Page 32 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

And then he frowns.

Chapter Thirteen - Nolan

I frown. Thinking about that statement for a moment.

But then she laughs. “I mean, holy hell. You are so full of yourself, Mr. Delaney, it’s like ego is your superpower. Your picture is the definition of narcissist in college psychology text books. You’re the cover model for self-help books that tell people to believe in themselves.”

Is she insulting me? I can’t tell. “I wrote a self-help book once.”

“I’m not surprised. Was it called How to Make a Woman Defenseless?”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you implying something?”

Ivy shrugs. “Just curious.”

“It’s called Rising Above. Maybe you don’t know this, but Maclean Callister has done some pretty significant things since our days at Brown. He inspired me”—I eye her, gauge her reaction—“to rise above the bullshit. And so I wrote that book.”

“Did you publish it?”

“No. The title is ironic. And my lawyers thought it would ruin my chances of building up the resort and garnering investors.”

“So it’s not about rising above?”

“No.”

She waits for me to continue, but I don’t. Fuck it. If she wants to be nasty, I can play.

“It’s about taking the low road?”

“Maybe.”

“And that’s why you’re the most infamous of them all?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“You sure knew what to think a moment ago.”

“I guess that was before I saw something real.”

I lean even farther back in my chair, studying her. She really looks the college-prep boarding school part. I know. I’ve seen enough of those girls. Hell, I was part of that world myself. But I’m not now.

Ivy Rockwell looks like she never left that world. She looks as protected, and secluded, and every bit as innocent as I imagined, regardless of her proclamation a few minutes ago.

“I told you, this is the real me. All of it. So don’t fool yourself, Ivy. You were right about me.”

“So why admit it before you get what you want?”

I shrug. “Maybe I’ve already lost interest in you.”

“Why? Not that I’m interested in you. But why? It’s like one second you’re into it, and then…” She realizes. She knows. She’s got me. “You’re still sensitive about it, aren’t you? Behind that facade of bravado, you’re still pissed off.”

“Wouldn’t you be? If you were accused of something you didn’t do?”

“I think I probably would’ve handled it differently. Gotten better advice.”

“How so?”