by JA Huss
“OK,” Nora says, sitting down on my bed and hugging me. “That’s a good idea. A few days away will do you good.”
“Yeah.” I get up and open my little carry-on. It’s filled with business clothes and right on top is the revealing black bathing suit that someone who is not me put inside my suitcase.
I realize it must’ve been Nolan and want to cry all over again.
Suck it up, Ivy.
I do. I suck it up. I throw my interview clothes into my closet and pack some shorts and tanks, and then slam it shut and fish through my purse for my keys.
“When will you be back?”
“I don’t know. A few days, maybe?”
“OK,” Nora says. “OK, if that’s what you need.”
I nod. “I need to be with my family. I’ll call you later, OK?”
Nora pouts her lip and hugs me again. “Drive safe,” she says. “And if you need to have another cry, just pull over and get it all out.”
“OK,” I say. “I will. Don’t worry about me. Really. I’m OK.”
“Oh, and I didn’t want to tell you, but I have an interview in New York on Wednesday. A huge PR firm. I’m leaving tomorrow night so I can miss traffic and then go shopping for a new outfit before. So I’ll be gone anyway. It’s good you’re going home. I don’t want you here alone.”
I feel like a complete loser. “I’m so jealous.”
“Oh, Ivy,” she says, sad again. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
But I wave her off and force myself to smile. “Congratulations, Nora. You deserve a good job. Really. I’m so happy for you.”
She squeezes my arm and says, “You too, sweetie. The right one will come along, don’t worry.”
That was the right job, I think as I walk out of the house and over to my car. I beep the lock open and then throw my carry-on into the back seat and get in. My ideas were so great. And Nolan never even got to hear them.
I pull away from the curb and start making my way back home to Bishop, Massachusetts.
But the only thing I see in my head is that yellow dress he promised me. And the date. The date and the fantasy. And his smell makes it all worse.
But by the time I drive the hour and a half to my parents’ house, nestled at the end of a winding road in the middle of the Bishop School for Girls campus, I’m all cried out and just need to sleep.
I greet my parents like nothing is wrong, but then make a hasty excuse to escape to my old bedroom for a shower and a nap, and stillness.
That damn dress. That dangerous offer. And that dark man.
Those are the only things I think about.
I even dream about him. And to my horror, when I wake up, there’s a pool of wetness between my legs.
I came just from the memory of what Mr. Romantic was promising.
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Nolan
“Yeah?”
“Pax,” I say.
“Who is this and how did you get this number?”
“Don’t be a dick, asshole. Match gave it to me.”
There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone as Mr. Mysterious works out who’s calling.
“Nolan,” he deadpans.
“Paxton,” I say back.
He lets out a long breath. “I hope it’s not bad news.”
“It’s not.” Not yet, I think.
“I hope you’re not gonna sell my house. I still want it back when I’m done.”
“Dude, it’s not about you.”
“Then why the fuck are you calling me?”
Man, this guy. I swear. He’s got no people skills at all. How the fuck he ever got into Brown, I will never understand. “I hear you can find dirt on people.”
“Who told you that?”
“Jesus Christ.” I scrub a hand down my face and try to be patient with the guy. “I know you, Pax. Mr. Mysterious, remember? All those good times in court ten years ago? It’s Nolan.”
“Don’t patronize me, Romantic. I know who the fuck you are. What I don’t know is why the fuck you’re calling me on this phone and who the fuck gave you permission to do so.”
“Match, asshole. I got your number from Match.”
“What do you want, Nolan?”
“I… don’t know. I mean… I don’t know. Something feels off, man. I met this girl—”
“Wait. You’re calling me about a girl? I don’t give out my secret love advice.”
I decide to ignore him. I think there’s a ninety-nine percent chance he’s fucking with me anyway. So I just move on. “Something is wrong, man. I can feel it. It’s the past, Pax. I just know someone is on to us.”
“Hm,” he says. “Where are you?”
“Del Mar house.”
“I’ll be there in three hours. I’ve got blood on my hands at the moment. So I’m gonna need a shower.”
The call ends and I just stare at the screen. He could be serious about the blood. Or not. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s my last resort though. Perfect is off on vacation somewhere and Corporate is working some job, I guess. Match lives in Colorado, so he’s too far away. Mysterious is the only one close enough to talk to in person. He’s up in LA doing… whatever the fuck he does. I really have no idea what he does. But I do know he’ll help if he can. He won’t leave me hanging.
Because something is wrong.
It’s not just Ivy and the fact that no one knows how she got invited to my resort. How her folder with that fake résumé got delivered to my desk. How our motherfucking jet was scheduled to pick her up. But that’s most of it.
The other part is her father. And normally I’d chalk that up to coincidence—she did come from Brown, and her father is some do-gooder pastor who heads up a private school that probably sends all its graduates to Ivy League universities. So it’s not that unusual that he’d be on their board at some point in his career.
But the last girl—that last girl in San Diego I fucked about six months back—that’s where all the coincidences fall apart. I remember something she said once. I just can’t recall what it was. I only remember the feeling it gave me. It shook me up for some reason.
We were drunk, sitting out on the sand in front of the Pacific Beach bike path, eating tacos we got from the little Mexican place across from the club a few blocks down. It was like two in the morning and the beach was almost empty.
And she said… fuck. What did she say? I can’t recall. I just remember having this feeling. This feeling of warning bells, and red flags, and lighted signs flashing danger, danger, danger—stop talking.
And I did. We stopped talking and we fucked.
That was the first time. And I hired her the next day. Forgetting all about our drunken conversation and all the reasons she made me uncomfortable.
Even when she tried to lie about being pregnant, I still shook it off. It wasn’t the first time some girl pulled that shit on me.
But how does Ivy fit into this? She has to fit, I just know it. She has to fit. Someone fucking hacked our jet. Someone got that file with her résumé to me. Someone sent her an invitation to interview. Someone—pretending to be Corporate—told me she was coming and to expect her.
Who?
That’s why I need Mysterious.
He’s got a reputation these days. Hell, now that I think about it, he’s always had that reputation. He comes from Hollywood money, I know that much. He’s some bastard child from some big-time movie star. But he didn’t grow up in Hollywood. He comes from old Kentucky money on his mother’s side. A true blue-blood family who made their fortune in bluegrass thoroughbreds.
Which is why he has a thing for the track, I guess.
And even though Kentucky isn’t deep South, it’s South enough. They do justice a little differently in the South.
It came in handy back in college and from the hints Match has been dropping over the years, it might still come in handy.
Might. I’m not sure yet. Maybe I’m just being paranoid? But maybe not. But there’s one thing the fiv
e of us Misters learned from our little run-in with the law.
It pays to be paranoid.
If Ivy is involved, I’m positive she’s unaware. That girl just doesn’t have it in her. She doesn’t. I can tell. She’s innocent—was innocent before I got my dick inside her—and she’s sweet.
But she might be in danger. She might be caught up in something bigger than herself and she might be in danger. And even though she walked out of here and we had a huge fight in the middle of the street a few blocks down—a big enough scene that neighbors called the cops, which I handled—Ivy got in some Uber car and left. She might be in danger and I might be the reason why.
I let her get away because I know where to find her. I looked her up a little more thoroughly this time and it wasn’t hard to find everything I need to know in order to make contact again. Which I will be doing as soon as I talk to Mysterious.
So I’m gonna make contact again. For her own protection.
I try to convince myself of that but… that’s not the only reason.
She’s into the fantasy. She just doesn’t know it yet.
That is the only thing that makes me smile right now. Picturing her in that yellow dress as we start the date. Picturing me taking it off her as we begin the scene. Picturing her writhing underneath me as we fuck.
Yeah, that shit is happening. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I look inside at the discarded drawings and go pick them up. Arranging them in order of how things will go down.
I got her likeness pretty good. I’ve always been good at art. Always had a thing for drawing the female form. Always been a planner. And what better way to plan a night of taboo sex than to imagine it in my head and draw it out to make it real?
No. I’m not done with Ivy Rockwell yet. She’s in for a surprise if she thinks she can just walk out and I’ll forget about what we talked about. If she thinks I’ll just forget and move on without putting on my A-game. If she thinks she won’t be getting the fuck of her life the next time I see her, she’s in for a surprise.
A very big surprise.
Chapter Thirty - Ivy
I lie in bed just thinking about him. Nolan Delaney, the infamous Mr. Romantic. The media always used that word in front of his name. Infamous. It implies a lot of very bad things. None of the other Misters were called infamous. And even though most of the details about what happened that night never became public, Mr. Romantic was the one everybody talked about.
Why?
Why, Ivy?
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I know why.”
Somehow, some way, Nolan Delaney was the one responsible for what happened that night when those five guys were back in college. That was the rumor. The police found something of Nolan’s in that frat house. Some kind of evidence. Something powerful enough to charge five very rich boys, from five very rich families, with rape.
A familiar voice drifts up from downstairs and I wonder what time it is. I lean over and look at the clock on my bedside table. Almost dinnertime.
My parents are very traditional. We have Sunday dinner. I don’t, not anymore. Not since I left home for college, except for the rare occasions I’m home on Sunday evenings. Like tonight. But all growing up my mother has put on a Sunday dinner. And my father, because he’s the dean of the school, would invite various people to have dinner with us. Mostly students, but sometimes important church members.
But the voice downstairs is not a student. It’s Richard.
My father loved Richard. And I’m pretty sure that my mother started planning our wedding the first time I brought him home and he insisted on sleeping in the guest room.
As if I was ever going to let him sleep in my bed. But my mom loved it. Ate it up.
Why is he here?
I check the mirror, horrified that I look as wrung-out as I feel. I drag a brush through my hair and pinch my cheeks to get some color.
OK. Time to get back to real life. Dinner with parents and ex-boyfriend, agenda task number one.
I walk down the stairs of my parent’s historic four-square brick colonial, remembering the high ceilings and amazing view I was looking at yesterday at Nolan’s house.
It feels like a dream. I lost my virginity to Nolan Delaney.
How did that happen?
Get it together, Ivy. Put on the public face and smile.
And that’s how I walk into the dining room.
“There she is!” my father exclaims, getting up to take my hand and walk me into the living room where everyone gathers when guests are over. “Did you have a nice sleep, princess?” He leans down to kiss me on the head.
“I did. Hi, Richard.”
Boring Richard smiles at me.
“Do you feel better, honey?” my mother asks.
“Much. I just needed some sleep.”
“I heard you were on a job interview this weekend,” Boring Richard says.
“You were?” my parents exclaim together.
“How did it go?” my father asks.
“Yes, Ivy,” Richard says. “How did it go?”
Hmmm. Something is up with him. “What are you doing here, Richard?” I change the subject.
“Got a call from Nora this morning. Said you were coming here and I should check up on you.”
My father gives me a weird look. But it’s my mother who asks the obvious question. “Is everything all right, Ivy?”
I open my mouth to say yes, but Boring Richard beats me to it. “No,” he says. “Nora said she was interviewing with someone we all know.”
“Who?” my father asks.
“Richard, it’s not important.”
“She came home crying.” And then Richard turns to my father. “Do you remember Nolan Delaney?”
My father snorts. “How could I forget that scoundrel?”
“Richard,” I warn in a stern voice.
“Well, he invited Ivy to interview for a position in California and—”
“You’re moving to California?” my mother exclaims, dramatic hand over heart in shock.
“Mom—”
“She didn't get the job,” Richard says.
“You’re wrong, Richard. I did get the job.”
He squints his eyes at me. “Nora said—”
“Nora doesn’t know.” I turn to my parents, who are sitting their matching plush chairs, facing me. “I told her I didn’t get the job. The one I was interviewing for. But I did get an offer for something else.”
Richard does not believe me, but I don’t care.
“Yep,” I say, pulling out my huge good-pastor’s-daughter smile. “I’m moving to California.”
Screw Richard. It’s not his story to tell. So I’m going to tell my own story.
“You’re going to work for Nolan Delaney?” my father says. “That awful boy who—”
“They were innocent, Dad. Everyone knows that.” Everyone does not know that, and my father is about to object when I continue. “And yes. I am. I’m going to gather all my stuff and move away. It’s about time. I need a change anyway.”
“How will you afford it, Ivy?” my mother asks.
I can’t afford it. I spent a lot of money on the flight home. Money I really don’t have after tanning out at the pool of our townhouse community all summer, hoping against hope that a job would come through. But I will do anything to start somewhere fresh right now.
I don’t know why I’m lying, but I just don’t want to have this conversation. Especially in front of Richard. “I don’t have all the details worked out, Mom. But I’m gonna go through with it. What’s for dinner?”
The change of subject works, because my mother jumps up saying something about mashing the potatoes and then we’ll eat.
I smile at Richard, who has a full-on scowl on his face now. His familiar cologne makes me wrinkle my nose.
“Well,” my father huffs. “This is quite a surprise, Ivy.”
“A good one though, Dad.”
“I don’t like that boy. There’s som
ething bad about him.”
Yeah, I think. His sexual appetite. “That was ten years ago. He’s not that kid anymore.”
“So you met him?” The question comes from my dad, but I’m looking at Richard, daring him to contradict my lie about the job.
“Yes. He’s very nice, actually.” And when I say it out loud I realize it’s true. “He took me to dinner and I saw the resort. It’s nice, but he really needs a lot of help marketing it. And that’s where I come in. He hired two other men to run the place, but he asked me to be a private contractor for the marketing. So it’s not a permanent job. But I’ll be fine,” I interject before my father can comment about that. “It’s a great opportunity.”
This really isn’t a lie, I decide. Nolan did offer me a contract position. We just never had a chance to get back to business. I might still be able to remedy that if I put together a good proposal. We can forget all about the weekend and start fresh. Forget all about his insane offer to have a fantasy rape date with him. Forget all about his amazing house overlooking the racetrack.
“Well, princess, if you think it’s a good idea, I’ll support you. But I have to tell you that I was partially responsible for his expulsion. Are you sure you want to work for a man you have that connection with?”
“He’s probably using you, Ivy,” Richard says.
“For what?” I ask. But it’s a legitimate question. Why me? I’ve asked myself that so many times. And now that I’m back home, why do I want to go back?
“Revenge, I’d imagine,” Richard says.
“No,” I say. “And I’m not going to discuss it.” I tilt my chin up and smile. “My mind is made up.”
“Dinner is ready!” my mother calls.
My father rubs his hands together and pops up out of his chair like he can’t wait to get to the table, and then rushes to the dining room to help my mom.
Richard grabs my arm and leans into my ear before I can follow. “Nora called me. Told me all about this, Ivy. She said you were up to something.”
I will kill her if she mentioned my plan to lose my virginity to Nolan. Kill. Her.
“And she asked me to check on him using the database at work. I had to call in a favor to get this info—”