Page 16 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

“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.

Chapter Eight - Ivy

I wander down a wide hallway after I eat my delicious salad in the dining room—the homemade croutons were to die for—towards the west end of the resort. Not really looking for the women’s shop, but if it happens to come up in front of me, I might as well take a look inside.

I can’t stop thinking about Nolan Delaney. He was flirting. It excites me in ways I’m embarrassed to think about. I mean, I actually wish I was at home right now so I could masturbate, that’s how horny his attention makes me.

And he’s counting on me still being here tonight. He wants to have a midnight swim with me.

What else does he want to do?

I spy a fancy window filled with pretty lingerie and stop to look at it. The mannequins are faceless and thin, yet still graceful and slender enough to spark a bit of jealousy in me. How is it fair that a fake woman can pull off sexy far better than I can?