Mr. Romantic: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 2) Page 18

  “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 answer 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.

  She definitely has balls.

  And while I’m impressed with her first attempt at a real-life business proposal—especially after the man she’s proposing it to told her he practically wanted to hold her down on the bed with a hand over her throat—the only business I’m interested in is the one where I rip the wet yellow dress down the middle while she stands in front of me shivering from the cold.

  “You’re not listening to me.”

  “You’re right,” I tell Claudette as I look over my schedule on my laptop. Everything is clear. The guests we had last weekend are gone now, Bram and Daniel are both working on their individual assignments, Claudette is here. “Look, I hire people to work for me, Claudette. People like Bram and Daniel, each of whom are getting paid a shitload of fucking money to do it. And you—”

  “Don’t,” Claudette warns, pointing her polished nail at me. “Don’t you include me in your list of employees, Nolan. I’m a partner.”

  “A very minor one, Claudette. I told you that when you offered me money. I didn’t need your money—”

  “You did,” she snaps.

  “It was nice to have the money, I’m not going to deny it. But I’ve been funding my businesses for a decade with no help from your side of the family.”

  “It was your choice to be estranged from our father.”

  “Was it, Claudette? Was it? No school was going to touch me after the charges were filed. Sitting around doing nothing for two years was preferable to starting my own business?”

  “That’s not what he meant.”

  “When he cut me out of the will when I said I wasn’t going back to school, I got the gist of what he meant, Claudette. So it was nice to have you on board with me. Nice, but nothing else. I don’t need another mother.”

  Claudette’s lips press together. She hates it when I bring up my mother. “No,” she snarls. “I don’t suppose you do. You had one all growing up.”

  “And you had a father. So don’t blame that on me. It wasn’t my fault you stayed with him.”

  “She didn’t want me.”

  “Well, he didn’t want me.” I laugh. “Same fucking shit.” I slap the laptop closed and get up, tucking it under my arm. “I’ve gotta pack. So,” I say, walking towards the door and sidestepping her attempt to grab me by my shirt. I grab her wrist instead, holding it tight. “Don’t,” I warn in a deep voice. “Don’t fucking start with me again, Claudette. I’m serious. If you get crazy, I will buy your ass out of this venture and wash my hands.”

  “That’s what you want, don’t you?” The familiar shrillness of her voice is back. I’ve been wondering how long she’d last in this facade she puts on for the public. Claudette has always been high-strung. Like the goddamned thoroughbreds out at Del Mar. Temperamental, and spoiled, and demanding.

  It’s her way or the highway. That’s practically her motto. We were as estranged as me
and my father for years before she showed up six months ago acting all apologetic. And while I was suspicious, it was nice. It was nice to think that she might’ve calmed down over the years.

  But I was wrong. She’s not any calmer now than she was back when we were kids.

  “Every day you show me that you haven’t changed, Claudette, makes me want to walk away again. So be careful, sister. I’m not gonna put up with your meddling. Stay the fuck out of my personal life.”

  “Or what?” she snaps.

  “Or I’ll remove you from it myself.”

  I let go of her wrist and push her out of my way, walking into the outer offices towards the stairs.

  She follows, screaming. “Don’t do that, Nolan!”

  Typical temper tantrum.

  “Nolan, stop!” She runs at me, throwing herself into me, so we both collide with the railing of the stairs.

  I look down and see the front desk girls looking up, surprised expressions on their faces.

  I turn back to Claudette and seethe as I grab her by the shirt. “Lower your fucking voice. You will not start a scene here in front of my employees.”

  She gasps and makes a lot of noise, so I let go and just walk down the stairs, doing my best to calm myself as I shoot the girls at the desk a warning look. “Get back to work,” I say as I pass them and make my way into the lobby.

  “Nolan!” Claudette yells, following. “You promised me!”

  Jesus Christ, here it comes. A full-on tantrum. I’m done with her.

  I just keep walking as she screams, “I’m going to tell everyone what you did that night! Because you promised me!”

  She’s the one who promised. I never promised her anything. She’s the one who needed to agree to my stipulations. She’s the one who said she’d never do this again. She’s the one who broke our agreement today. And she is the one who will pay the price.

  I push through the lobby doors that lead to the pool, her yelling still echoing out behind me. A minute later she’s outside too, but I’m already walking back to the private residence area, and when I reach my bungalow, I go inside and lock the door.

  She pounds on it, screaming the entire time I’m packing.

  I want to fucking kill her right now. I want to get rid of her so bad.

  When I’m packed, I call the valet to bring my car, grab my bags, and walk back out. Claudette is still yelling. I try my best to ignore her as I make my way back into the main lobby, but she is not easy to ignore when she’s having one of her meltdowns.

  We’re just passing the front desk when she grabs my shirt, trying to make me stop. I push her and she goes reeling backwards in an exaggerated way, falling down on her ass.

  Her makeup is all smeared down her face from her fake tears and I go hot all over. “You’re fucking fired,” I say, my anger boiling over. “You better be gone when I get back on Sunday, because you’re fucking fired.”

  “Don’t do this again, Nolan!” she yells, making the biggest scene possible. “Don’t do this!”

  But I just walk out. My Carrera is waiting, so I throw my bag on the passenger seat, get in, and drive away.

  She’s not going to ruin this day for me. No goddamned way.

  My phone rings again, but this time it’s not Claudette. It’s Mysterious. I tab the accept button on the car navigations system.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where are you?”

  “On my way to San Diego. But I’m heading to Boston once I get there. You have something for me?”

  “In person,” Pax says.

  “I’ll be at the house on Martha’s Vineyard, but I’ve got plans tonight, Pax. Plans that require privacy and seclusion.”

  “I’ll call when I get in and we’ll set it up.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two - Ivy

  Wednesday. It’s finally Wednesday.

  I got the delivery receipt for the package I sent Nolan yesterday, so he got it. And he knows what I’m after tonight. But then the doorbell rang a few minutes ago. I didn’t expect a hand-delivered package back.

  I look at the white box tied with a yellow satin ribbon and my heart beats wildly. What is in here?

  Open it, Ivy. I’m begging myself to open it. But I’m scared too. Because I know what’s in there.

  I untie the ribbon and it falls away in a soft puddle of fabric. Then I lift off the lid and pull the yellow tissue paper back.

  The dress.

  I hold it up and take it in, then hang it on the top of my bedroom door so I can see it properly. It only has one strap, and the satin is the same color as the ribbon on the box. Soft, smooth, like silk, as my fingers pick it up and let it drop, fascinated by the weight, and the sheen, and the way I get wet between my legs as I picture myself wearing it.

  I go back to the box and find a silver envelope. The same kind of silver envelope that the first invitation came in. It’s thick.

  I open the unsealed flap and pull out a folded handwritten letter on the most beautiful silver paper I’ve ever seen.

  Dear Ivy,

  Welcome to the preparation phase of our fantasy date. Please read everything carefully.

  I will make advances tonight and you will reciprocate. I will become rough and you will say no. NOT STOP. If you say STOP, the fantasy ends. That is your safe word.

  But you can, and should, say no. Say no like you mean it. Say no often and loud. Scream no, Ivy. My dick is getting hard right now just thinking about it.

  The first time you say no, the real fantasy starts. You should be afraid. You should wonder if you’re crazy. You should second-guess yourself the entire time… until it’s over. And then you should not feel guilt or shame because you loved it.

  You will enjoy this or we will STOP. You are the one in control even when you feel like you’re completely helpless.

  One word to make it STOP, Ivy. Just one word. Don’t be afraid to say it. I will expect you to say it if I do something wrong. If I gag you, and I will—I like the gag—you will cross your fingers to signal STOP. Don’t forget that. You will cross your fingers to signal STOP.

  There’s a man waiting outside. Don’t worry, he will be there no matter how long it takes for you to make up your mind. We discussed what will happen tonight last weekend. You saw the pictures and I’ve gifted you the most important one at the bottom of the box.

  Read the enclosed card. Check the stipulation boxes, sign it, seal it inside the envelope, and then open your front door and present it to the man waiting in the silver car.

  Prepare yourself, Ivy. This will be a night we will never forget.

  Nolan

  And then I read the card.

  Here is what you can expect:

  Rough play, including but not limited to slapping, biting, spanking, and choking.

  Fantasy rape, forcing you out of your comfort zone. You will be held down if you struggle. You will be chased if you run. You will be fucked hard and bruising and/or swelling of certain areas of your body should be expected.

  Severe temperature changes including, but not limited to, extreme cold and heat in the form of water and hot wax.

  Bondage of the wrists, as demonstrated last weekend.

  Aftercare as demonstrated last weekend and by the included graphic image.

  Do not wear a bra, but do wear the panties and shoes delivered in the box.

  You will not be burned, punched, caned, cut, or strangled, Ivy. None of what I do to you tonight is in anger. None of what I do tonight will leave a scar. Everything I do to you tonight is for our pleasure.

  Nolan Delaney

  I go looking for his drawing, finding it underneath yet another layer of yellow tissue paper. It’s the one where we’re lying in bed, spent and exhausted, Nolan kissing me on the head.

  I read the stipulations again.

  Do I want this?

  My fingers dip down between my legs and find the pool of wetness.

  I think that answers my question.

  I quickly put a checkbox next to each
line and then sign the bottom of the card, put it back inside the envelope, and seal it up.

  When I open my front door a man inside an expensive-looking silver car gets out and walks towards me. I hand him the card. He nods his head, wordlessly, and then I go back inside.

  I said yes.

  My heart is beating so fast.

  Not only did I say yes, I didn’t even think twice.

  I’m sick.

  I don’t care.

  I’ve thought a lot about what he said last weekend. A lot. How he explained it. How he drew it all out. And it didn’t really look that bad. In fact, when I break each picture down in my head, it’s not that weird. Lots of people like rough sex. I Googled it. Lots of women fantasize about being held down. Forced. Lots of men want to be the aggressor. And a rape fantasy is a way to do that in a safe way.

  Safe. I say the word in my head. Nolan laid out everything in the letter and the card. Every little detail. How to make him stop. What he will do. There will be no surprises.

  Well, maybe one. When will he come pick me up? Soon? It’s already four thirty. I imagine a date starts at seven? Eight? Just enough time for me to say yes and get ready, I realize. Just enough time to be excited but not enough time to change my mind. Nolan has to be on his way. Unless he’s already here?

  I bite my lip and smile.

  I have no idea how I will feel at the end of the night, but hopefully I’ll have a smile on my face. And just picturing him doing those things he drew last weekend makes me want to masturbate.

  But I don’t have time.

  I don’t have time to do anything but prepare myself for my fantasy date with Mr. Romantic.

  Chapter Thirty-Three - Nolan

  When I land at Boston Logan I find my driver and head over to the municipal airport to make the last leg of my journey before picking up Ivy.

  The entire ride to Providence my head is filled with visions of tonight. What she’ll look like in that dress. How long it’ll take her to say the first no. How many times I’ll make her come before we’re done.