Page 9 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

“Right,” I sigh, before I can stop myself.

“Well, don’t fall for it,” she snaps. “He’s not Mr. Romantic, no matter what anyone says. It was a joke, Ivy. Back when they gave out those names, Nolan’s Mister name was a joke. He was a total player asshole. He still is. Don’t fall for the joke.”

“I won’t,” I say, biting my lip as I think of my ridiculous plan to seduce him. Little did I know that it would be so easy.

“All right then. I know Nolan isn’t expecting you to produce a campaign tonight at the meeting, but if you really want a chance at this job, you should. The mission of the recruits, as we like to call our interviewees, was to come up with a way to make the customer experience more enjoyable so we can garner word-of-mouth buzz. So if you’d like to ruminate on that this afternoon and show up in the main lobby at six with an idea, it will go a long way towards needing that room I’m making ready for you tomorrow.”

I’m nodding in agreement all the way up to the last part. “What do you mean make it to tomorrow?”

“We’re sending someone home tonight. I have a feeling that will be you.”

“But the invitation said one weekend working interview. Won’t I get a real chance?”

“Of course, if you make it past the first hurdle tonight.”

“But that’s not fair. I just got here. And I didn’t arrive late. I was only invited yesterday.”

“Look,” Claudette says. “Nolan didn’t want to interview you. Weston Conrad insisted you were right for the job. He’s our headhunter for this position. I’m sure you recognize his name.” When I stare at her blankly for a few moments, she expands. “He’s Mr. Corporate. And since Nolan hired him to find us the best candidates, he didn’t want to turn you away when West sent us your file at the last minute. So you’re here. But come on, Ivy. You’re what? Twenty-two years old? Fresh out of college? I didn’t read your file, but I didn’t have to. You’re way too young for this position.”

What does young have to do with it? I want to ask. But I don’t. Old Ivy is back and New Ivy is nowhere to be found. I’m silent as a church mouse as I stand there.

“Don’t take it too hard. It’s good experience, at any rate. Not many people get a chance like this. So work on a presentation for this evening and then try not to feel too bad when we send you home tonight. There’s towels in the linen closet and complimentary shampoos and stuff if you forgot yours.”

Claudette gives me the mini-tour of the cabana as she talks. But all I’m thinking about is what a fool she thinks I am. She assumes I’m so stupid I forgot to pack my own travel shampoo?

Young is not the problem. I’m inexperienced, sure. That’s the problem. But assuming I’m not qualified based on my age is not right.

“See you at six then?” Claudette asks, standing in the doorway, ready to make her exit.

“Six,” I say. “I’ll be there and I’ll be ready.”

She smiles an indulgent smile and turns her back, walking out of the cabana without even bothering to close the door behind her.

Holy shit. This is weird.

I watch her walk off. Her body is slim and her clothes expensive. It’s hot as hell out here. I didn’t realize that Borrego Springs was the middle of the desert, but I do now. So I close the door and go hunting for the air conditioning. There are no towns around this place. It’s totally secluded. In fact, it looks as if the Delaney family bought up some useless desert land and decided to make a go of starting something from nothing.

Who would want to come all the way out here for a vacation? It seems silly to me. I get out my phone to make sure I have reception—I do—and then do a search for Borrego Springs.

The map pulls up a small town in the Southern California desert. San Diego is two hours away and Palm Springs is an hour and a half. The closest attraction, if you can call the weird Salton Sea an attraction, has been abandoned and is now mostly used to film post-apocalyptic indie films and sad documentaries of ecological disasters.

Luckily, Hundred Palms Resort is on the western side of the town of Borrego Springs, and it’s not likely that anyone heading out here would venture so far as to see the disaster a little farther east in the desert.

What the hell was Nolan Delaney thinking?

I do a little more research on Borrego and after about an hour decide it draws a lot of people who come to see the desert bloom in the early spring each year. I’m not one for cactus flowers, but I can see that it can be pretty at times.

August isn’t one of them, unfortunately. I can’t imagine how he’s going to attract visitors out here.

I guess that’s why he’s looking for a manager with marketing experience, Ivy.

For whatever reason, he wants this place to succeed and the three interviewees have been brought in to make sure that happens.

I don’t care for Claudette Delaney. She’s got the makings of a spectacular bitch. And it’s quite possible that Nolan Delaney is everything the reporters said he was back when he was accused of raping that girl in college. But everything has value and the job of a good marketer is to find that value and exploit it.

Challenge accepted, Mr. Delaney.

I didn’t come all the way across the country to be thrown out like trash, and even though he’s expecting me to fail tonight, I’m not going to let some over-privileged family make me look like a fool.