by JA Huss
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 five 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 fath
er 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 something 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—”
“What info?”
“You have something in common with a girl he hired and fired several months back.”
“What?” I’m so annoyed that he’s here.
“Both your fathers were on the board of Brown when he got expelled. And she was an outspoken advocate for the girl they—”
“They didn’t do it. Why is everyone conveniently forgetting that fact?”
“How do you know?”
“He wasn’t found guilty, that’s how. You’re a lawyer, you know what that means.”
“He never went to trial because that poor victim was killed. It does not mean he was innocent. You’re the one who’s innocent, Ivy. And naive. I’ve seen the evidence. I went into the office today and it would make you sick to know what they had on him. I’ve seen it all and you’ve seen nothing. You wouldn’t know the difference between a predator and a peacock if they were standing right in front of you. He’s setting you up for something. He called you in for that interview with some kind of sick revenge plan in mind. Just like he did with that last girl. I did some digging and she tried to file a sexual harassment complaint and he shut her down. He’s going to do the same thing to you, Ivy. He’s going to ruin your life to get even with your father for that expulsion.”
I shake my head and huff out some air of disgust. But I gather myself and straighten my spine as I lean into his ear and whisper, “I’m not as innocent as you think, Richard. And thanks for the vote of confidence in my marketing abilities. You know what I’m capable of and yet you are standing here insulting me, my intelligence, and my sensibility. So you can take your advice and shove it up your ass. And if you bring this up again tonight, I will ask you to leave and tell my father that you tried to pressure me into fucking you and that’s why we broke up.”
And then I pat him on the chest and walk off.
Richard excuses himself as my father sets the table, claiming he has to get back to Boston for an early day tomorrow. I smile and make a big deal about missing him as he squints his eyes in fury at me.
But I get my way. I get rid of the ex-boyfriend, have a lovely Sunday meal with my parents, and find some clarity about this whole Nolan Delaney experience.
I’m going to get that job. Even if it only lasts two weeks, I’m going to show Nolan Delaney what I’m made of and he’s going to stop seeing me as innocent.
When I’m done, no one will call me naive again.
*******
After dinner I help my mom with the dishes and then go upstairs, still exhausted even though I slept all day.
The first thing I notice when I get to my childhood room is my buzzing phone. It stops buzzing by the time I pick it up and that’s when I notice thing number two.
I have seven missed calls from an area code in California.
Nolan has been calling all evening.
I smile. Because he’s chasing me now, probably regretting letting his sister say all those awful things about me. Or maybe he really does want my help with the resort marketing? At any rate, when the phone buzzes again, I answe
r with a cocky, “I knew you’d call again.”
“I’ll be in Providence on Wednesday. Make sure you clear your schedule. We left a lot of things unfinished.”
The call ends.
And that’s when I know—am one hundred percent sure—that Nolan Delaney has no professional interest in me at all.
He still wants me to help him live out his sick fantasy.
Chapter Thirty-One - Nolan
Claudette comes bursting into my office, making the door bang into the stopper, pissed off as all hell. It’s written all over her face.
“What’s this I hear? You’re taking a long weekend? Since when? We’re opening soon and you’re—”
“I’m very aware,” I say, cutting her off. “It’s my resort, Claudette. So I’m very aware of what’s on the agenda this week. But I don’t need your permission to take a few days off. I’m driving to San Diego, getting on a plane, and going to Martha’s Vineyard for a few days. The resort will be fine.”
Claudette cocks a hip and one hand goes to rest there. Ever since our last encounter out in Del Mar she’s been weird. Asking me all kinds of questions. Where am I going? Who was I with? Did I hear from “that Rockwell girl?”
I have not heard from that Rockwell girl. Not since I called her on Sunday and told her I’d be in town tonight. I half expected her to call me back and flat out say, Don’t bother. I’m not interested. And she didn’t, so I’m taking that as a good sign. I also half expected her to call the police and have them serve me with a restraining order.
But what I did not expect was an envelope, Overnight Express, delivered to me here at the resort on Tuesday afternoon, which stated…
I have to put a hand to my mouth because Claudette is still ranting about what the fuck ever and I can’t help but smile.
Which stated… her qualifications for becoming my personal marketing assistant.
It’s cute, actually. It even had a stack of colorful graphs and pie charts. A sneak peek, she called it in the letter, of what she was capable of.