Chapter Thirteen - Nolan
I frown. Thinking about that statement for a moment.
But then she laughs. “I mean, holy hell. You are so full of yourself, Mr. Delaney, it’s like ego is your superpower. Your picture is the definition of narcissist in college psychology text books. You’re the cover model for self-help books that tell people to believe in themselves.”
Is she insulting me? I can’t tell. “I wrote a self-help book once.”
“I’m not surprised. Was it called How to Make a Woman Defenseless?”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you implying something?”
Ivy shrugs. “Just curious.”
“It’s called Rising Above. Maybe you don’t know this, but Maclean Callister has done some pretty significant things since our days at Brown. He inspired me”—I eye her, gauge her reaction—“to rise above the bullshit. And so I wrote that book.”
“Did you publish it?”
“No. The title is ironic. And my lawyers thought it would ruin my chances of building up the resort and garnering investors.”
“So it’s not about rising above?”
“No.”
She waits for me to continue, but I don’t. Fuck it. If she wants to be nasty, I can play.
“It’s about taking the low road?”
“Maybe.”
“And that’s why you’re the most infamous of them all?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“You sure knew what to think a moment ago.”
“I guess that was before I saw something real.”
I lean even farther back in my chair, studying her. She really looks the college-prep boarding school part. I know. I’ve seen enough of those girls. Hell, I was part of that world myself. But I’m not now.
Ivy Rockwell looks like she never left that world. She looks as protected, and secluded, and every bit as innocent as I imagined, regardless of her proclamation a few minutes ago.
“I told you, this is the real me. All of it. So don’t fool yourself, Ivy. You were right about me.”
“So why admit it before you get what you want?”
I shrug. “Maybe I’ve already lost interest in you.”
“Why? Not that I’m interested in you. But why? It’s like one second you’re into it, and then…” She realizes. She knows. She’s got me. “You’re still sensitive about it, aren’t you? Behind that facade of bravado, you’re still pissed off.”
“Wouldn’t you be? If you were accused of something you didn’t do?”
“I think I probably would’ve handled it differently. Gotten better advice.”
“How so?”
“Well, you guys all lawyered up. Refused to talk. That’s what they said anyway.”
“Is that what they said? I really wouldn’t know. I didn’t watch TV for five years after the charges were filed. You don’t know what it’s like. You have no idea what it’s like.”
“But if you’re innocent—”
“Then I have nothing to hide? Do you really believe that? Doesn’t everyone have something to hide? Well”—I laugh, shake off the anger—“it would’ve been very stupid to talk. That was the best advice I ever got. Just shut the fuck up, Match said. We were all there, fucking bewildered. No idea what was happening. No idea we’d be arrested within a week. No idea that every asshole in the country would have an opinion about our personalities, our pasts, our habits. Our guilt.”
“The Misters.”
“Right,” I say. “Do you know why they call me Mr. Romantic?”
“Claudette said it was ironic. Like your book title.”
“That’s not why. I—” But I shut the fuck up. I hear Match in my head. Just shut the fuck up until my friend gets here. He’ll know what to do. And so we did shut the fuck up. We didn’t even tell each other what happened that night. No one knew what I was doing. I don’t know what they were doing. None of us had alibis, because that stupid bitch was our alibi. Every single one of us.
“She set us up, Ivy. Set us up. Someone was pulling her strings, but we never figured out who. There’s enough enemies to go around, I guess. But I didn’t do anything wrong that night. Not one goddamned thing.”
She looks down at her plate and lets out a long breath. “Sorry for mentioning it.”
Sorry. She’s one of those girls. Sorry. The confrontation makes her uncomfortable. Well, I’m not an apologizer. And I love confrontation. “Don’t be sorry for me. It’s a waste of time.”
“I’m not hungry,” she says, pushing away from the table. “I’m going to bed. If you want to hire me tomorrow, well, fine. I’ll talk about it. But I’m done talking tonight.”
I stand up and put my napkin on my plate, our food hardly touched. “Hey,” I say, taking her hand and placing it on my arm, the way I did when I walked her over here. “I’ll walk you back. And I’ll still fuck you tonight, Ivy. Still give you the option to suck my cock. Because once I pay you for your time, it will never happen again.”
She slaps me in the face and walks out.