Wrapped Up in You Read online

  “Actually, it might just be me investing,” Ivy said. “Brandon just got into a deal on the East Coast I was telling you about.”

  “The auction house job.”

  “Yes, and it’s going to keep him busy for a while, so . . .” She shrugged. “I told him I’d go after this myself.”

  “That’s too bad,” Caleb said. “Was looking forward to meeting him.”

  Kel stopped chewing because something in Ivy’s tone had just set off his bullshit radar. She was either lying or stretching the truth, but his eyes were still watering and his throat was burning or he might’ve joined the conversation.

  Ivy reached out as if to take away his basket, but he held firm to it and kept eating. He was starting to sweat and he couldn’t feel his lips, but he also couldn’t get enough.

  “Okay, cowboy, it’s your funeral,” she said, and he couldn’t tell if she was impressed or horrified.

  A few more people were milling around her truck now, and she eyed her watch.

  “They start lining up earlier every day,” Caleb said.

  “Hey, Ivy,” one of the guys who was waiting called out. “The fuzz! They’re coming around the corner!”

  “Crap!” Ivy ran toward her truck, yelling to the people standing in line, “I’ll be back in ten minutes. If you wait and save my spot, I’ll give you a discount!” And then she slapped the window and door closed and roared off down the street.

  A minute later a cop drove by slowly, but didn’t stop. When he was gone, the group of people who’d been lining up for tacos stepped into the empty parking spot Ivy had left.

  Not ten seconds later, a car came along and honked at the people standing in the spot. “Get out of my way,” the driver yelled.

  No one budged.

  The car window lowered and a hand emerged, flipping everyone the bird.

  This didn’t make anyone move either, and finally the guy swore and drove off in a huff.

  “What the hell?” Kel asked.

  “She’s not supposed to be on the street before seven,” Jake said.

  “I’m working on getting her a city permit,” Caleb said. “They’re extremely hard to get.”

  Kel was boggled. “But . . . those people are blocking the street. They could get a ticket.”

  “Thought you weren’t a cop,” Caleb said, looking amused.

  Kel shook his head and went back to his tacos, and for a guy who believed in the law, when the incredible burst of flavors once again hit his tongue, he thought maybe he could understand the flagrant disregard of it in this one case.

  Chapter 2

  Go hard or don’t go at all

  That night, Ivy stayed up late paying the bills that couldn’t wait any longer, setting aside the ones that could, playing around with her credit card, doing the monthly money dance between bank accounts. Just the insurance policies alone—general liability, business owner, commercial auto, self-employed health care—nearly killed her.

  But it was also an undeniable thrill to be legit.

  For someone who’d grown up in dumpy trailers and motels across the southern states, living off her mom’s cash tips from singing in lounges and crap bars, it was certainly surreal.

  She even had a savings account, which made her smile every time she thought about it. A savings! She’d been in the city for just over a year now, living off next to nothing in order to put away every spare penny. She had eighteen grand put away, a fortune for her. But she was still two grand short of having enough for the down payment on a condo in Caleb’s newly acquired and renovated building. The twenty thousand was only half the required down, but there was a first-time buyers program in play to ensure equality of housing, and the mortgage broker—Caleb—was going to match her down payment. The agreement was that she’d work that debt off by catering all of his business events, of which there were many. This was a good deal for both of them. Ivy didn’t have to put up cash she didn’t have, and Caleb was guaranteed her most excellent catering, if she said so herself.

  For the first time in her life, she just felt ridiculously proud of herself. She was so close to having it all together. She wanted that condo. Needed that condo. It would be 1,600 square feet of home, and it even came with a parking space for her truck.

  Right now, the owner of the Pacific Pier Building allowed her to park overnight in the alley, which was like having a golden ticket. But that was only temporary, and playing Russian roulette with the parking police wasn’t easy. Plus, she really wanted to have the truck more safely stowed at night because she came from a world where your possessions could be taken away at any moment if you didn’t clutch them tight to your vest.

  Having it so far from her apartment was a constant source of stress. Other than her slowly growing savings, the truck was all she had. And both were thanks to the business plan she’d painstakingly put together when she’d taken over the taco truck.

  She’d come so far. Granted, she still had a long way to go, but pride filled her. And as usual, right on the heels of that was an odd sense of loneliness because she didn’t have anyone to show off to. Her mom was much more interested in her next singing gig than her children, so contact was extremely infrequent. As for Ivy’s brother, he was sweet and charming and charismatic and . . . utterly incorrigible. He was one of those guys who could use their powers for good or bad.

  He’d tried to choose good. It just hadn’t worked out for him. It was always about the next get-rich-quick scheme. And unfortunately, along with those came trouble. She’d had to distance herself.

  It’d hurt because in spite of all his faults, Brandon was blood, and he cared about her. In his own way. Which wasn’t always the right way. Or any sort of legal way. The biggest problem they had was that she couldn’t trust him to keep her safe. Or to put her first in a bad situation—which she only ever landed in when he was involved. Some of those memories were bad enough that they still haunted her.

  So she’d gone west without a forwarding address, and instead of wishing for her family to change, she’d gone after making new connections. She’d made friends here, and was happy. The only thing that kept her from enjoying her life fully was knowing she’d lied to everyone about her past.

  But that was a problem for another day.

  Leaning back in her kitchen chair, she looked around. Her apartment was a third floor walk-up, and she used the word apartment loosely. The building had once upon a time been a single family dwelling, and when the owners had renovated each of the floors into individual units back in the 1930s, they’d called the attic a “generous loft.”

  The two hundred and fifty square feet hardly qualified for generous anything, but she had a roof that leaked only in big rainstorms, decent electricity—if she didn’t run her toaster and her blow dryer at the same time—and almost always could get hot water for a good three to four whole minutes at a time.

  But the best part of the deal was that the landlord, a sweet old lady named Evelyn, adored her and gave her a huge discount on the monthly rent—in exchange for leftovers from Ivy’s truck every day.

  Tonight that had been brisket tacos, and Evelyn had been thrilled. She’d talked Ivy into having a seat and joining her as she’d eaten, telling stories about her kids, and her kids’ kids . . . none of whom, at least that Ivy could tell, ever came and saw her.

  Evelyn also always made Ivy tell her a story about herself as well, and tonight was no different. Evelyn had wanted to hear about Ivy’s famed brother, so she’d drawn a deep breath and did what she did.

  She told stories.

  She was good at it. She’d been making up stories about her family since she’d been little, each different, each more exciting than the last, and all as far from the truth as she could possibly get. Because the truth wasn’t a story, it was a nightmare. Mentally sifting through a long list of fantasies, Ivy told her landlord all about Brandon the artist, who was living in Paris at the moment, becoming famous for his incredible oil landscapes. She left off the fact t