Page 72 of Mr. Romantic (Mister 2)

“Thanks, man. Good luck with the girl. But if I were you, I’d get her the fuck out of there before you’re behind bars again.”

Corporate hangs up on me and I’m left standing there trying to figure this all out.

“What did he say?” Claudette asks.

“He says he didn’t send her. Has no clue who she is.”

“I told you, Nolan. I fucking told you! She’s up to something. I don’t know what her game is, but she’s not going to win. Get rid of her.”

And then Claudette walks out of the kitchen and a few seconds later the front door slams.

I follow, but stop in the living room trying to wrap my head around what just happened. If Corporate didn’t send Ivy, then who did?

“So…” Ivy says from above.

I look up and find her on the catwalk. Fully dressed in her shorts and t-shirt. Correction, my shorts and t-shirt. The ones I gave her this morning.

She walks to the stairs and descends slowly, her hand sliding down the banister as she walks. She’s dragging her little carry-on case behind her. “I take it the honeymoon is over.”

“How did you get to my resort, Ivy?”

“Your jet.”

“How the fuck did you get on the jet?”

“An invitation. Hand-delivered. I heard everything you guys said. I heard your bitchy sister say that stuff about me. And you know what?”

She’s mad. Very mad.

“What?”

“I’m going to solve all your problems and just go.”

“I just said Corporate could take the jet. So I can’t—”

“I don’t need your jet,” she seethes. “I’ve already called an Uber to pick me up and I’ll buy a plane ticket when I get to the airport. I’m not trying to get pregnant with your baby, Nolan. How stupid does a girl have to be to get pregnant with Mr. Romantic’s baby? I’m not interested in your money, or your fancy house, or that jet, or your job.” She practically spits the words out. “And I’m especially not interested in that fantasy of yours.”

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs she snaps the handle up on her little carry-on suitcase, hikes her purse over her shoulder, and says, “Good day, sir,” as she walks out my front door.

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Ivy

“Just take a deep breath,” Nora says. “And tell me what happened.”

What happened was I got in that Uber car and hauled myself all the way down the coast to the San Diego airport where I arrived after the last flight of the day and had to spend the night on the concourse because the Motel 6 was all booked up and I didn’t have an extra two hundred and twenty dollars for the Hilton after I paid for my one-way ticket home.

And the worst part was that all I kept thinking about was the jet and how comfortable it was to sleep in that bed and order drinks at a bar with a real bartender.

Stupid jet.

“Ivy,” Nora says, shaking me by the shoulder. “Why are you crying?”

What am I supposed to say? Nolan Delaney took my virginity, played some kinky artist game with me, and then asked me to participate in a fantasy rape scene? Oh, and by the way, I didn’t get the job. Even though I had really great ideas! Really, really great ideas!

“Ivy?” Nora says again. “Do you need a cup of tea?”

“Yes,” I sniffle. “I’m damaged, Nora. I swear to God.”

“What happened? Was he rude?”