The Fixer (The Fixer #1)(5)

Ivy cut him off with an all-powerful glare. I mentally finished his sentence: I’m only fired until there’s a female you can’t sweet-talk or a law you won’t break. I darted a glance at Ivy, my eyebrows shooting up. What exactly did my sister do that she needed a chauffeur willing to break laws on her behalf?

Ivy ignored my raised brows and plowed on, unperturbed. “Now would be a good time to get our bags,” she told Bodie.

“You can get your own bags, princess,” Bodie retorted. “I’m fired.” He rocked back on his heels. “I will, however, help Tess here with hers out of the goodness of my heart.” Bodie didn’t wink at me or smirk, but somehow, I felt as if he’d done both. “I’m very philanthropic,” he added.

I didn’t reply, but I did let him help me with my bags. The cigarettes disappeared into his back pocket the moment my duffels came into view. Muscles bulged under his T-shirt as he grabbed a bag in each hand.

He didn’t look like anyone’s chauffeur.



Ivy’s house loomed over the pavement, boxy and tall, with twin chimneys on either side. It seemed too big for one person.

“I live on the second floor,” Ivy clarified as she, Bodie, and I made our way into the house. “I work on the first.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask Ivy what work entailed, but I didn’t. My sister had always been mysteriously close-lipped about her life in Washington. Asking for details now would be taken as a sign of interest.

I’m not interested.

Stepping into an enormous foyer, I concentrated on the sight in front of me: dark wood floors and massive columns gave the expanse the look of a ballroom. To my left, there was an alcove lined with bay windows, and behind that, a hallway lined with doors.

“The closed doors go to the conference room and my office. Both are off-limits. The main kitchen is through there, but we mostly use it for entertaining.”

We? I wondered. I didn’t let myself get further than that as I followed Ivy up a spiral staircase to what appeared to be a sparsely decorated apartment. “The kitchen up here is more of a kitchenette,” she told me. “I don’t cook much. We mostly order in.”

Bodie cleared his throat and when she didn’t respond the first time, he repeated the action, only louder.

“We mostly order in, and sometimes Bodie makes pancakes downstairs,” Ivy amended. I took that to mean that Bodie was definitely part of Ivy’s we.

“Do you live here, Bodie?” I asked, darting a sideways glance at Ivy’s “driver.”

He choked on his own spit. “Ahh . . . no,” he said, once he’d recovered. “I don’t live here.” I must have looked skeptical, because he elaborated. “Kid, I worked for your sister for a year and a half before she even invited me up here, and that was only because she broke the plumbing.”

“I did not break the plumbing,” Ivy replied testily. “It broke itself.” She turned back to me. “Your room is through here.”

My room? I thought. She spoke so casually, I could almost believe that I wasn’t just some unpleasant surprise that fate and Alzheimer’s had dropped in her lap.

“Don’t you mean the guest room?” I asked.

Ivy opened the bedroom door, and I realized that the room was completely empty—no furniture. Nothing.

Not a guest room.

The room was mostly square, with a nook by the window and a ceiling that sloped on either side. The floors were a dark mahogany wood. A series of mirrors doubled as sliding doors to the closet.

“I thought you might like to decorate it yourself.” Ivy stepped into the room. If I hadn’t known better, I would have said she looked almost nervous. “I know it’s a little on the small side, but it’s my favorite room in the house. And you’ve got your own bathroom.”

The room was beautiful, but even thinking that felt disloyal. “Where am I going to sleep?” I asked.

“Wherever you put the bed.” Ivy’s reply was brusque, like she’d caught herself caring and managed to put a cork in it.

“Where am I going to sleep until I get a bed?” I asked, checking the impulse to roll my eyes.

“Tell me what kind of bed you want,” Ivy replied, “and Bodie will make sure it gets here tonight. I’ve got some furniture catalogs you can look at.”

I stared at my sister, wondering if she realized just how ridiculous that plan sounded. “I don’t think furniture companies do same-day delivery on a Saturday night,” I said, stating the obvious.

Bodie set my bags against the wall and then leaned back against the doorjamb. “They do,” he told me, “if you’re Ivy Kendrick.”





CHAPTER 5

The next morning, when I woke up in the bed I’d selected more or less randomly from one of Ivy’s catalogs, there was no escaping the physical reminders of where I was. And where I wasn’t. The bed beneath me was too comfortable. The ceiling above wasn’t my ceiling. Everything about this felt wrong.

I thought of Gramps, waking up in Boston and staring at a strange ceiling of his own. Pushing back against the suffocating wave of emotion that washed over me just thinking about it, I got up, got dressed, and pondered the fact that the mere mention of my sister’s name had been enough to make furniture appear within hours of being ordered. Back on the ranch, she’d managed to have herself declared my legal guardian and obtained our grandfather’s power of attorney almost as quickly.