Mr. Romantic: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 2) Read Free Page A

if he’s even interested, right? Our eyes will meet across the room. He will look me up and down like he’s hungry, mentally undressing me in front of everyone. He’ll find ways to get me alone, make excuses for his fingertips to brush against my bare arm.
    That’s how it works. I’ve read it in books.
    So if I don’t get any of those signals today, then I’ll just go for the job. Problem solved.
    The driver drops me off right on the tarmac of a small private airstrip where a jet is waiting. “Wow,” I say, getting out with the help of the driver. “It’s kinda big.”
    “It’s a long trip, miss. Needs to be big to have enough fuel for a non-stop.”
    That makes sense. But. Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been on a plane this size. It looks massive. “Does he fly everyone around like this?” I ask the driver as he gets my carry-on out from the trunk.
    “Only the ones he wants to impress, miss. I have you returning Sunday. But they’ll call me and let me know the exact time. Have a good time and good luck.” And then he tips his fancy driver hat at me and someone is there to take my case.
    I smile at the driver and redirect my attention to the new guy. He says, “I’m Jerry, Miss Rockwell. I’m in charge of getting you safely to Borrego Springs per Mr. Delaney’s orders. It’s a long flight, I’m sorry to say.” We start walking towards the jet and I suddenly have a case of the butterflies. “But there’s plenty of entertainment on board. TV, gaming, if you like that. A full kitchen if you’re hungry and an office if you feel the need to work. If you get tired, we have two bedrooms to choose from.”
    “Holy shit,” I say before I can stop myself.
    “I know.” Jerry laughs. “Believe me, I’ve been working for these guys for eight years and I’m still not used to it.”
    “These guys?” I ask. “You mean, like, all the Misters?”
    “Yeah. Don’t let them scare you. They’re good men, not exactly what the reporters made them out to be.”
    “So they’re still good friends. That’s nice.”
    “Well,” Jerry says, waving me forward to ascend the stairs up to the jet door first, “not exactly. They hardly ever talk these days. They all went their separate ways a while back. But they purchased this jet together as a show of solidarity eight years ago when the charges were dropped.”
    When I get to the top of the stairs I step inside and have to take a breath. It’s like a house in here. A narrow one, for sure. But it’s just as wide as the townhouse I share with Nora. And better equipped.
    We enter what looks to be a living room, complete with flatscreen and a long sectional couch. There’s a bar, with a bartender, who smiles and says, “Hello,” as I gawk at him.
    “Hello,” I say back, a little timid, even for me. Stop it, Ivy. Be assertive . I walk forward to the bartender and stick out my hand over the shiny burl wood bar. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ivy Rockwell. What should I call you?”
    “Jonathan,” he says with a smile. “Now, what can I get you to relax?”
    A drink. He’s asking me what I want to drink. I don’t really drink, but I’m Opposite Ivy now. So I say, “What do you think a girl like me drinks?”
    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