by J. A. Huss
Jesus. They already have me pegged as an impostor. But I know a little bit about this drink. My father was really into it and I’ve watched him taste cognac my whole life. So I take the glass, and swirl, doing my best to not look nervous, and then take a small sip.
Holy hell. It’s strong. I can’t stop the grimace and Jonathan chuckles. I swallow it down and breathe out forcefully, my eyes tearing up.
“Too strong?” Jonathan asks.
Very strong. But I smile and say, “Is this XO or Hors D’Age?”
“Ah,” Jonathan says. “So you do know something about it. But don’t waste your time trying to impress us, Miss Rockwell. We’re not part of the interview.”
“Shit,” I say. “Am I that obvious?”
“Very,” Jerry says, coming up next to me at the bar. “But it was a bold move, Miss Rockwell. And no doubt it will have the effect you’re looking for. A woman who knows cognac is impressive.”
I laugh and then say, “I don’t really drink. But I’m being Opposite Ivy this week for this interview. I want to impress Mr. Delaney and I don’t want to come off as some newly-graduated millennial who has no real-world experience. So I need all the help I can get.”
“Well,” Jerry says, “Jonathan can tell you all there is to know about cognac if you’d like. And if you want to know how to impress Mr. Delaney, I’m happy to help as well.”
“Please,” I say. “To both offers.” I ease up onto one of the barstools as Jerry takes the one next to me. “I’m listening.”
I spend the next six hours drinking, laughing, and getting many, many tips on what Mr. Delaney is looking for in an employee.
Smart. Ruthless. Take-no-prisoners kind of people. That’s what they tell me.
“He wants go-getters, Miss Rockwell,” Jerry says just before we land. “People who know what they want and go take it. The way he has. He likes a challenge and he’s looking for people who are as bold as he is.”
I am good and buzzed from all the drinking, but it was worth it.
If Mr. Romantic wants balls to the wall, I’m all in.
Chapter Three - Nolan
The Smitten Kitten.
I can’t. I just can’t in good conscience do this. I press Mr. Corporate’s contact on my screen and call him up.
“Mr. Weston Conrad’s office, Janet speaking. How can I help you?”
“Janet, it’s Nolan. I need him.” And why the hell is Janet answering his private line?
“He’s out of the office today. Shall I take a message, Mr. Delaney?”
“When will he be back? I really need to talk to him.”
“He didn’t say. But I presume tomorrow since he has a full schedule.”
“All right. I’ll try him at home. Thanks.”
I end the call and press Corporate’s home number but it just rings through to voicemail. “I agreed to your little plan, but the Smitten Kitten? You’re joking, right? He will eat that shit up, West. And not in a good way.” I stare out the window, watching a limo pull into the long drive that leads up to Hundred Palms Resort. Who is this? “Call me back, asshole. We need to make new arrangements.”
I end the call and stand up to get a better look at the car. It winds its way down the long drive, half hidden by the wall of palm trees that line it, and then pulls smoothly into the valet area, disappearing from view.
I look down at my roster for today. We’ve got two guys here interviewing. Oh, yeah. I see the folder that Claudette mentioned peeking out from under a stack of papers. I forgot all about this one.
I sit back down and open the folder. Ivy Rockwell. She’s a Brown alumna, which is probably why West sent her over. He has this stupid loyalty to our almost-alma mater that it most certainly does not deserve.
I never graduated from Brown. None of us did. They treated us like criminals. Accused us all of rape, kicked us out, bad-mouthed us to the press. And if that wasn’t enough, I have it on good authority that the president of Brown at the time called all his buddies and ruined all our plans of applying to other schools.
By the time the charges were dropped, it was too late. All five of us had moved on to making money and going back to college was the last thing on our minds. I am the first person in my family in over one hundred years to not go to college.
Well, fuck them. I didn’t need a fancy education to pull off a win. I won. Am winning. And I’m certainly not interested in this Ivy girl, that’s for sure. West sent her, so I’ll see her, but that’s all I’ll do. She’s on the next flight back to… I check her file real fast… Rhode Island. Jesus. She still lives near Brown. Obviously not the kind of person I’m looking for right now. Probably some timid do-gooder who is afraid to fly the nest.
West might be the best headhunter in the country right now, but I’m afraid he missed his mark on this girl.
I guess the Smitten Kitten fiasco West has gotten me into will have to wait until tonight. Now I’ve got three people here interviewing and I need to make a decision about going forward. I grab the new girl’s folder and head out of my office to the stairs. Voices carry in the large cathedral foyer where the guests check in. I can make out Claudette and the new girl chatting.
She has a nice voice. Too bad I don’t hire managers based on sweet pitch. I descend the stairwell that takes me from business offices to resort and emerge just to the left of the front desk.
We have two people running the desk today. Only about a dozen guests right now, since our soft opening on Monday, but this is our dry run. We’re ironing out wrinkles and preparing the marketing campaign for the grand opening next month.
Miss Rockwell is… well, easy on the eyes.
Don’t fall for it, Romantic. Don’t do it.
I don’t need the internal monologue to warn me of the dangers of an office romance. I had my fill with the last manager.
She quit. And she’s probably going to sue me for sexual harassment.
Fucking women. Can’t trust them.
Nope, I need a man to do this job. Preferably one of the two middle-aged guys currently laboring away in separate offices upstairs, working on an innovative way to improve guest experience and make this place work.
But… Miss Rockwell is pretty. And by pretty, I mean, hell, yeah. I wouldn’t mind some of that action.
Just not at work, Romantic.
Got it.
Miss Rockwell is wearing a cream-colored linen suit that says professional. But it’s cut just above the knee, so it also says sexy. Her silky blouse is light pink, which tells me she’s girly. I like girly. And she’s got her blonde hair up in a tight bun, so I can’t tell how long it is.
Yeah, Miss Rockwell says buttoned-up businesswoman by day and unbutton-me party girl by night. I know her kind.
I walk over, extending my hand. “Miss Ivy Rockwell, I’m Nolan Delaney. Welcome to Hundred Palms Resort. I trust you had a nice flight?”
“Oh, yes!” She laughs. Has she been drinking? I think I smell alcohol. Well, I’ve had a drink or two on a flight. But it’s barely noon.
Hold up. She’s on East Coast time. I guess that makes it afternoon for her. Must’ve been a lunch cocktail.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Delaney.” I hate hearing that word mister. Every time someone calls me Mr. Delaney all I hear is Mr. Romantic. She smiles confidently and shakes my hand with a soft grip.
Normally I hate the soft grip, but only with men. The only thing worse than a soft grip on a man is a firm grip on a woman. Every time I get a firm handshake from a woman I picture those overly muscular female body builders.
Miss Rockwell’s soft grip is so feminine, I almost bring her hand to my lips and kiss it.
Instead I laugh at my ridiculousness.
Her smile falters and she lets go of my hand. “Am I late?”
So… not that confident after all.
“Not really,” I say, checking my watch. “I knew you were coming today.”
“Are the others already here?” she asks, looking around.
“Already working, in fact. Denise,” I call to one of the front desk girls. “Put Miss Rockwell in room twenty-one. And then—”
“Mr. Delaney?” Denise interrupts. “We booked that room. The Gurrods wanted separate rooms.”
“Jesus Christ. Can’t those two get along for one goddamned weekend?” I roll my eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Gurrod are old family friends. I only asked them here for the soft opening because my father said Mr. Gurrod wanted to see the place before he invested money into it.
I don’t need the investors, but it would be nice, for once, to have help. God knows, my father hasn’t helped one bit. Nolan, he said. You have a trust fund. If you don’t want to finish college, then everything you do from here on out is going to be with your own money.
And so it has been. But Mr. Gurrod’s investment would go a long way into making Hundred Palms everything I envisioned when I bought the land five years ago.
“How about—”
“All the finished rooms are full, Mr. Delaney,” Denise says, grimacing. “We weren’t expecting her.”
“Surely there is a room for Miss Rockwell, Denise? You were expecting her. I told you—” Well, I didn’t tell them. I hardly talk to them. “Claudette told you this yesterday.”
“We have a room, Nol. Just relax.” Claudette’s hands latch onto my arm and she smiles up at me. “Go do something and I’ll take care of Miss Rockwell.”
I look down at my sister and manage a smile. She has been helpful, at least. She’s a big part of why I’m even giving this whole resort thing a go. I have seven nightclubs in Southern California, but the club scene is starting to bore me. And it’s filled with partiers. I’m sick of partiers. I’m ready for high-end hotels and high-class people. People who spend a lot of money, and not on drinks. They spend money on thousand-dollar spa days and outrageous green fees.
But land in San Diego is expensive. Land out here, practically worthless. I spent a lot of money building this resort and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let the project flop.
“Fine,” I say, prying Claudette’s hands off my arm. “We have a meeting tonight at six, Miss Rockwell. I’ll introduce you to the other candidates, then we can discuss how you might contribute.”
It’s only after the words are out of my mouth that I realize I meant to have her on a plane back to Rhode Island tonight. Well, maybe the meeting can be short? Maybe one of the two men upstairs will have a brilliant idea and I can get this interview business over with?
I don’t amend, just turn and walk back upstairs to my office, eager to figure out where the hell Weston Conrad is so I can tell him his Mr. Match plan is shit.
Chapter Four - Ivy
Claudette introduces herself as Claudette Delaney, and it takes me a few dizzy minutes to figure out she is his sister, not his wife. Drinking on the plane ride wasn’t a good idea. My head is fuzzy and I’m very tired. I could definitely use a nap. It’s only Claudette’s overly sweet perfume that keeps me from falling asleep on my feet right now.
But every room Claudette takes me to ends up being filled with unfinished projects. One has no working bathroom. Another has no bed. Several more, on the opposite side of the main swimming pool, are filled with construction workers.
“OK,” Claudette says, a bit exasperated. “We do have a few rooms over on the family side of things.”
“Family side?” I ask.
“Yes, the private residences we’re using at the moment. When the resort opens these will be the luxury bungalows, but I didn’t want you too close to Nolan. He’s not fun to be around, Ivy, take my word on that.” Claudette sighs. “Apparently we have no choice. I’ll try to get one of the other rooms finished and move you over there. But just so we’re clear, you did sign the NDA, right?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling unsettled. “I did.”
“So you understand that whatever you see or hear during your time with us is never to be repeated to anyone.”
“Sure.”
Claudette stops walking to look at me. “I need a more confident acknowledgment than that, Ivy Rockwell. We’re not playing around. Nothing. You see or hear. Will be repeated to anyone or the family will sue you. My father is not the least bit interested in more controversy. And while he and Nolan have had their differences, he will not allow the Delaney name to be dragged through the mud again.”
“I understand,” I say with as much confidence as I can manage. “I do. Not a word, I promise.”
“OK.” Claudette physically relaxes, so much so that I can see the tension release from her upper body. “And while I would love to have a woman here helping me with the resort, Nolan has a very bad track record with female managerial staff, so your chances of landing the job are not good.”
“What?” My hands are suddenly very sweaty. “What do you mean?”
“He likes to fuck his staff, Ivy. The last one would sue us if she hadn’t signed the arbitration agreement upon hire. In other words, Nolan thinks with his dick. Stay away from him. Under no circumstances will you be alone with him. I have half a say in who gets this job since I’ve been the one managing the project since inception. And if I find out you and Nolan are involved in any funny business, you’re on the next jet out, Ivy.”
I swallow hard and nod. Just what kind of man is Nolan Delaney? Maybe all those accusations were true after all?
We walk silently back across the main courtyard where the large pool is and then make our way through a fence that leads to a private walkway with small cabana-type places that face another, more private pool. There are about half a dozen of them and Ivy stops me in front of the last one and points. “You can stay in here until the other room is ready.”
“Wow,” I say when she opens the door and waves me in. “This is nice.”
“Very nice. I stay in the one next door and Nolan is in that first one we passed. It’s as far away from him as I can manage for now. But don’t worry, I’ll be close by.”
“Why would I worry?”
“I told you,” Claudette says. “Nolan might make a move. You are to tell him no if that happens and then notify me immediately, so I can take control of the situation.”
“Is he going to try to…” I can’t even say the word.
“No.” Claudette laughs. But she’s not convincing. Is Nolan Delaney a rapist? Did they let him get away with something back in college and he’s been victimizing women ever since? Jesus Christ. “No,” Claudette repeats. “He’s just very… God, how to put this about your brother. Just very… charming, OK? Charming. Charismatic. And… oh, God, I can’t believe I’m talking about my brother this way… but handsome. Right?”
“Right,” I sigh, before I can stop myself.
“Well, don’t fall for it,” she snaps. “He’s not Mr. Romantic, no matter what anyone says. It was a joke, Ivy. Back when they gave out those names, Nolan’s Mister name was a joke. He was a total player asshole. He still is. Don’t fall for the joke.”
“I won’t,” I say, biting my lip as I think of my ridiculous plan to seduce him. Little did I know that it would be so easy.
“All right then. I know Nolan isn’t expecting you to produce a campaign tonight at the meeting, but if you really want a chance at this job, you should. The mission of the recruits, as we like to call our interviewees, was to come up with a way to make the customer experience more enjoyable so we can garner word-of-mouth buzz. So if you’d like to ruminate on that this afternoon and show up in the main lobby at six with an idea, it will go a long way towards needing that room I’m making ready for you tomorrow.”
I’m nodding in agreement all the way up to the last part. “What do you mean make it to tomorrow?”
“We’re sending someone home tonight. I have a feeling that will be you.”
“But the invitation said one weekend working interview. Won’t I get a real chance?”
“Of course, if you make it past the first hurdle tonight.”
“But that’s not fair. I just got here. And I didn’t ar
rive late. I was only invited yesterday.”
“Look,” Claudette says. “Nolan didn’t want to interview you. Weston Conrad insisted you were right for the job. He’s our headhunter for this position. I’m sure you recognize his name.” When I stare at her blankly for a few moments, she expands. “He’s Mr. Corporate. And since Nolan hired him to find us the best candidates, he didn’t want to turn you away when West sent us your file at the last minute. So you’re here. But come on, Ivy. You’re what? Twenty-two years old? Fresh out of college? I didn’t read your file, but I didn’t have to. You’re way too young for this position.”
What does young have to do with it? I want to ask. But I don’t. Old Ivy is back and New Ivy is nowhere to be found. I’m silent as a church mouse as I stand there.
“Don’t take it too hard. It’s good experience, at any rate. Not many people get a chance like this. So work on a presentation for this evening and then try not to feel too bad when we send you home tonight. There’s towels in the linen closet and complimentary shampoos and stuff if you forgot yours.”
Claudette gives me the mini-tour of the cabana as she talks. But all I’m thinking about is what a fool she thinks I am. She assumes I’m so stupid I forgot to pack my own travel shampoo?
Young is not the problem. I’m inexperienced, sure. That’s the problem. But assuming I’m not qualified based on my age is not right.
“See you at six then?” Claudette asks, standing in the doorway, ready to make her exit.
“Six,” I say. “I’ll be there and I’ll be ready.”
She smiles an indulgent smile and turns her back, walking out of the cabana without even bothering to close the door behind her.
Holy shit. This is weird.
I watch her walk off. Her body is slim and her clothes expensive. It’s hot as hell out here. I didn’t realize that Borrego Springs was the middle of the desert, but I do now. So I close the door and go hunting for the air conditioning. There are no towns around this place. It’s totally secluded. In fact, it looks as if the Delaney family bought up some useless desert land and decided to make a go of starting something from nothing.