Page 86 of Clint & Ivy

Setting the phone on the side table, I explained, “I just want the situation dealt with, so you can have what you deserve.”

Ivy’s smile grew as she straddled my lap. I noticed her shirt was unbuttoned enough to show off her scar. Yesterday’s worries hit me again.

Reassuring myself, I recalled how she ran around in the courtyard. Ivy might have been naturally athletic. She picked up the footwork quickly. Ivy never seemed exhausted despite her running with the dogs and keeping up with me.

“I want to learn to fight for real,” Ivy said later as we ate lunch in the living room. “I learned kickboxing online, but it doesn’t feel like a genuine skill.”

“The foxes can teach you. Fighting as a woman is different than fighting as a guy. I know they’d love to show off their moves to a new person.”

Ivy smiled at the thought of going to the Sorority House this weekend. She’d been using my photos as homework to link faces with names.

I noticed Ivy treated situations like they were projects to complete. That made sense since she spent most of her time alone. People were more ideas than living, breathing creatures.

I learned a lot about Ivy as we spent the afternoon together. She taught herself how to speak Spanish, French, and Italian and knew how to write in the first one. She was well-versed in world history and had read thousands of books. She was afraid of bees but not spiders. Ivy could walk on her hands across the room. That one was especially sexy, though the dogs thought she was broken. The three of them barked wildly until she flipped back onto her feet.

Before we headed to my parents’ house for dinner, I learned something Ivy likely didn’t know about herself.

“Your girlfriend is loaded,” Lula texted while I was in the courtyard with Ivy. “That’s the real reason her uncle wants her back. He’s been living off her monthly trust fund payments. She also owns the mansion. Did she happen to mention any of this to you?”

I looked at Ivy running around with Hanzee, Goblin, and Boa. If she knew she had the money to live her own life, she wouldn’t have stayed hidden for so long.

“No,” I texted to Lula. “How does she have all this money?”

“Her grandmother was a rich as fuck German socialite. Abigail Humphreys left most of her estate to Ivy. The mom and uncles got a smaller allowance out of a trust each month. But Ivy is the one paying all the bills out of her bigger portion.”

“What’s happening with the uncle?”

“He showed up at court, whining about his dead bro and acting concerned about Ivy. I asked the judge to request information on the men with Linus on the day of the attack. Oh, boy, shit got real. The judge threw a fit about how this case was too complicated and she needed more time. Feels like maybe the uncle pulled strings to get this bitch, and she’s afraid of what she might have to do to protect him.”

A chill washed over me when I considered Ivy having the option to leave Little Memphis.

When she squealed with amusement over the three dogs chasing her, my fears crawled back into the shadows. Ivy’s problem was never money. She needed someone to introduce her to life. I was that guy. Besides, did I want her to only stay with me out of necessity?

“What happens next?” I texted Lula.

“We contact the local cops and see about them speaking to Ivy. I also plan to have my assistant call around to local loan sharks to ask if they are familiar with the name Linus Humphreys. Basically, we squeeze his ass until he folds. The guy is a spoiled bitch.”

“Keep me informed. Ivy is nervous about you being there. She worries you’ll get hurt, so regular updates will help.”

Lula sent a heart emoji, but I knew sweet thoughts weren’t on her mind. She likely hoped Ivy’s uncle would put up a fight so she could tear him apart legally. If he got killed by his criminal buddies, even better. Lula didn’t fuck around once she put a target on someone.

“Lula said the court thing might take more time to iron out,” I told Ivy when she returned from the other side of the courtyard with the dogs.

“I want to complain.”

“I see that on your face,” I said and stroked her cheek. “But let me ask you something.”

Ivy shuffled closer, pouting over how Lula was in Reno. She didn’t understand how people were willing to suffer—or, in this case, be mildly inconvenienced—for others.

“Do you know you own the mansion?” I asked, studying her reaction.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“It belonged to Grandmother Abigail. She gave it to my mom and uncles.”

“Not based on what Lula found. It’s your house. You also have plenty of money to return to Reno and live however you want.”

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