He tilts his head at me, grinning. “You don’t look like a drinker, Miss Rockwell. Would you like a sparkling water?”
I let out a small laugh, like I’ve seen powerful women do in movies and TV. “Well, I’m flattered you think so, Jonathan. But I like…” Shit. The only drink names I know are the stupid ones the sorority girls used to serve me in the house. So I choose my father’s drink. “Cognac.” I say it with as much confidence as I can muster.
“Really?” Jonathan says with raised eyebrows. “I’d have never guessed that one. My grandfather drinks cognac. In fact, I think Nolan’s father drinks cognac too.”
“Well,” I say, forcing myself not to wipe my sweaty hands on my business skirt, “I like to keep people on their toes. And it’s a man’s world, right? Might as well try to fit in.”
“Hmm,” Jonathan says, turning towards his bar and looking up at the top shelf. “I have this.” He reaches up and pulls down a very pretty bottle and grabs a glass at the same time. “I typically serve this in a balloon snifter, but that’s far too manly for such a pretty young woman. So the tulip snifter it is.” He pours a small amount as I fidget and look over my shoulder. Jerry is standing behind me, my case already stowed, smiling.
Jesus. They already have me pegged as an impostor. But I know a little bit about this drink. My father was really into it and I’ve watched him taste cognac my whole life. So I take the glass, and swirl, doing my best to not look nervous, and then take a small sip.
Holy hell. It’s strong. I can’t stop the grimace and Jonathan chuckles. I swallow it down and breathe out forcefully, my eyes tearing up.
“Too strong?” Jonathan asks.
Very strong. But I smile and say, “Is this XO or Hors D’Age?”
“Ah,” Jonathan says. “So you do know something about it. But don’t waste your time trying to impress us, Miss Rockwell. We’re not part of the interview.”
“Shit,” I say. “Am I that obvious?”
“Very,” Jerry says, coming up next to me at the bar. “But it was a bold move, Miss Rockwell. And no doubt it will have the effect you’re looking for. A woman who knows cognac is impressive.”
I laugh and then say, “I don’t really drink. But I’m being Opposite Ivy this week for this interview. I want to impress Mr. Delaney and I don’t want to come off as some newly-graduated millennial who has no real-world experience. So I need all the help I can get.”
“Well,” Jerry says, “Jonathan can tell you all there is to know about cognac if you’d like. And if you want to know how to impress Mr. Delaney, I’m happy to help as well.”
“Please,” I say. “To both offers.” I ease up onto one of the barstools as Jerry takes the one next to me. “I’m listening.”
I spend the next six hours drinking, laughing, and getting many, many tips on what Mr. Delaney is looking for in an employee.
Smart. Ruthless. Take-no-prisoners kind of people. That’s what they tell me.
“He wants go-getters, Miss Rockwell,” Jerry says just before we land. “People who know what they want and go take it. The way he has. He likes a challenge and he’s looking for people who are as bold as he is.”
I am good and buzzed from all the drinking, but it was worth it.
If Mr. Romantic wants balls to the wall, I’m all in.
Chapter Three - Nolan
The Smitten Kitten.
I can’t. I just can’t in good conscience do this. I press Mr. Corporate’s contact on my screen and call him up.
“Mr. Weston Conrad’s office, Janet speaking. How can I help you?”
“Janet, it’s Nolan. I need him.” And why the hell is Janet answering his private line?
“He’s out of the office today. Shall I take a message, Mr. Delaney?”
“When will he be back? I really need to talk to him.”
“He didn’t say. But I presume tomorrow since he has a full schedule.”
“All right. I’ll try him at home. Thanks.”
I end the call and press Corporate’s home number but it just rings through to voicemail. “I agreed to your little plan, but the Smitten Kitten? You’re joking, right? He will eat that shit up, West. And not in a good way.” I stare out the window, watching a limo pull into the long drive that leads up to Hundred Palms Resort. Who is this? “Call me back, asshole. We need to make new arrangements.”
I end the call and stand up to get a better look at the car. It winds its way down the long drive, half hidden by the wall of palm trees that line it, and then pulls smoothly into the valet area, disappearing from view.
I look down at my roster for today. We’ve got two guys here interviewing. Oh, yeah. I see the folder that Claudette mentioned peeking out from under a stack of papers. I forgot all about this one.
I sit back down and open the folder. Ivy Rockwell. She’s a Brown alumna, which is probably why West sent her over. He has this stupid loyalty to our almost-alma mater that it most certainly does not deserve.
I never graduated from Brown. None of us did. They treated us like criminals. Accused us all of rape, kicked us out, bad-mouthed us to the press. And if that wasn’t enough, I have it on good authority that the president of Brown at the time called all his buddies and ruined all our plans of applying to other schools.
By the time the charges were dropped, it was too late. All five of us had moved on to making money and going back to college was the last thing on our minds. I am the first person in my family in over one hundred years to not go to college.
Well, fuck them. I didn’t need a fancy education to pull off a win. I won. Am winning. And I’m certainly not interested in this Ivy girl, that’s for sure. West sent her, so I’ll see her, but that’s all I’ll do. She’s on the next flight back to… I check her file real fast… Rhode Island. Jesus. She still lives near Brown. Obviously not the kind of person I’m looking for right now. Probably some timid do-gooder who is afraid to fly the nest.