Chapter Twenty-Nine - Nolan
“Yeah?”
“Pax,” I say.
“Who is this and how did you get this number?”
“Don’t be a dick, asshole. Match gave it to me.”
There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone as Mr. Mysterious works out who’s calling.
“Nolan,” he deadpans.
“Paxton,” I say back.
He lets out a long breath. “I hope it’s not bad news.”
“It’s not.” Not yet, I think.
“I hope you’re not gonna sell my house. I still want it back when I’m done.”
“Dude, it’s not about you.”
“Then why the fuck are you calling me?”
Man, this guy. I swear. He’s got no people skills at all. How the fuck he ever got into Brown, I will never understand. “I hear you can find dirt on people.”
“Who told you that?”
“Jesus Christ.” I scrub a hand down my face and try to be patient with the guy. “I know you, Pax. Mr. Mysterious, remember? All those good times in court ten years ago? It’s Nolan.”
“Don’t patronize me, Romantic. I know who the fuck you are. What I don’t know is why the fuck you’re calling me on this phone and who the fuck gave you permission to do so.”
“Match, asshole. I got your number from Match.”
“What do you want, Nolan?”
“I… don’t know. I mean… I don’t know. Something feels off, man. I met this girl—”
“Wait. You’re calling me about a girl? I don’t give out my secret love advice.”
I decide to ignore him. I think there’s a ninety-nine percent chance he’s fucking with me anyway. So I just move on. “Something is wrong, man. I can feel it. It’s the past, Pax. I just know someone is on to us.”
“Hm,” he says. “Where are you?”
“Del Mar house.”
“I’ll be there in three hours. I’ve got blood on my hands at the moment. So I’m gonna need a shower.”
The call ends and I just stare at the screen. He could be serious about the blood. Or not. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s my last resort though. Perfect is off on vacation somewhere and Corporate is working some job, I guess. Match lives in Colorado, so he’s too far away. Mysterious is the only one close enough to talk to in person. He’s up in LA doing… whatever the fuck he does. I really have no idea what he does. But I do know he’ll help if he can. He won’t leave me hanging.
Because something is wrong.
It’s not just Ivy and the fact that no one knows how she got invited to my resort. How her folder with that fake résumé got delivered to my desk. How our motherfucking jet was scheduled to pick her up. But that’s most of it.
The other part is her father. And normally I’d chalk that up to coincidence—she did come from Brown, and her father is some do-gooder pastor who heads up a private school that probably sends all its graduates to Ivy League universities. So it’s not that unusual that he’d be on their board at some point in his career.
But the last girl—that last girl in San Diego I fucked about six months back—that’s where all the coincidences fall apart. I remember something she said once. I just can’t recall what it was. I only remember the feeling it gave me. It shook me up for some reason.
We were drunk, sitting out on the sand in front of the Pacific Beach bike path, eating tacos we got from the little Mexican place across from the club a few blocks down. It was like two in the morning and the beach was almost empty.
And she said… fuck. What did she say? I can’t recall. I just remember having this feeling. This feeling of warning bells, and red flags, and lighted signs flashing danger, danger, danger—stop talking.
And I did. We stopped talking and we fucked.
That was the first time. And I hired her the next day. Forgetting all about our drunken conversation and all the reasons she made me uncomfortable.
Even when she tried to lie about being pregnant, I still shook it off. It wasn’t the first time some girl pulled that shit on me.
But how does Ivy fit into this? She has to fit, I just know it. She has to fit. Someone fucking hacked our jet. Someone got that file with her résumé to me. Someone sent her an invitation to interview. Someone—pretending to be Corporate—told me she was coming and to expect her.
Who?
That’s why I need Mysterious.
He’s got a reputation these days. Hell, now that I think about it, he’s always had that reputation. He comes from Hollywood money, I know that much. He’s some bastard child from some big-time movie star. But he didn’t grow up in Hollywood. He comes from old Kentucky money on his mother’s side. A true blue-blood family who made their fortune in bluegrass thoroughbreds.
Which is why he has a thing for the track, I guess.
And even though Kentucky isn’t deep South, it’s South enough. They do justice a little differently in the South.
It came in handy back in college and from the hints Match has been dropping over the years, it might still come in handy.
Might. I’m not sure yet. Maybe I’m just being paranoid? But maybe not. But there’s one thing the five of us Misters learned from our little run-in with the law.
It pays to be paranoid.
If Ivy is involved, I’m positive she’s unaware. That girl just doesn’t have it in her. She doesn’t. I can tell. She’s innocent—was innocent before I got my dick inside her—and she’s sweet.
But she might be in danger. She might be caught up in something bigger than herself and she might be in danger. And even though she walked out of here and we had a huge fight in the middle of the street a few blocks down—a big enough scene that neighbors called the cops, which I handled—Ivy got in some Uber car and left. She might be in danger and I might be the reason why.
I let her get away because I know where to find her. I looked her up a little more thoroughly this time and it wasn’t hard to find everything I need to know in order to make contact again. Which I will be doing as soon as I talk to Mysterious.
So I’m gonna make contact again. For her own protection.
I try to convince myself of that but… that’s not the only reason.
She’s into the fantasy. She just doesn’t know it yet.
That is the only thing that makes me smile right now. Picturing her in that yellow dress as we start the date. Picturing me taking it off her as we begin the scene. Picturing her writhing underneath me as we fuck.
Yeah, that shit is happening. She just doesn’t know it yet.
I look inside at the discarded drawings and go pick them up. Arranging them in order of how things will go down.
I got her likeness pretty good. I’ve always been good at art. Always had a thing for drawing the female form. Always been a planner. And what better way to plan a night of taboo sex than to imagine it in my head and draw it out to make it real?
No. I’m not done with Ivy Rockwell yet. She’s in for a surprise if she thinks she can just walk out and I’ll forget about what we talked about. If she thinks I’ll just forget and move on without putting on my A-game. If she thinks she won’t be getting the fuck of her life the next time I see her, she’s in for a surprise.
A very big surprise.