Dirty Together (The Dirty Billionaire Trilogy #3)(3)


by Meghan March

“Oh.” The word comes out shaky.

He’s looking out the windshield when he says, “I always knew you’d make something of yourself. Glad you took your shot when you had the chance.” He glances sidelong at me before adding, “Even if it did put you out of my reach.”

I’m so blown away by the surreal situation I find myself in—back in Gold Haven, riding in Logan Brantley’s truck—that I can’t even fumble for a response.

Apparently Logan doesn’t mind, because he continues. “So, what the hell are you doing here, looking like you been rode hard and put up wet?”

I choke out a laugh and raise an eyebrow. “And here I thought you said I looked good.”

He smiles, glancing toward me again and then back at the road. “Oh, you do, but you look tired, strung out—and you’re short a husband.”

I ball up my left hand and cover the rock with my right palm. Here in Kentucky, it seems even more obscenely large.

“I just needed a break,” I say. “I needed to step away for a little while and sort some stuff out. By myself.”

Logan flips on the blinker and turns right into Gran’s gravel drive before slowing the truck to a stop close to the house and shifting into Park. He turns toward me in his seat.

“I would’ve thought this was the last place you’d come running to.”

A million memories await me inside this house—and whatever mess Mama left behind after she broke in and helped herself to some of Gran’s most prized possessions.

I take a breath, my shoulders rising, and then let it out slowly, straightening. “I guess when you decide to make a run for it, the most natural place in the world to run is back to your roots. I’ve only been gone nine months, but so much has changed. I wanted a bigger life, and boy, did I ever get it.”

I don’t even think before I speak, the truth of my feelings spilling out of me.

“But it’s gotten so big, it’s like I don’t know who I am anymore. I thought if I came back here, maybe that would give me the answers I can’t seem to find anywhere else.”

“You made a run for it?”

I’m not surprised that’s the part he picks up on. “It’s a long story.”

Hoping to leave it at that, I reach for the handle and push the door open before jumping down to the ground. Practically need a damn stepladder for that thing.

I hoist my purse up one more time and meet Logan at the front of the truck where he’s holding my bag. He follows me up the front steps to Gran’s purple porch.

She picked that color the summer before she passed because she was banking on it pissing off her crotchety old neighbor. She was right. Gran was always right. I guess the real reason I came back is because I’m hoping I can find her guidance and wisdom here, even if she’s not.

I unlock the dead bolt and push the front door open. Dust motes float in the air. I guess getting picked up and tossed in jail got in the way of Mama doing some cleaning.

Logan drops my bag just inside the front door. He takes a step back, and I slip inside.

“Thanks. For the ride and for the help with the car. You can leave a message on Gran’s machine when it’s ready. I’ll be checking it.”

“Ain’t no trouble.” He’s standing with his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his coveralls, and I have no idea what he’s waiting for.

I start to push the door closed, but Logan says, “Be ready at eight.”

“Wha—what?”

“You heard me.”

“But I . . . What?”

“You came back to find your roots, Holly. I’m gonna reintroduce ya.”

I told myself I wasn’t going to go as I crawled under the clean sheets of my old bed and didn’t set an alarm. I told myself I wasn’t going to go while I ignored the high-pitched chime of the doorbell at seven forty-five. I told myself I wasn’t going to go while I covered my head with a pillow to muffle the pounding coming from the door.

I told myself I wasn’t going to . . . until Logan Brantley was standing in the doorway of my old bedroom.

Stunned, I shot up in bed. “What the hell? How’d you get in here?”

“Told you I was coming at eight. Figured you wouldn’t be ready, so I came early. Now get your ass out of bed. We got places to go tonight.”

“What part of me ignoring you for the last fifteen minutes hasn’t clued you in to the fact that I’m not going?”

He strolls into my room as if he’s right at home and leans against the lilac-printed wallpaper. “You came here for a reason. I recognize someone looking to hide away and lick her wounds, but that don’t help much. Trust me. I know.”

I push the covers down, thankful I opted to sleep in my sweatshirt and some leggings. “You’re really going to drag me out of here?”

“Kicking and screaming, if I have to. Given that any picture of you is going to end up online somewhere, you might want to fix your makeup.”

My jaw drops, and I blink at his blatant honesty. “Jesus, it’d be a wonder if you had a girlfriend. You’ve got zero tact.”

His lips quirk into a lopsided smile. “Maybe I’ve got more than one. Tact isn’t exactly what the ladies are looking for these days, Wix.”

“Whatever. Get out of my room.” I jerk my head toward the door, in case he isn’t getting the message loud and clear.

Logan laughs, and I can’t help but appreciate that the man grew up real nice. He changed out of his shop clothes into worn jeans and a clean thermal Henley, this time in a deep forest green. From the way it stretches across his chest, I can tell the man is built.

I might be a married woman, but I’d be doing the sisterhood a disservice if I didn’t take a minute to appreciate the fine specimen in front of me from an academic standpoint. I make a shooing gesture with my hands, and he finally turns and walks out . . . and I’m obligated to appreciate the back view as well.

Shaking my head, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and reach into my bag. I pull out a pair of jeans and a longish black sweater. I search until it becomes clear that I didn’t pack any socks. At least I remembered to bring underwear. That reminds me of being backstage with Creighton and him freaking out when he thought I didn’t have any, and that I’d have to do my show in a dress without panties.