herself. The rest of them envelop me and I follow them
over to one side of the boat, while the men congregate on the other. I try to
recover from that horrible blast from the past, but I'm having trouble shaking
it off. The other girls are nice enough, but I feel like Virginia just marked
me as not being one of them, and now I'll never fit in.

"Your father owns Woodall & Sons," Virginia
says, suddenly turning to me.

"Yes, it's been passed down in our family for
generations," I reply.

"How fun!" she says, and I look at her
quizzically.

"I suppose it is, though to me it's just always seemed like
the boring family business," I respond carefully.

"I know someone who works for that company," she
continues, and I finally realize where she's going. "Boone Tillman. You
know him?"

"I do," I reply casually, feeling a little thrill
of power from my secret. "We met when I was young, and then I've seen him
around seen I've been back from college." I realize the conversations
around us have quieted, and the other women are listening in.

"I thought Boone owned Woodall & Sons," one of
the other women pipes up.

"My father still owns a majority share," I
explain.

"Boone loves working with Mason, luckily,"
Virginia says knowingly.

"I'm glad to hear that," I say.

"We should double date sometime," she says.
"You and Vernon, and me and Boone."

"Mm, that would be lovely," I reply. I don't know
what makes me so sure that she isn't being genuine. This is exactly why I hid
my identity at work. Nowadays when people find out I'm a Woodall, they like to
gather me into their fold, hoping I might be socially or monetarily useful to
them someday. I get the feeling that Virginia just wants to solidify her
relationship with Boone, but she's got a thing or two to learn in that area.

"I didn't realize y'all were dating," I say
sweetly.

"I thought you said he hadn't called you back,"
one of her friends pipes up, and Virginia shoots her a death glare.

"Just because he didn't want to date
you
doesn't
mean anything, Elizabeth," Virginia says, managing to come off like a
schoolteacher instructing a child in her ABCs.

Elizabeth gives a pained laugh. "That's true, I
suppose."

"Well, I've heard he has quite the reputation," I
jump in, feeling sorry for Elizabeth.

"We'll see about that," Virginia says confidently.

"Are y'all talking about Boone Tillman again?"
Peter asks, strolling over.