Mr. Romantic: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 2) (8 page)

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?”

“No,” I say, coming to my senses. A provocative bathing suit is enough for one day. Besides, I’ve already decided I won’t be sleeping with Nolan. That lingerie I long for will have to wait until a more suitable man comes along. I sign the slip that will charge the suit to my room, and then notice there is no price on it. “How much was this? I completely forgot to ask.”

“We haven’t priced them yet. We’re still setting up shop. None of the ladies Mr. Delaney invited to the soft opening are interested in this store. It’s for younger women, like yourself.”

“OK. But how much?”

“Sorry,” the salesgirl says with a shrug. “Mr. Delaney stopped by earlier and said you might be by. He said to make sure you left with something pretty and not to tell you the price.”

“He did, did he?”

“He did,” the girl answers back, as she hands me the fancy bag.

That snake is very sure of himself.
Very
sure of himself.

And you walked right into it, Ivy
.

What was I thinking? Why would I ever want to lose my virginity to a man like him?

“Well, thank you so much for your help,” I say, taking my bag and walking out of the shop.

“See you around, Miss Rockwell.”

Not for much longer. I’m fairly certain my time here is just about up. Claudette Delaney will get wind of this transaction, and the instructions from her brother that precluded it, and have me on that jet in no time. I’ll probably be lucky to make it to the six o’clock meeting.

When I get back to my cabana it’s almost five thirty. There was no sign of Nolan when I walked past his cabana, but I assume he’s already in the office getting ready for his applicants
’
presentations.

I put my cream-colored linen suit back on from earlier today and freshen up my face and hair before walking out of the cabana and heading over to the main building.
Here goes nothing, Ivy.

Oh, stop. It’s not like I have a chance in hell of getting this job. Even if Nolan is impressed by my analysis, Claudette won’t be. Face facts, I’m out of here tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest.

But I’m going out in style.

The front desk ladies greet me by name when I approach, and then point to a set of stairs that wind up to the office. I arrive on the second floor at five minutes to six, and smile self-consciously at the two men sitting in the outer office waiting room.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hello,” they say in unison.

I’m screwed. They are both in their mid thirties, slightly older than Nolan. They are both wearing expensive suits, and they both look like men who have most certainly done this before.

Well, there goes my grand exit. I bet they have all the same ideas I’ve come up with for adding value to the Hundred Palms Resort customer experience, and then some.

“Oh, good,” Claudette says from off to the left. “Ivy has finally arrived so we can get started.”

I was early. Five minutes. She is really out to make me look bad.

“Come on in to the conference room, everyone. We’re doing this together. Nolan?” she calls. “She’s here.”

God
, I wasn’t late.

Nolan Delaney appears from an office down the hallway and smiles at us. He
’
s wearing a suit again. Perfectly tailored, black suit with a yellow silk tie. “OK, everyone. I can’t wait to hear what you’ve come up with.”

We file in and take our seats around a long oval table. I sink into my chair when I notice the two other candidates pulling out presentation material. One guy is setting up a projector.

I have nothing and even worse, this is painfully obvious to everyone in the room.

“Ivy,” Claudette says from across the table. “Do you need to grab anything?”

“Um, no.” I smile and tap my head. “I’ve got it all up here.”

I look self-consciously at the two men, but they don’t seem to be gloating quite as much about my lack of props as Claudette is.

Suck it up, Ivy. You’re smart, capable, and you have good ideas for this place.

I glance over at Nolan and find him smirking at me. He cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment.

“Mr. Miller,” Claudette says. “You can present first.”

“Thank you, Ms. Delaney. Mr. Delaney. As you know—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nolan says, interrupting him. “We haven’t all met. Let me introduce everyone for Ivy’s sake.”

Well, that was nice.

“Ivy, this is Bram Miller, current brand manager for Beachwood Resorts in the Caribbean. How many resorts do you oversee, Bram?”

“Ah, seventeen, Mr. Delaney.”

“Bram got his MBA at Harvard and specializes in golf course promotion. Our professional course will be competitive and we think it will be a major draw for Hundred Palms.”

“I have you covered, Nolan,” Mr. Miller says with a confident smile.

Bram
?
Nolan
? Well, they got cozy fast.

“And this,” Nolan says, pointing to the second candidate, “is Daniel Davies. He got his MBA at Stanford and is the project marketing director for the Shell Island Luxury resorts in North Carolina.”

“That’s right,
”
Mr. Davies says. “I’m particularly interested in the high-end amenities. Aside from the golf course”—he chuckles as he trades a smile with Bram
—
“I think of the spa as a gold mine, Ivy. It’s usually the most expensive service, and the most lucrative, offered by luxury resorts. Who can’t resist some pampering on vacation?”

“Right,” Nolan says, pleased with his two options. “Well, Miss Ivy Rockwell just recently graduated with honors from the IE Brown Executive program.”

Wait. What? Did I just hear him correctly?

“Ivy might be inexperienced and young”—they all have a nice chuckle at my expense
—
“but she comes highly recommended from Weston Conrad.”

“Ahhhh,” the two other men say. As if that explains everything about my sudden presence here.

“He knows his stuff,” Bram says. “He chose me too, after all.”

Hahahaha
from the gang of men.

Jesus Christ.

But I’m still wondering why Nolan Delaney thinks I have an MBA. I’m twenty-two. He knows this.

“Ivy worked on her MBA at Brown simultaneously as she completed her undergrad degree,” Claudette explains, like she’s reading my mind.

“Wow,” Davies says. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Impressive, Miss Rockwell.”

“Thank you?” I say weakly. But what the hell is going on?

“Ivy has no formal experience, of course,” Claudette adds. A sudden wave of fear threatens to overtake me. “But if Weston Conrad says she’s up for the job, well, we can’t just dismiss her outright, you both understand, right?”

What a bitch.

“Of course,” Bram says.

“Totally understand,” Daniel adds.

I smile through my humiliation and nod as the formal presentation about the golf course starts, headed up by Bram. But I can’t even begin to pay attention to what he’s saying, even though he’s got a full-on PowerPoint presentation on screen filled with data tables and projected profits for the next ten years.

Why the hell do the Delaneys think I have an MBA? And why would this Weston Conrad guy tell them this?

I look nervously at Nolan, who is sitting on the same side of the table as me, but two chairs forward. He’s asking Bram something about a slide. I glance down at three folders open on the table in front of him. One for each of us, I presume. Two are thick, like there are many documents inside them. But it’s the thin one I’m interested in. That has to be me. I crane my neck a little to get a glimpse of what’s in there and see a fancy letterhead on a r
é
sum
é
.

My r
é
sum
é
. But that’s not my letterhead. My letterhead is an elegant embossed gold script and this one is in bold black.

What is happening? Do they have me mixed up with someone else?

Someone else named Ivy Rockwell, Ivy? Don't be ridiculous
.

But what other explanation is there?

Should I stop this? Should I tell them they’re mistaken?

I ponder that for a while as the meeting continues. Bram has all kinds of thoughts about the golf course that I’m not even remotely interested in. And then before I know it, Daniel is standing
—
not with a PowerPoint, thank God, but he’s got handouts. Full-color graphs and charts, documenting every detail of the most profitable spas around the world and what services they offer.

My hands start sweating as I volley my options back and forth. Tell them the truth? Or give it my best shot and walk out with my dignity intact?

I can’t stomach the thought of standing up and admitting that my meager accomplishment is a lie. Will they accuse me of lying? Of tricking them into this expensive meeting? How much did it cost to fly me across the country in that private jet?

Everything inside me is screaming to do the right thing and tell them the truth. My father’s words in my head, all growing up.
Never lie, Ivy. Lying is the worst sin because it fosters undeserved trust and loyalty
.

But… I didn’t do anything. I didn’t fake my r
é
sum
é
. And I don’t even know how they got a hold of it. Why should I have to humiliate myself because—

“Miss Rockwell?” Nolan asks.

I look up and realize the room is silent. Daniel is seated again and all eyes are on me.

“Yes?” I ask, meeker than I’d care to admit.
Suck it up, Ivy. Suck. It. Up
.

“Are you ready?”

I nod and stand, smoothing out the wrinkles in my linen skirt as I walk to the front of the room. I’m out of here tonight anyway, right? I was a pity interview. I’m only part of this meeting at a friend’s suggestion. I don’t have a chance in hell of getting this job.

Right. Nothing to lose.

I straighten my back and force a smile. “I know I’m inexperienced,” I say, referencing Nolan’s introduction. “And all the ideas I’ve heard here are great.”

Chuckles from my male counterparts. They’re so damn sure of themselves. So confident that they are better than me. Smarter, more deserving. But I do have good ideas and they’re about to hear them.

“Well,” I say, sighing a bit. “They were all great ideas about ten years ago.”

“What?” Daniel says. I don’t look at anyone, just focus my gaze out the window.

“The world of marketing has changed, gentlemen.” I pause, then look at Claudette. “And lady. And yes, I’m not quite up to par with what’s worked in the past. That’s true. But my youth gives me many advantages. Let me tell you what I’d like to do with this sorry excuse for a resort in the middle of a desolate wasteland, whose closest attraction is a dead saltwater lake.”

My eyes dart to Nolan and he’s smiling. Everyone else is staring at me like I just choked a puppy.

Keep going, Ivy
.

“Oh,” Claudette says, her hand over her heart like I have personally insulted her. “I can’t wait to hear
this
.
”

I turn back to Nolan. “Mr. Delaney. I
’
m going to assume you chose this location based on the price of land, the proximity to San Diego, and the fact that this wasteland actually blooms once a year and manages to pull off the impossible
—
it becomes pretty. But you’ve got a big problem and it’s got nothing to do with your golf course, which I understand was created by some famous someone or other.”

Snickers from Bram. I ignore him.

“And it’s got nothing to do with your spa services.”

“Enlighten me, Miss Rockwell,” Nolan says.

“OK,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Your problem is no one wants to come here except when the cactus is in bloom in the late winter and early spring. That’s a great time of year. The temperatures are mild, the desert is pretty, and it’s close to the city. It’s a day trip for most. But you have ten more months of the year to book. And you’re new. Everyone in San Diego equates Borrego Springs with a day trip. It’s not a place to vacation. You can stay in San Diego and get a better vacation. Or go a little further north and get a real desert experience in Palm Springs.”

“Tell us something we don’t know, Miss Rockwell,” Claudette snaps. “We are well aware of the resort’s limitations.”

“Fine,” I say. I take a deep breath and spit my idea out with the exhale. “Give the rooms away for free.”

“What?” Claudette laughs. In fact, everyone laughs.