Page 30 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

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?”