The Misters Series (Mister #1-7)

by J. A. Huss

  Yes, I decide as I exit the cabana. I’m going to scour this resort looking for details that might make all the difference and come up with a plan. With any luck, I’ll walk out of here firmly embedded in Mr. Delaney’s mind.

  I make my way over to the main building and enter the cool back of the lobby. The smell of food being served in the restaurant grabs my attention and I wander over to the hostess station.

  There’s no one there. I wait a few moments before craning my neck at the people in the dining room and get a wave from a server.

  “Seat yourself,” she calls. “We’re not fully staffed yet.”

  I nod and wander through the empty tables, taking a seat at a booth that overlooks the pool. There’s a couple out there. The older gentleman is swimming while his wife looks uncomfortably hot under a large shade umbrella, leaning into the misguided misters.

  Nolan appears, no longer wearing swim trunks. He’s in casual clothes now, like me. Dark slacks with a white shirt. No tie. Sleeves rolled up to reveal is perfectly tanned forearms. He says something to the woman, smiling, as he leans in and redirects the mister so that the water will soothe her skin properly.

  She smiles and says something. Probably a heartfelt thank you. This heat is not good. People still go to Las Vegas and Palm Springs in the summer, but they stay inside. I looked over the amenities book in the cabana before taking my swim. This resort seems to have a lot of outdoor activities and very little to do inside except the spa. No one will want to come here in the summer if that’s all there is to it. I wouldn’t.

  “Hi,” the server says, coming up to my booth. “I’m Elizabeth and I’ll be preparing your food today. I’m still finalizing the menu, but we’re stocked with just about everything, so choose your favorite dish and I’ll whip it up.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Anything?”

  “Pretty much,” Elizabeth says. “I’ve been cooking for about fifteen years now and not much can surprise me.”

  “Hmm,” I say, taking my gaze back to Mr. Delaney out by the pool. I’d like him on my menu. Focus, Ivy. “Where did you work before coming here, Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, I was teaching at a culinary school in New York.”

  “Big change, huh?”

  “Very big.” Elizabeth laughs. “But it’s exciting too.”

  “Well, I’d like something light for now. Maybe you could just give me a nice green salad? Do you have croutons? That’s my favorite part of a salad.”

  “I can make them fresh in just a few minutes. Anything else?”

  “No,” I say, once again distracted by Nolan Delaney. “That’s all.”

  She walks away and leaves me to my thoughts. Which is all aflutter when I notice Nolan making his way inside. I watch him as he stops at the restaurant. Come in here and talk to me, I silently beg.

  He catches my eye and shoots me the same disarming smile from our encounter at the private pool earlier.

  I practically melt. His sister was right. The charm oozes out of him, even from a distance. How does a man with so much negative baggage have the right to be so damn handsome?

  Shit, here he comes. What will I say? I look around nervously, aware that I’ve already pissed off Claudette once this afternoon.

  Be cool, Ivy. Be cool.

  “Miss Rockwell,” Nolan says when he’s close enough to my table to talk in a normal tone.

  “Mr. Delaney,” I say back with a smile. “Your sister doesn’t want me to talk to you. She says you’re quite a player.”

  What the hell, Ivy? That is not the definition of cool!

  “Is that right,” Nolan says, slipping into the booth across from me. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Claudette’s warnings aren’t enough to scare you off?”

  “I’m not afraid of a challenge,” I say back. Smooth, Ivy. Smooth recovery.

  One eyebrow lifts up and his grin becomes lopsided. His expression says, Oh, really? and That’s interesting, at the same time.

  Yes. He’s got all the moves.

  “Mrs. Watters sends her thanks.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  Nolan waves his hand towards the window. “Mrs. Watters. I adjusted her mister and told her you discovered they were misaligned. She is eternally grateful for your attention to detail.”

  “I like to please, Mr. Delaney.” Too late I realize how that sounds. And so does he, because that other eyebrow is raised now, and his expression is one of keen interest.

  “I have to admit, Miss Rockwell, you intrigue me.”

  “How so?” I ask, my heart suddenly beating fast. His gaze goes to my chest, which is heaving as I try to breathe through my mistake. Can he tell that he’s having this effect on me? Can he see how flustered I get when he speaks? When he looks at me?

  “Weston Conrad is an experienced headhunter. He supplies the perfect candidates for the perfect positions in every Fortune 500 company in the US, and many lucrative businesses overseas as well. And yet he sent you.”

  It’s my turn to raise my eyebrows. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

  “It is, Miss Rockwell. West doesn’t normally make mistakes. I’d ask him what he was thinking but he’s conveniently out of the office today. I have a feeling it was a joke.”

  “A joke?” I can’t stop the sudden anger in time to keep the disgust out of my voice. “I’m not a joke, Mr. Delaney. And your sister has already informed me that this was a pity invitation, so I am expecting to go home very soon. But since you’re forced to see me today, I will give you my expert opinion about your resort.”

  “Is that so?” Nolan says, leaning back in his chair. “Then by all means, commence with said expert opinion.” He waves his hand at me like some sort of king talking to a subject.

  “I’m still making my assessment, Mr. Delaney. You’ll get a full report at the meeting tonight.”

  “Will I?” he asks, grinning like a boy.

  Why is he so fucking handsome? I’d like to slap his face right now. I even picture it in my head, but decide Nolan Delaney would not tolerate that kind of outburst from a woman.

  Stay away from him. Claudette’s voice is in my head.

  I can’t quite decide if she’s exaggerating about his personality or not. But I am certain of one thing. Nolan Delaney is not a man who likes to be fucked with.

  “You will,” I say. “I was right about the misters and the temperature of the pool. I bet you’ve already called engineering and asked that they adjust the threshold on the AC.”

  “I have,” Nolan says. “I know good advice when I hear it. And yours came with proof. It was clever to take a dip in the pool. Especially wearing those few scraps of clothing you’re calling a bathing suit.”

  “It was the only thing I packed, Mr. Delaney. I won’t wear it again if it distracts you.”

  “It was very distracting, Miss Rockwell,” he says, sliding out of the booth. “But it would be a shame if you weren’t able to enjoy the pool tonight when it’s cooler out. So don’t let me stop you from swimming.”

  “I have it on good authority that I’ll be on a jet back to Rhode Island tonight, Mr. Delaney. So it will hardly matter.”

  “I have it on good authority that you won’t, Miss Rockwell. But if you’d like to scale down the reaction you’ll get when I see you out in my private pool half naked, you can pick up a one-piece suit in the women’s shop on the west end of the hotel and charge it to your room.”

  He makes this little bow with his head and says, “Good day, Ivy. I look forward to the meeting.” And just as he turns he whispers, so low, I might not have been supposed to hear it, “And our midnight swim tonight.”

  I stare at his ass until he disappears out of view. He called me Ivy. He’s flirting with me. But why?

  “Miss Rockwell,” a familiar stuffy voice says from behind me.

  Shit. “Ms. Delaney,” I say, standing up and turning around.

  “Are you deliberately trying to piss me off?” She
hisses the words in a whisper through clenched teeth. That sweet perfume smell is there again and I realize I hate it. I might even hate her.

  “Uh… no.”

  “Then why can’t you follow my simple instructions? I already told you not to interact with my brother. How much clearer can I make it?”

  “He came up to me. Sat down uninvited. What do you propose I do? Blow my chances at this job by telling him to get lost?”

  “We’ve already discussed this—”

  “We have, Ms. Delaney. And I’m done discussing it. Your threats are highly inappropriate. I’m here as an applicant, on Mr. Delaney’s request. How that got screwed up and these silly details about your friend the headhunter are not my concern. I’m here and I’m applying for this job. End of discussion.”

  “For now,” Claudette snaps.

  “For now,” I agree.

  “He’s dangerous.”

  “I’ve been warned.”

  “Then I wash my hands.”

  “Consider them clean.” My last words stand final in the ensuing silence and then Claudette shoots me one more angry look and turns away. I don’t watch her as she disappears. Just take my seat and try to pretend that all four diners in this room didn’t hear that.

  They aren’t looking at me, so maybe they didn’t. I’m not sitting close to any of them, but still. Who the hell does Claudette think she is? I might be inexperienced in the bedroom but I’m not one to let people walk all over me. I can be a competitive bitch with the best of them and that Claudette has another think coming if she thinks I’ll cower.

  There’s no way in hell I’m getting this job now. Not with Claudette on the hiring team. But I can show these people what I have to offer. I don’t even want their recommendation anymore. Screw all of these people.

  My new objective is to show them what they’ll be missing when I leave.

  Chapter Seven - Nolan

  “Goddammit, Corporate! Where the fuck are you?” I tab the screen on the phone and end the call. I need to know more about Ivy Rockwell and her file doesn’t give me nearly enough information. Maybe I can call Mr. Mysterious? He’s got connections. I’m not sure what kind or with who, but I am sure that if you need info in LA, he’s the guy you call to get it.

  Nah. I hardly talk to him anymore. And we were never tight. Not tight enough for him to owe me a favor. Plus, Ivy is from the East Coast. He probably won’t have a lot of connections out that way.

  Still, I’m dying to know more about Ivy Rockwell. And if I can’t get it through prying, then I need to get it the old-fashioned way.

  Seduction.

  She’s so self-assured. And while I’m not really turning on the charm or making a play—yet—she’s not very intimidated by me.

  I like it.

  I know Claudette will throw a fit, but I like it. And I need an excuse to get rid of Claudette this evening so I can have that midnight swim. Maybe Ivy will wear that tiny yellow bikini again? Maybe she’ll take my advice and try to find something more conservative in the women’s shop? Maybe she won’t wear anything at all?

  I call Shadows, my main club in San Diego, and get Travis, my long-time head of operations. “Hey, how’s everything down there?”

  “Good, man. Good. No problems. We’ve got that new DJ tonight. Expecting a big crowd. Called in extra security, got a few more waitresses to take an extra shift. It’s gonna go well, I think. Your presence is not necessary.”

  “Not what I wanted to hear, Travis.”

  He laughs. “Tell me why.”

  “I need to get rid of Claudette tonight. She’s cockblocking me, man.”

  “Who’s the girl?”

  I hesitate.

  “Dude,” Travis says, dragging out the word. “Do not tell me it’s a new hire.”

  “She’s not a new hire. She’s an applicant.” I sound a little smug with myself for differentiating.

  “Same thing, Nolan. Jesus Christ. Do you want to get sued for sexual harassment? Because that last one is still pretty pissed off. You can’t afford another fuckup.”

  “I fucked that one before I hired her. And then fired that one before I fucked her again, so she has no case.”

  “It’s not good for business, man. You’ve got a bad rep in this town. Stay away from the employees.”

  “I told you, this one is only an applicant. Claudette wants to send her home tonight anyway. Which is fine with me. But I’d like to fuck her after she’s fired and before she leaves. So I need you to create an emergency and call Claudette to come down and take care of it.”

  “What kind of emergency?” Travis is wary of my plans. As he should be.

  “Something about me, obviously. That’s all she cares about, right? That’s the only thing aside from my father that will get her attention. So tell her a girl is there saying I knocked her up or something. Make me look bad, Travis. Make me look bad and I’ll co-sign the next time you need a loan for one of those fancy boats you like to collect.”

  “It’s not hard to make you look bad. And you’re conveniently forgetting that you were accused of knocking someone up a few months ago.”

  “All lies, my friend. You know I don’t fuck without a wrapper.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “What time?” He sighs.

  “Six thirty. Thanks, man. I owe you.”

  I sigh as I end the call. Ivy Rockwell. Maybe I can do a search for her online? I open up my laptop and type in her name, adding Brown University to the search.

  Nothing for Ivy Rockwell at Brown, but there is a whole bunch of stuff for Ivy Rockwell at the Bishop School for Girls in Bishop, Massachusetts.

  Holy fuck. She’s in a uniform. Don’t look, Nolan. Don’t look.

  But I look.

  Her hair is long and blonde in this picture, flowing down over her shoulders, partially hiding the school insignia on her left breast of the navy blue jacket. Her face is probably the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. And she doesn’t look much different than she does now. She has a very innocent vibe going.

  A man and a woman are standing next to her. I read the caption. Rev. William Rockwell and his wife, Sophia, celebrate the graduation of their daughter, Ivy Rockwell, from the Bishop School for Girls.

  Oh, fuck no. She’s a pastor’s daughter?

  I think I get hard just from reading that.

  Well, I might need to up my game for this girl. She’s probably been schooled in the fine art of saying no. And I can see it, actually, now that I know her little secret. The manners. The high opinion of her virtue. It comes out in ways that are unnoticeable, yet still there, in everything she’s done since she arrived.

  Classy.

  I had class once. I went to private schools too. Was brought up in with lessons in manners and all sorts of stupid rules. Rules I preferred to break, but still. I can play that game with the best of them.

  Well, little Miss Ivy Rockwell might deserve my A-game in order to break through her walls. But one thing is for certain. I will fuck this girl before I send her packing.

  Chapter Eight - Ivy

  I wander down a wide hallway after I eat my delicious salad in the dining room—the homemade croutons were to die for—towards the west end of the resort. Not really looking for the women’s shop, but if it happens to come up in front of me, I might as well take a look inside.

  I can’t stop thinking about Nolan Delaney. He was flirting. It excites me in ways I’m embarrassed to think about. I mean, I actually wish I was at home right now so I could masturbate, that’s how horny his attention makes me.

  And he’s counting on me still being here tonight. He wants to have a midnight swim with me.

  What else does he want to do?

  I spy a fancy window filled with pretty lingerie and stop to look at it. The mannequins are faceless and thin, yet still graceful and slender enough to spark a bit of jealousy in me. How is it fair that a fake woman can pull off sexy far better than I can?

/>   “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” A salesgirl is watching me covet the expensive bits of lace, and silk, and chiffon.

  “Very,” I say. “But all I really need is a one-piece swimsuit. Mr. Delaney said I could charge it to my room? I’m in family cabana number six.” I can’t help but hide the disappointment in my voice. And even though it’s somewhat dishonest to take him up on his offer for a free swimsuit when I know I’ll be leaving soon, I’m going to do it anyway.

  “Well,” the girl says in a low voice. “We have the best selection in that area. Would you like to see your options?”

  “Certainly,” I say, following her inside the shop.

  She stops in front of more mannequins and waves her hand at the display.

  “These are… swimsuits?” I ask.

  The girl laughs. “Yes, and technically, a one piece.” She winks at me for obvious reasons.

  The tops and bottoms of the suits are all technically connected, just as she said. But connected is a matter of degree. Slim straps, and in some cases, silver or gold chains, are what keep the two small pieces of fabric from being called a bikini. The one I’m looking at is definitely a bikini, with just a single chain linked from the middle of the bra piece to the middle of the panty piece.

  Would Nolan Delaney die if I wore this for our midnight swim tonight or what? I chuckle, and then stop. Maybe he sent me here on purpose?

  “Do you have anything more conservative?” I ask.

  “Not in this shop. This is what I call the naughty store. We have another shop on the east side with more traditional pieces.”

  So he did mean for me to stop by this place. Hmm.

  “Would you like to try one on? I bet you’d look great in this.” She points to another suit with slightly more coverage than the first. It’s all black and the bottoms have straps of fabric that burst out from between the legs in a starburst fashion and connect to the bra.

  Nice way to draw the eye down to… well, the goods.

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I really would.”

  Twenty minutes later she’s wrapping the suit up as I stare at the lingerie again.

  “Want to continue shopping, Miss Rockwell?”