Mr. Romantic: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 2) (9 page)

Except Nolan.

He’s scratching the stubble on his chin like he’s actually listening to me.

One brownie point to Mr. Romantic.

“Give the rooms away for free,” I repeat. “Bram here has already told us that the golf course is exceptional. Upcharge it. And Daniel has already said the spa is spectacular. Raise the prices. Give the rooms away for free and make your profit off the amenities.”

“That’s your plan?” Claudette sneers.

“Oh, no,” I say. “I’ve got a lot more plans, Ms. Delaney. But since you’ve informed me that I don’t have a chance in hell of getting this job, I’m going to keep them to myself.” I walk across the room towards the door and look at Nolan as I pass. “I’m ready to leave when your jet is ready to take me.”

“Miss Rockwell,” Nolan calls after me.

I take a deep breath and turn. “Yes?”

“It’s bad manners to leave the interview early.” He turns to Daniel and Bram and says, “Please wait outside while my sister and I discuss things, will you? Miss Rockwell,” he repeats, turning back to me as Claudette marches the men towards the door. “Please have a seat with the other candidates.”

He stares into my eyes. Dead on. And if I thought he was intimidating before, it was nothing compared to this smoldering gaze he’s giving me now.

I breathe again. Swallow hard. And take a seat.

You’re weak, Ivy. You don’t have to listen to him. He’s not the boss. He’s no one to you
.

“That was quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Claudette says as she smacks the door closed, sealing them up inside the office.

I glance over at Bram and Daniel, both of whom look shell-shocked over what just happened. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to insult you guys. It’s just not fair the way they brought me here just to throw me away on the first day.”

They give me small nods, but neither look at me.

I can hear arguing inside Nolan’s office.

Well, Ivy. You’ve certainly made an impression now
.

Chapter Nine - Nolan

“Just what the hell was West thinking bringing that girl here?” Claudette asks.

I have no answer. I’m still thinking about the way Ivy Rockwell just stunned the room.

“Nolan?”

“What?”

“Let’s decide tonight. Send her home. She’s no longer welcome here.”

Claudette’s phone buzzes on the other side of the table. That would be Travis calling. But Claudette is too wound up to even bother with her phone.

“Did you hear me, Nolan? Let’s decide now.”

“Well,” I say, sighing a bit. “I want both of them.”

“What? We don’t have budget for that right now, Nolan. One is enough. Pick or I will.”

“I want both, Claudette. And while you might have a say in my decision, you do not dictate. Understand?”

She stares daggers at me. She has always been little jealous of my power. Even before I became Mr. Romantic and had four filthy-rich instant best friends. The five of us Misters weren’t even close before that girl dragged our names through the mud. We lived in the same frat house, sure. And we partied together like most brothers do. But once we were all implicated in the same crime, everything changed.

Perfect has been proper billionaire from birth. His trust fund is, fuck. More money than I can even imagine.

Corporate comes from a similar situation, though not as global.

Mysterious comes from Hollywood money. Bastard Hollywood money—hush money he always called it—but money is money all the same.

Match comes from some motorcycle empire. His dad is some famous bike builder. Had a reality show back in the day, the way Match tells it. Plus a little somethin’ somethin’ on the side that Match was never too keen to talk about.

And all that money came out to play when the shit hit the fan. We were like brothers—real brothers, not just frat brothers—for two years.

Claudette hated it. I remember that now. I try not to think about that time in my life too much. It’s depressing. It made my father hate me. He always thought I was guilty. He thought we were all guilty.

And Claudette picked up on it. She thought we were guilty too. I waited for her to turn on me. For my father to turn on me. My mother was there, right by my side. She never believed a word. And even though Claudette never acted out when my mother took me away in the divorce and left her behind, it had to sting. I expected her to betray me. Give some kind of tell-all interview about how I was a total player back in boarding school. How Perfect and I used to sneak off campus and go drinking and fucking every weekend.

But Claudette kept her mouth shut back then and she keeps her mouth shut now. She is high-strung. She’s bossy and authoritative and I’m not in the mood. “Ivy can go—”

I stop talking when her phone buzzes again. She ignores it. Again.

“Ivy can go home tonight,” I continue. “I’ll call for the jet.” I pick up my phone and pretend to call the travel scheduler, then have a fake one-way conversation about fuel and flight plans before ending the call. Claudette stares out the window the entire time.

“All set,” I say. Claudette turns to look at me when her phone buzzes yet again. “Are you going to get that? Or are you going to let it buzz all fucking night?”

“Why do you need both men, Nolan? It’s a waste.”

“Because they have unique talents. Besides, Corporate told me they would build good synergy. That’s why he sent them. You know he’s not the kind of guy to send multiple candidates.”

“Exactly,” Claudette says. “So why did he send Ivy Rockwell?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “He thought she was cute?” I smile but Claudette just sneers at me. Her phone buzzes and this time I make a grab for it to force her to see the message.

She beats me to it, as I knew she would.

I watch her face process the message I know Travis sent. All of the many expressions that flash in an instant. It changes from angry, to puzzled, to shocked.

You know what I’ve always wondered? Why she believes all these accusations girls throw at me. Why is it so easy for her to believe everyone but me? Sure, I have had my share of workplace relationships. But I never did anything the women didn’t agree to. I never pressured them. I
never
got anyone pregnant. But Claudette has always been willing to see the dark side of me no matter who was making the accusations. Even back in college when all that shit happened, Claudette’s first words were, “We’ll get the best lawyers. You won’t go down for this.”

I never did anything wrong. That’s the part she never understood. She simply waved her hand at me and said, “Neither here nor there,” each time I proclaimed my innocence.

But it’s both here
and
there for me.

“I have to go back to San Diego.”

“Who was that?” I ask.

“It’s nothing, Nol. OK?” She smiles that fake smile I’ve become used to when people accuse me of things I never did. “I’ll handle it and be back as soon as I can.”

“OK,” I say. “I’m keeping both guys.”

Claudette waves her hand at me and walks over to the conference room door, opening it up wide. “Congratulations, Bram and Daniel, you’ve both got the job. We’ll meet again on Monday. Until then, please enjoy the complimentary facilities. Miss Rockwell, sorry. You’ve been dismissed. The jet will take you home tonight. Please pack your things and be in the lobby in—” Claudette pauses and looks over her shoulder to me. “When is she leaving?”

“They’re going to call. I’ll handle this. You go. Take care of whatever it is that’s so important you refuse to tell me about it.”

“OK.” She sighs. “Call me if you need anything.” And then she steps through the door and closes it behind her.

I won’t be calling. The only thing I need is some alone time with Ivy Rockwell.

Claudette called her suggestion to offer the rooms for free dumb. But I don’t think it’s dumb at all. There’s more to it, I can tell by the coy smile Ivy had on her face as she was talking. She has an idea. Maybe more than one. And she thinks it’s good.

I knew this resort was a risk when I bought the land but I figured I’d come up with something. The golf course and the spa. Those were my ideas. And while they
’
re not bad ones, Ivy Rockwell is right. They’re not enough to pull people in the way I need.

So now what?

I’d like to fuck her, that’s for damn sure. I can see the headline now—
Mr. Romantic pounds preacher’s daughter
. Maybe she’s wild in bed? Maybe she likes it in the ass? Maybe she was a little buttoned-up schoolgirl until college and then went crazy as she vented her sexual frustrations?

I wonder how well she can suck cock?

It amuses me so much, I laugh out loud.

But…

If I want her ideas about the resort, then she’s probably off the table for a kinky one-night stand.

Decisions, decisions.

Maybe I’ll just play it by ear?

The conference room phone buzzes, so I reach over and grab the receiver from the middle of the table. “Yeah,” I say.

“Mr. Delaney, Miss Rockwell is packed and ready at the front desk. She says you’re making travel arrangements?”

“Tell her to go back to the bungalow and unpack, Denise. And tell her to grab some dinner from the restaurant and charge it to the room. I’m going to require another meeting with her tomorrow.”

“Ummm. Yes, sir. I’ll do that.”

I look at the candidate files in front of me, then ease Ivy Rockwell’s closer. She’s amazing on paper. How fucking smart do you have to be to get your BA and MBA at the same time? I’ve heard of people doing it, but not at a school like Brown. And all the guys I knew of completed most of their BA’s in high school, before they ever got to college. Dual track, I think they called it. I bet that preacher father of hers was all about overachieving.

I can see it, actually. I can picture her in that little schoolgirl outfit, studying late on Saturday nights in the library as she completed two sets of courses in high school.

She’s amazing in person, as well. I picture those perfect pink lips wrapped around my cock, her big blue eyes staring up at me as I grab her hair and force her to take me all the way down her throat.

God
dammit
. Why did she have to come up with a unique idea?

What if… what if I fuck her senseless tonight and then hire her tomorrow?

It just might work.

Oh, Nolan Delaney, you are one sneaky bastard.
That should’ve been my name back at Brown. Mr. Sneaky Bastard.

Chapter Ten - Ivy

“Mr. Delaney wants you to go back to your cabana, unpack, and then get dinner and charge it to the room.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Rockwell. That’s what he said. I don’t know any more than that. He wants another meeting with you tomorrow.”

“Another meeting?” I whisper to myself.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“OK.” I sigh. “Thank you.” I grab the handle of my carry-on bag and go back out the lobby, past the pool, and into the little secluded residence section. It’s not quite dark yet, but the sun is low in the sky and the unbearable heat is finally starting to fade.