Mr. Romantic: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 2) Page 3

  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 arrive 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 y
ears 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.

  Who would want to come all the way out here for a vacation? It seems silly to me. I get out my phone to make sure I have reception—I do—and then do a search for Borrego Springs.

  The map pulls up a small town in the Southern California desert. San Diego is two hours away and Palm Springs is an hour and a half. The closest attraction, if you can call the weird Salton Sea an attraction, has been abandoned and is now mostly used to film post-apocalyptic indie films and sad documentaries of ecological disasters.

  Luckily, Hundred Palms Resort is on the western side of the town of Borrego Springs, and it’s not likely that anyone heading out here would venture so far as to see the disaster a little farther east in the desert.

  What the hell was Nolan Delaney thinking?

  I do a little more research on Borrego and after about an hour decide it draws a lot of people who come to see the desert bloom in the early spring each year. I’m not one for cactus flowers, but I can see that it can be pretty at times.

  August isn’t one of them, unfortunately. I can’t imagine how he’s going to attract visitors out here.

  I guess that’s why he’s looking for a manager with marketing experience, Ivy.

  For whatever reason, he wants this place to succeed and the three interviewees have been brought in to make sure that happens.

  I don’t care for Claudette Delaney. She’s got the makings of a spectacular bitch. And it’s quite possible that Nolan Delaney is everything the reporters said he was back when he was accused of raping that girl in college. But everything has value and the job of a good marketer is to find that value and exploit it.

  Challenge accepted, Mr. Delaney.

  I didn’t come all the way across the country to be thrown out like trash, and even though he’s expecting me to fail tonight, I’m not going to let some over-privileged family make me look like a fool.

  I think I’ll keep my virginity for someone special and go for the job.

  Chapter Five - Nolan

  Even though I spend the rest of the miserably hot day locked in my air-conditioned office, the desert is making me crazy.

  Crazy. That’s what my father called me when I said Borrego Springs. You’ll attract hipsters with tents. Eco-freaks or throwback drug addicts who want to hunt down their own wild peyote. We already have Palm Springs, and even that is too much action for the wasteland out there.

  But I don’t think the desert is a wasteland. I kind of love it out here. I can deal with the heat of the day when I know the cool nights are coming. But July and August are the worst. And every time the temperature climbs up to a hundred and ten these days, I forget all about how nice it is in the winter. All I can see are people huddled in their air-conditioned rooms, counting the minutes until check-out.

  Was I wrong to take on this risk?

  I’ve had many moments of doubts. In fact, without Claudette, I’d have never gone through with the project. She’s the only one in my family who understands. The only one willing to put in time and effort to help me make this happen.

  Why can’t you build resorts where people like to go, like everyone else?

  Because building resorts is fucking expensive. I have plenty of money, but most of it is tied up in the San Diego clubs. And that is my future, like it or not. Even if Hundred Palms does get off the ground, the clubs will be paying for it until it can turn a profit.

  And knowing what I do about resorts, that might take a while.

  The golf course is going to cost a fortune to maintain. The water to keep the greens healthy is a whole other political matter. I had to invest millions in alternative energy to even get the initial permits to build.

  Why are you such a disappointment, Nolan?

  I grab my phone and press West’s home contact again. It rings through to voicemail, so I just hang up. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. We have this little thing going between the Misters. Like we used to do back in school. Fucking with each other for old time’s sake.

  Now that Mr. Perfect has settled down, Corporate’s been hounding me to do the same. All of us, actually. And so he concocted this little plan to set up Oliver—Mr. Match—with a girl who frequents the online dating site he runs with his sister. That’s how Oliver made his money since college. Online dating.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange that Oliver has no girlfriend when he runs an online dating site?” West asked when I saw him last. “It’s the wrong kind of business for him.”

  But it’s no worse than feeding people drinks in a club, I guess. I say let Oliver take over the virtual world if he wants. Who are we to say it’s not the right path for him?

  But West didn’t agree. He says it’s time to grow up and make a difference. Like Perfect. But there’s a reason everyone called Mac Mr. Perfect. He is, after all, pretty fucking perfect.

  Maybe Oliver and I aren’t interested in making the world a better place? And who the fuck knows what Mr. Mysterious is up to? Perfect’s engagement party a few months ago was the first time I saw him in ages. He lives in LA. Knows lots of important people. I’ve heard people whispering his name at the clubs. And even though I was pretty sure at the time it was only because of who he was in the past, I think it’s more about what he’s doing now.

  There are no five-star hotels in Borrego. There are two four-stars that do a passable job and an RV park masquerading as a hotel that doesn’t even count.

  It’s a good plan, Nolan.

  That’s not my father’s voice in my head. It’s mine. My father hasn’t said a nice thing about me since my mother walked out on him and took me with her back when I was twelve. She didn’t take Claudette, just me.

  And even though Claudette should hold a grudge about that, she didn’t. Doesn’t. She’s far too much like my father to foster feelings of abandonment.

  Still, I need ideas. Fresh ideas. Ideas that no one’s thought about. Ideas that will build interest in this resort besides what it has to offer in amenities. There are a million spectacular hotel pools. There are many professional golf courses. Why should people come here?

  That’s what I need from the two men I have working on the marketing campaign. They are the best in the business right now. And both of them have excellent jobs. They don’t need this job. They are here, on my dime, using their own vacation days in order to interview. They are taking a risk on me
and that is the only good thing I have going right now.

  At least two people, outside of Claudette, believe in me.

  Well, Corporate believes. But he believes in everyone. His job is to see the potential in people and match them up with employers looking for what they do best.

  Which brings me to Ivy Rockwell. I scan my desk until I see the folder, then open it up and take out her résumé.

  She looks good on paper, but what the hell, West? Twenty-two years old? I get that she’s smart. But twenty-two? There’s not enough real-world experience there to offset her youngness, no matter what kind of go-getter she’s proven herself to be in school.

  I can’t send her home tonight. I have to at least give the impression she has a chance or she might pull the woman card on me. Call me sexist. Imply that she didn’t get the job based on her sex.

  The fact is, she’s too pretty. Claudette would never give the thumbs-up to hire a woman as beautiful as Ivy Rockwell, so tonight I’ll give her an assignment and have her present it tomorrow morning. She’ll be on the jet back to Rhode Island before noon and then I can get the guys started on the next project. I only have a few days to come to a decision that might make or break my success here at the resort, so I can’t waste time on placating Ivy Rockwell.

  I really should consider hiring both these guys I have here interviewing. They are talented.

  But it’s a big risk to tie up that kind of potential.

  I grab a few things and stuff them in my briefcase, then head over to the cabana I’m staying in. I need a dip in the pool. I need the sun to burn this negativity off me. I need to relax.

  I pass the few guests who were personally invited as I make my way through the main lobby. They are huddled in the bar, mostly, where the AC is kicking out full force. I smile, and wave, and say pleasant things as I continue walking, then drop the smile when I walk through the back doors to the main pool.

  The heat is suffocating and there’s no one at all lounging under the umbrellas. The misters, which go off in strategic locations every thirty seconds to keep sunbathers cool, are a waste of water.