Chapter Twelve - Ivy
I… have no idea what to make of him. None. This whole day, this whole experience, has been one mind trip after another. “Why would he do that?”
“I just told you,” Nolan says. His voice is low and filled with ego, and self-assurance, and charm—all wrapped up into one low rumble. His voice is filled with power.
“He’s trying to set you up? On… a date?” It seems silly.
But the look on Nolan’s face tells me I’m reading it wrong.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says back. “So about those ideas you have.”
Hmmm. So that’s why he kept me here another night. He wants to pump me for information. “I don’t work for free, Mr. Delaney. So you’re wasting your time with this dinner.”
“I don’t expect it for free, Ivy.” Those green eyes practically burn into mine. He doesn’t blink, or avert his gaze when I stare back.
I break away first. “So you really do want to hire me? For like, a job?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “More like a contractor. And not until tomorrow.”
“Because you’re going to fuck me first.”
“Now you’re catching on.”
“Well.” I laugh, looking out into the empty restaurant beyond the arched doorway. “You’re mistaken. I’m not interested in you like that.”
“Then why did you come? Hmmm? Good girls like you, Ivy Rockwell, don’t get into a private jet and travel two thousand miles for an interview with someone you’ve never even met.”
“Don’t assume things about me, Nolan. I’m not as innocent as I look.”
“Well.” He smiles, unleashing a dimple in his chin I hadn’t noticed before. “That’s good to know. I was afraid I’d be wasting my time with a virgin.”
I huff out an uncomfortable laugh before I can stop it.
“I mean, twenty-two is late, but it happens, right? And you are a preacher’s daughter.”
My heart is beating fast and I have a sudden fear that panic will overtake me and I’ll say something stupid. So I shut it down. “I’m not discussing my personal details with you. So change the topic of conversation or I’ll get up and walk out. I don’t give a fuck who you are.”
“Sure you do. That’s why you came, right? The infamous Mr. Romantic. I’ve heard that said enough times on the news reports to accept it. They don’t call Perfect infamous. Hell, they don’t even call Mysterious infamous, and he’s far more dangerous than I’ll ever be. So I know when you figured out who the interview was with, those words danced across your tongue. And I like the swearing, Ivy. I see you haven’t fallen for the bullshit your father probably sold you all growing up.”
“Don’t talk about my family like you know them. You have no idea what kind of man my father is.”
Nolan shrugs. “Don’t need to know. It’s the type. The strait-laced type. The kind of people who judge before they know the whole story. I bet he sat in front of the TV and asked his God to punish me for the atrocious sin I took part in. Did he do that, Ivy?”
I huff out some air, disgusted. What does anyone see in this asshole? And he is not even a class-act asshole, like some of the boys Nora or the other sorority girls dated in college. He’s the scum variety.
“He didn’t, Nolan.” I sneer his name. “He’s a kind man who was very good to me.”
“Except for the religious brainwashing?”
“Did you ever consider if I liked the religious brainwashing?”
“Do you?”
“I don’t mind it.” I shrug. “In fact, I like a lot of it. It’s made me the person I am today and I’m quite proud of that. So this stupid idea you have of making me uncomfortable, or trying to get in my good graces because you think I want nothing more than to rebel against the things I was taught—well, it’s not working, Mr. Romantic. You’re not exactly playing your A-game today.”
“Noted,” he says, like he’s done with the topic.
“So I would appreciate it if you’d be professional, if, in fact, you really do want to have a professional relationship with me. Got it?”
“Your plan,” he says, not missing a beat. “Did it involve the free room idea you pitched in the meeting? Or was that just a decoy?”
“It does. Somewhat. But I already told you, I’m not discussing the plan unless we have an agreement on how you’ll be paying for my expertise.”
He leans back in his chair, hands in his lap. “I have no intention of taking advantage of you.”
“No, you just want to fuck me.” It was meant to be like a slap. And he was meant to recoil. But he doesn’t react, and I find myself throbbing between my legs just from saying it out loud.
He smirks. Like he knows. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing that excited feeling to go away.
It doesn’t take very much to turn me on. And even though there is something about him that says, Run. Get away. Don’t participate in this conversation. Go back to your room, lock the door, and don’t close your eyes until you’re safely back in your own bed. I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about the reason I came here.
I bite my lip and wonder how crazy I’d be if I actually let him do what he wants?
“Ivy?”
“What?”
“What’s on your mind?”
“Going home.”
“Should I call the pilot and let you go home?”
“I thought you wanted to hear my ideas?”
“After I fuck you, I said.”
I don’t know what to say after that, and thankfully the servers come with the food. A plate of shell pasta filled with ricotta cheese, topped with melted mozzarella—surrounded by a perfect circle of red sauce that smells so delicious, my mouth starts watering—is placed in front of me.
The chef appears, all smiles, hands behind her back as she looks at us. “I hope you like it. It’s one of my specialties. Nolan asked me to make my favorite dish for you, Miss Rockwell. And I don’t want to mess up your first date, so I’m nervous.”
I look at Nolan, one eyebrow raised.
He looks back, both eyebrows raised. “Taste it, Ivy. Elizabeth is waiting.”
I cut off a small piece because the sauce is still steaming, and place it in my mouth.
Jesus. Yes. I’m very hungry, but this dish is amazing. “Wow,” I say, after I swallow. “It’s perfect.”
Elizabeth bows to me, then Nolan, her smile even bigger than before, and then backs off, and turns away, walking to the kitchen, doing a little fist pump in the air as she disappears through a door.
“Well, you made her night.”
“It’s really good,” I say, our heated conversation over. “I was talking to her earlier. She told me some interesting things.”
“Things you took note of?” Nolan prods as he takes a taste of his own pasta.
“Yes,” I say, unwilling to give him any details.
“Things you won’t discuss with me until tomorrow?”
“If I stay.”
“You’re staying,” he says. “I already know you want to, so let’s get past that. Forget about tomorrow for now, we’ll do it your way. I will hire you, we will sign a contract for your consultation services, and then we’ll discuss it. But tonight—I’m sorry, Ivy. Tonight, we’re gonna do it my way.”
I take a sip my wine, considering my options. Would it be so bad to have this very experienced man as my first?
I mean, beyond my father hating him. My father can’t ever know anything about Nolan Delaney. No way. And beyond the fact that Nolan might catch on to my secret and put a stop to it, thereby humiliating me as I beg him to keep going, even though I insisted we were not going to have sex tonight.
If I could control those two variables, then would it be so bad?
“I would die to be a mind reader right now.” Nolan is smiling at me, his expression nothing but cocky. Nothing but ego and self-assurance.
Nothing but the power he knows he has.
To render women powerless against his charming advances.
He knows I want him. Hell, I’m sure every woman he meets wants him.
I have never felt desirable. I have never felt wanted, not like this. I have never known the touch of a man and what that touch might mean. And I have never made a man want me so badly, I knew, no matter what I did or said, he’d never want to walk away. No transgression would be big enough for him to say no.
I can imagine Mr. Romantic being one transgression after another. And I can imagine all the hearts he’s broken in the process. I can imagine all the ways in which he walks out. All the ways in which he is begged to stay.
“I would die to have your confidence right now,” I say back.
And then he frowns.