The Misters: Books 1-5 Box Set

by JA Huss

I am in way over my head.

  Chapter Eleven - Nolan

  I make Ivy Rockwell nervous, but I like that. A lot. I like keeping women off guard, never quite knowing what I’m up to. I like that my reputation makes them have doubts and second thoughts. And what I like most about all that is the fact that they never say no.

  There is just something about me that draws them in like helpless little birds.

  Ivy glances at everything in the room but me. Her hands flatten her linen napkin in her lap and she reaches for the glass of water, taking a small sip that leaves her lips with a shine I’d like to lick off.

  They always say yes. Even when they want to say no, they always say yes.

  Ivy Rockwell is no different. She will say yes to everything I have planned for tonight. And when she wakes up in my bed in the morning, she will say yes to everything I have planned for tomorrow too.

  I like getting my way. I like having power. I like bending the will of resistant people, arcing it so far back from what they consider normal, they don’t recognize themselves the next day.

  It might be sick, but I don’t think so.

  I think every man wants the power I have.

  “We don’t have menus,” Ivy says when our silence becomes uncomfortable.

  “We don’t need menus, Ivy.” I watch her take in a small breath of air, like the way I say her first name excites her and terrifies her at the same time. “I asked the chef to make us something special. I hope you like Italian.”

  She nods, but her shoulders are stiff. “Why are you having dinner with me?”

  Ah, so she’s not that scared. She’s pushing for answers. Good. “Because you’re beautiful and I want to have dinner with a beautiful woman tonight. Are you seeing anyone? Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “Mr. Delaney—”

  “Nolan,” I correct her. “Call me Nolan. You’re not here at dinner as a candidate, Ivy. You’re here as my date. So let’s stick with first names, OK?”

  “You didn’t really ask me on a date, Nolan.”

  “No? I thought I did. And you’re here, so it must be true.”

  “To answer your question, yes. I do have a boyfriend.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I say back.

  “What?” Ivy laughs, but it’s an uncomfortable laugh. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Because if you did have a boyfriend you’d be on the phone with him tonight, telling him all about how inappropriate the Delaney clan is.”

  “I was, actually. I told him all about it. He’s expecting me home tomorrow afternoon, so I hope you have that jet all fueled up and ready.”

  “It won’t be, Ivy. So relax. And you don’t have a boyfriend. I can tell. I’m good at that.”

  “His name’s Richard, Mr. Delaney.” She scoots her chair back and places her napkin on the table, but I grab her wrist and hold it down.

  “Sit,” I say.

  “Let go.”

  “No. Now sit and relax and tell me that the boyfriend was a lie so we can enjoy ourselves.”

  “You really are something. Your sister was right. I should stay far, far away from you.”

  “Forget my sister, Ivy. Don’t you want to learn the truth about me? Learn some secrets, maybe? Secrets very few people know?”

  “No,” she says forcefully. But she sits back down. Which is a yes, in my book. “I don’t, actually. I think that what they wrote about you ten years ago was probably all true.”

  “Well, that’s a shame,” I say. “Because they left out all the interesting stuff.”

  “I can see you’re a man used to getting what he wants, but I’m a woman who is well-practiced in the art of saying no.”

  “I bet you are,” I say with a small laugh. “Preacher’s daughter. All-girls’ boarding school. Still living close to home.”

  “What are you doing?” she snaps.

  “Intriguing you, Ivy. I’m making you curious.”

  “You’re making me uncomfortable.”

  “Same thing,” I joke.

  She shakes her head and blows out a loud breath of air. “Why didn’t you send me home tonight?”

  “So we could have dinner. And talk. And fuck. And talk some more.”

  She is speechless. Her mouth is opening and closing, opening and closing, but no words make it past those beautiful plump lips.

  “So relax, enjoy it. And if you really want to say no when I start taking your clothes off, I’ll back away. I’m not a rapist, Ivy. And if you think I am, then you’re not as smart as that résumé makes you out to be.”

  She scowls at my words but stays silent.

  “I don’t need to force women to have sex with me. I get them to the point of begging and then it… just happens.”

  “It won’t happen with me.”

  I honestly think she believes that. But she has no idea what’s coming, so I wave it off with a hand gesture. “So, Richard is your boyfriend? How long have you been dating?”

  Ivy tips her head up, like she’s got the upper hand here. “Yes, Richard. We’ve been dating since my freshman year of college. And he’s a lawyer.”

  “What kind of lawyer?” I ask, wondering how far she’ll take this boyfriend thing.

  “He works for the district attorney’s office in Boston.”

  “Boston, huh. He’s a close-to-home guy as well?”

  “You live in the desert, two hours from your father’s home in San Diego. So you’re one to talk.”

  “I didn’t grow up with my father, Ivy. My mother divorced him when I was twelve and we lived in Palm Beach when I was at home. But most of the time I was in boarding school in upstate New York.”

  “Oh,” she says, taking a moment to think this through.

  “I came back to the desert because I like it here. It’s a place people hide.”

  “Are you hiding?”

  “Isn’t everyone?”

  “No.” She laughs. It’s not a real laugh. Not like the ones I saw earlier. But it’s a start.

  “You’re hiding behind a fake boyfriend. Why? To keep my sexual advances at bay? It won’t work.”

  She shakes her head as she lets out another nervous laugh.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I just can’t believe what an asshole you are. I mean, I expected some of this—”

  “Which parts? I love hearing what people think of me before they actually meet me.”

  “Jesus Christ—”

  “Ah, so that religious upbringing is wearing off.” I tsk my tongue mockingly at her and then say, “That’s good to know.”

  “I figured you were a jerk but I really had no idea you were this bad.”

  “Because I’m self-assured?”

  “Because you are the definition of arrogant, Mr. Delaney.”

  “Nolan,” I say. “I thought we were in agreement on that?”

  “We’re not in agreement on anything, Nolan.”

  I smile and she falters for words.

  “We will be by the time this night is over.”

  She’s just about to respond to that when the servers come with a basket of bread and wine.

  “I hope you like wine.”

  “I do,” she says.

  “Good,” I say. “Then I did something right. This is a fantastic Ornellaia Vendemmia d'Artista Special Edition Bolgheri Superiore that comes straight from Tuscany. Have you ever had it?”

  “No,” she says crisply. “It sounds a little out of my price range for dinner drinks.”

  “Well, enjoy then. I like the finer things in life, Ivy. I won’t skimp on this date, don’t worry.”

  The servers leave us alone again and Ivy gathers her nerve. “It’s not a date,” Ivy says, once they’re out of ear-shot. “And I won’t be fucking you tonight, Nolan. No matter how pricey the wine or how good the food.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Ivy. I don’t get girls in bed by wining and dining them. It’s the talking that lowers all those keen defenses and inner voices telling them to ru
n away as fast as they can.”

  She laughs. And this time, I think it’s real. “Well, the rumors seem to be true all the way around. You certainly are charming. And charisma? You’ve got it in spades. But I don’t fall for charm.”

  “Is that why Richard is boring? I mean, come on. District attorney’s office? Tell me, does he have grand dreams of public service once his five years are up? State’s attorney, maybe? Federal judge? I’m practically falling asleep as I talk.”

  “It’s a noble profession. Putting criminals away.”

  “Criminals like me?” I ask with a wink.

  “You were never tried.”

  “Correct. I never was.”

  She presses her lips together, wanting to reply, but afraid to.

  “Say it, Ivy. Go ahead. I know you want to.”

  She swallows hard and goes for it. “Did you do it?”

  I smile as she fidgets in her chair. “Wait until we’ve been dating a week and then I’ll ask you if you think I did it.”

  “A week?” Her eyebrows knit together.

  “Do you think I’m a one-night kind of guy?”

  “Absolutely. But I think you probably make your targets think it’s more, just to get through that one night.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

  She gives me an indulgent smile this time. It’s funny. She doesn’t even realize what I’m doing. Putting her through this emotional rollercoaster. Watching her expressions change. Watching her fight her instincts and give in.

  “After this dinner I’m going back to my room to sleep—alone—and tomorrow morning I expect that jet to be ready and waiting to take me home.”

  “What if I want to hire you tomorrow?’

  “What?” She says it loud, too. It echoes off the high ceilings of the small private dining room. “You are too much.”

  “No really. I liked your idea, Ivy. And I know there’s more to it. But I really do want to fuck you. So I can’t hire you today or that would be inappropriate.”

  Her mouth hangs open.

  I reach over and close it up with a fingertip to her chin. “Close your mouth, Ivy Rockwell,” I croon. “You’re making my dick hard just thinking about how you’ll suck it tonight.”

  She blinks. Twice.

  “Does Richard talk dirty to you, Ivy?”

  More silence.

  “I’ll take that as a no. I will. I’ll talk dirty to you. Is Richard the jealous type?”

  It takes several more seconds for Ivy to catch up on the conversation and then she squints her eyes at me and says, “Yes. He is. And he comes from a mob family in Providence. Ever hear of the Providence mob? It’s infamous.”

  “You’re lying. Richard is some stuffy career man who wouldn’t know a mobster from his flaccid little dick. And no one you’re sleeping with is more infamous than me.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you, Nolan. That’s final.”

  “Not yet,” I say, leaning back in my chair and wishing we were somewhere more private so I could masturbate as she fights my seduction. “Anyway, I know Richard is fake. I even know why Mr. Corporate sent you here.”

  “What?” she says quickly. “Why?”

  “He’s trying to set us up.”

  “What?” This time she’s loud.

  “Yeah,” I say, taking a sip of my wine and reaching for the bread. I pull off a piece, butter it, and then place it on the little plate to her left. “Eat that. It’s fucking delicious. This chef I hired can bake like a motherfucker.”

  “Why did he send me?” Ivy asks again, ignoring her bread.

  I butter a piece of my own and then take a bite and another sip of wine to wash it down. “We’re playing games.”

  “What kind of games?” She’s angry now.

  “You know Mr. Match?”

  “No,” she says, huffing out air that makes a little bit of hair blow up from her forehead. “Not really. I don’t know his real name. But I’ve heard of him.”

  “His name is Oliver Shrike and he runs this dating site. Online dating? You ever done that?”

  “Absolutely not,” she says, shaking her head and blushing. Which means she totally has. I’m going to get Oliver to look that shit up for me. If she was dating online, she was probably doing it at his website.

  “Well, Oliver and his sister own this big dating site. But I was at Perfect’s engagement party a few weeks ago and Corporate comes up to me and says, ‘Don’t you think it’s weird that Match has no date today? Shouldn’t he have a date if he runs the country’s largest online dating site?’

  “I shrugged and said, ‘Maybe?’ So then he goes into this whole plan about how he’s going to headhunt a girl for him. And he sends me this ridiculous online dating dossier this morning. A girl for Match. Right as you were pulling up in that limo, to be exact. So I think he sent you here to fix us up because I was dateless at that party too. Which means there’s no Richard. Maybe there was a Richard, once. But he’s not in the picture now. Mr. Corporate is very thorough.”

  I have rendered Ivy Rockwell speechless too many times to count today. It gives me a lot of satisfaction. “You’re not eating your bread, Ivy. It’s good. And that fucking chef, man. She even has people making the butter from scratch. Take a bite.”

  “Are you for real?” Ivy asks, all her defenses down. “No man is really this full of himself.”

  “One hundred percent genuine. You’re getting me tonight, Ivy. I hope you can handle it. Because I’d hate to disappoint Mr. Corporate at the next party.”

  Chapter Twelve - Ivy

  I… have no idea what to make of him. None. This whole day, this whole experience, has been one mind trip after another. “Why would he do that?”

  “I just told you,” Nolan says. His voice is low and filled with ego, and self-assurance, and charm—all wrapped up into one low rumble. His voice is filled with power.

  “He’s trying to set you up? On… a date?” It seems silly.

  But the look on Nolan’s face tells me I’m reading it wrong.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he says back. “So about those ideas you have.”

  Hmmm. So that’s why he kept me here another night. He wants to pump me for information. “I don’t work for free, Mr. Delaney. So you’re wasting your time with this dinner.”

  “I don’t expect it for free, Ivy.” Those green eyes practically burn into mine. He doesn’t blink, or avert his gaze when I stare back.

  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.