Page 80 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

Claudette comes bursting into my office, making the door bang into the stopper, pissed off as all hell. It’s written all over her face.

“What’s this I hear? You’re taking a long weekend? Since when? We’re opening soon and you’re—”

“I’m very aware,” I say, cutting her off. “It’s my resort, Claudette. So I’m very aware of what’s on the agenda this week. But I don’t need your permission to take a few days off. I’m driving to San Diego, getting on a plane, and going to Martha’s Vineyard for a few days. The resort will be fine.”

Claudette cocks a hip and one hand goes to rest there. Ever since our last encounter out in Del Mar she’s been weird. Asking me all kinds of questions. Where am I going? Who was I with? Did I hear from “that Rockwell girl?”

I have not heard from that Rockwell girl. Not since I called her on Sunday and told her I’d be in town tonight. I half expected her to call me back and flat out say, Don’t bother. I’m not interested. And she didn’t, so I’m taking that as a good sign. I also half expected her to call the police and have them serve me with a restraining order.

But what I did not expect was an envelope, Overnight Express, delivered to me here at the resort on Tuesday afternoon, which stated…

I have to put a hand to my mouth because Claudette is still ranting about what the fuck ever and I can’t help but smile.

Which stated… her qualifications for becoming my personal marketing assistant.

It’s cute, actually. It even had a stack of colorful graphs and pie charts. A sneak peek, she called it in the letter, of what she was capable of.

She definitely has balls.

And while I’m impressed with her first attempt at a real-life business proposal—especially after the man she’s proposing it to told her he practically wanted to hold her down on the bed with a hand over her throat—the only business I’m interested in is the one where I rip the wet yellow dress down the middle while she stands in front of me shivering from the cold.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re right,” I tell Claudette as I look over my schedule on my laptop. Everything is clear. The guests we had last weekend are gone now, Bram and Daniel are both working on their individual assignments, Claudette is here. “Look, I hire people to work for me, Claudette. People like Bram and Daniel, each of whom are getting paid a shitload of fucking money to do it. And you—”

“Don’t,” Claudette warns, pointing her polished nail at me. “Don’t you include me in your list of employees, Nolan. I’m a partner.”

“A very minor one, Claudette. I told you that when you offered me money. I didn’t need your money—”

“You did,” she snaps.

“It was nice to have the money, I’m not going to deny it. But I’ve been funding my businesses for a decade with no help from your side of the family.”

“It was your choice to be estranged from our father.”

“Was it, Claudette? Was it? No school was going to touch me after the charges were filed. Sitting around doing nothing for two years was preferable to starting my own business?”

“That’s not what he meant.”

“When he cut me out of the will when I said I wasn’t going back to school, I got the gist of what he meant, Claudette. So it was nice to have you on board with me. Nice, but nothing else. I don’t need another mother.”

Claudette’s lips press together. She hates it when I bring up my mother. “No,” she snarls. “I don’t suppose you do. You had one all growing up.”

“And you had a father. So don’t blame that on me. It wasn’t my fault you stayed with him.”

“She didn’t want me.”

“Well, he didn’t want me.” I laugh. “Same fucking shit.” I slap the laptop closed and get up, tucking it under my arm. “I’ve gotta pack. So,” I say, walking towards the door and sidestepping her attempt to grab me by my shirt. I grab her wrist instead, holding it tight. “Don’t,” I warn in a deep voice. “Don’t fucking start with me again, Claudette. I’m serious. If you get crazy, I will buy your ass out of this venture and wash my hands.”

“That’s what you want, don’t you?” The familiar shrillness of her voice is back. I’ve been wondering how long she’d last in this facade she puts on for the public. Claudette has always been high-strung. Like the goddamned thoroughbreds out at Del Mar. Temperamental, and spoiled, and demanding.

It’s her way or the highway. That’s practically her motto. We were as estranged as me and my father for years before she showed up six months ago acting all apologetic. And while I was suspicious, it was nice. It was nice to think that she might’ve calmed down over the years.

But I was wrong. She’s not any calmer now than she was back when we were kids.

“Every day you show me that you haven’t changed, Claudette, makes me want to walk away again. So be careful, sister. I’m not gonna put up with your meddling. Stay the fuck out of my personal life.”

“Or what?” she snaps.