Dirty Money

By: Jessica Clare

I eye Miss Classy in the picture, and my gaze goes down to those long legs. Might be nice to get laid before the weekend, if I can talk this sweet piece into it. I’ve never dated a classy girl before, so maybe she ain’t that type. She might be cold. Hell, she might fuck with that same starchy look on her face. That’s a depressing thought.

Only one way to find out, though. “Guess I go house hunting tomorrow.”

My brothers just smirk.

Chapter Two


A familiar tweed suit passes by the print room while I’m standing over the copier. I immediately abandon my task and race after him. “Oh! Jack! I didn’t realize you were in the office! Wait up!” I hate that I have to scramble after him—in heels, no less—but the bastard’s not slowing down an iota. I hobble after him on the marble floors of Three Jacks Real Estate’s swanky office, hoping I don’t fall on my ass and make a fool of myself in front of the others. When Jack doesn’t stop, I have to speed up just to catch him. “Jack!”

He finally stops, right at the front doors of the office, and frowns at me like I’m an annoying puppy. “What is it, Ivy? I’m on my way out the door, as you can see.” He gestures at the large glass double doors like I’m an idiot. “Let’s make this fast.”

“Of course!” I put on my fake, cheeriest realtor smile. “I was just going to say that my day is clear, and I know LaDonna had that big house on Forsyth that was scheduled to have a showing. I’ve made flyers—well, actually, they’re on the copier right now—and I can go handle things, maybe pass out a few cards—”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Is LaDonna out?”

“Um, she’s having an emergency appendectomy, remember?” I bite my lip as he continues to look blank. “It was emailed out to everyone?”

“Mmmhmmm?” The look on his face tells me he didn’t read it, or doesn’t care.

“So I thought I’d pitch in and help with her listing for today? It’s a really great house and I’ve researched the neighborhood, and I can chat with some prospective buyers and—”

His lips purse and he holds up a finger. “The house is on Forsyth?”


“In the Twin Oaks development?”

I nod. It’s the hottest area in the suburbs at the moment, and there’s a waiting list for properties. This one’s a little pricey but I also know it’ll fly off the market within days. It’s such a big opportunity.

“How much is the list price?”

There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I ignore it. I have to. I’m this far in. “It’s listed as one point one million.”

Jack pulls out his phone and starts to type. “Street address?”

I give it to him.

“Great. I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh,” I say, fighting the crushing disappointment I’m feeling. “But I can do it, really. I’ve done comps and I’ve got flyers ready and—”

“Now, Ivy. You said it’s a million-dollar house, right? It’s been a lean month for the company and we need to make sure we land all the commissions we can.” His tone goes condescending. “And I just don’t know that you’re the right person to take on such a big task.”

“I can absolutely do it, Jack—”

“Now, if I wanted an ice cream cone, you’d be the first one I’d call.” He winks at me, the jerk. Winks. Like it’s a funny joke. “But for a million-dollar listing? Let’s make sure someone with a lot more experience handles it, all right? Oh, and I’ll take those flyers, too.” He gives me a I’m-the-man-around-here look. “And can you grab me a coffee while you’re in the copy room? Super. I’ll wait right here.” He winks. “Make it snappy. I’ve got an open house to handle.”

“Right. Sure.” I force a smile to my face and turn on my heel, heading back toward the copy room to retrieve the flyers I’ve been working on all morning.

It’s not fair. It’s so not fair. Every time something decent even comes close to landing in my lap, one of my bosses is there to snatch it away again. I’m stewing as I snatch the stack of copies from the machine and tuck them under my arm, then head to the coffeemaker. Get him a coffee while I’m at it? Like I’m his freaking secretary? But he’s also the boss, so I’m stuck. I eye the two coffeepots on the burner. One’s nothing but dregs, and the other’s a fresh pot. I grab a paper cup, tip the dregs into the cup, and then march back out the door to hand Jack the flyers about the house I know I could sell today, if I was given the chance.

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