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.