Her friend wearing the shoplifted sunglasses spoke, breaking the spell. “I told them to put the sunglasses on my account.”
She seemed stuck on that one sentence. If her voice weren’t so sweet, it might have been annoying. And then it hit Dalton that the girl behind the sunglasses was Cece Vanderhaven, the daughter of the very famous Harry Vanderhaven, the man he’d met at his dad’s office. It was hard to tell with the hat, glasses, and baggy dress, but it was the voice that confirmed it. He’d never followed any of her accounts or watched her videos, but you’d have to live in a cave to avoid the commercials where she says, “Let me in.” Same wispy little-girl voice. There was no mistaking it.
“I know,” Greta responded to Cece. She let go of his hand and took Cece by the arm. “They don’t do that here. You have to get in line and pay at the register.”
“How inconvenient.” The sunglasses slid down Cece’s nose, and she pushed them up with one finger. She’d stolen a pair meant for someone with a bigger head.
“Yeah, but that’s how a lot of places do it.” Greta was leaning in and speaking softly and patiently. She looked up at him. “I don’t want to be rude, but I have to get her home. We’ve been gone too long already.”
“But we just got here!” Cece said, objecting. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Cece!” Greta said, then clapped her hand over her mouth and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. She lowered her hand. “We have to go. Now.”
Cece didn’t answer, but she didn’t move either.
Dalton took this as his opening. “How about if I see you ladies safely home?” He extended the crook of his arm to Cece. “Please? It would be my pleasure.”
Cece slid her hand over his elbow. “Only if we take the long way back.”
“Works for me.” He looked to Greta. “Are you fine with this?”
He saw gratitude in her eyes. She nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Dalton.”
Hearing her say his name was the high point of this whole homeless-person experiment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She wasn’t one to swoon, but when Dalton said her name, Greta felt herself get lightheaded. Her reaction could only be from the sound of his voice. It wasn’t the heat or the fear that someone would recognize Cece and this whole thing could go wrong in a big way. No, it happened the instant he’d said, “Greta.” Like her name was a secret passcode known only to the two of them.
She didn’t believe in love at first sight, but maybe attraction at first sight? He was very handsome, if a bit unkempt, and the way he’d taken charge with the Cece problem won him points as well.
But weren’t there serial killers who charmed their victims and earned their trust before they went in for the kill? That was part of their plan all along. Dalton Bradshaw. Serial killer or sexy guy with a big heart?
Oh, she hoped it was the second one.
She walked on the other side of Cece, the side toward the street, listening as her cousin chattered on about trying on the glasses. The tall spindle rack that held the sunglasses fascinated her for some reason. “And this other woman kept stepping in front of me and spinning it around when I wasn’t done looking in the mirror!” Even when she was irate, she sounded adorable.
“How rude,” Dalton said. “She should have waited for you to be finished.”
“I know, right?”
“People like that are so annoying.”
Cece continued. “I hardly ever get to go places. We’re always in a hurry. Did you know Greta is my cousin?”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Dalton smiled her way.
“She is.”
“I do see a family resemblance.”
Greta lagged behind to give oncoming pedestrians room to pass them. Now she was behind Cece and Dalton. She couldn’t help but notice he looked great on both sides. That backpack, though? Totally hideous.
Cece said, “She’s staying with me for the summer.”
“Greta and Cece, roommates for the summer,” Dalton said. Greta felt her heart drop when he said Cece’s name. Had he recognized her, or did he notice when Greta had let her name slip? At the very least, he hadn’t made a scene and given them away in public. He also hadn’t taken any photos; in fact, she didn’t even see a phone in his back pocket.
When they got a few blocks away from Times Square, Greta started to feel better. She’d been afraid that people would recognize Cece, and her worry diminished with every step. People were, she was starting to realize, very self-involved. Walking with their earbuds in, listening to music, or talking on the phone. Mothers with children concentrated on getting them safely to their destinations. Three people in their twenties barely gave them a glance.
I pulled it off, Greta thought with satisfaction. She’d given Cece the adventure she’d wanted, and soon enough, they’d be safely back at the Vanderhaven apartment. If Cece still didn’t want to take Michael as her forgotten man, he could go as Greta’s date, and they could ask someone else to accompany Cece, perhaps someone who worked in the building. The maintenance man, maybe? They hadn’t seen him when they’d sneaked out through the basement, but Cece had pointed out the door to his place. Greta had pictured him as a gnarled Hunchback of Notre Dame type, but that was probably just her imagination at work. Most likely, he was a very nice guy who would jump at the chance to attend a black-tie event. Mentally, she shifted his appearance from hunchback to friendly, spry old-timer, the kind of man you’d see in commercials for the senior cell phones with the big numbers on the keypad. And if the maintenance man couldn’t make it to the ball, they’d find someone else. Nanny might be able to help. If she lived in Brooklyn, she might have a family member or neighbor who could step in at the last minute.
And if Cece refused to go, Greta could go to the dreaded backup plan, which was to contact Leah Ann Miller and cancel. People canceled sometimes. They got the flu and bad headaches. Family emergencies cropped up. These kinds of things happened all the time. No one was exempt. It could plausibly happen to anyone, even Cece Vanderhaven. Really, who would know it was a lie? If her father was angry and it lost them the reality show deal, Greta would take the fall. It’s not like they could sue her. Or could they?
No. She shook her head at the thought. What kind of person would sue a family member for not forcing his own daughter to attend a social function? That would be so messed up.
She’d been so caught up in her thoughts, she’d lost track of where they were going. Ahead of her, Cece and Dalton were still talking. At least, Cece was talking and Dalton was answering, mostly agreeing and nodding. Greta quickened her pace to catch up. “Cece, do you know where we are? I don’t recognize anything.”
In her hometown in Wisconsin, it was impossible to get lost. There were only two ways into town and out again, one on each end of the village. The small, charming downtown contained shops and restaurants and was surrounded by even more charming older homes along with the village hall, library, and post office. Circling around that area were the newer subdivisions, the houses with three-car attached garages and netted trampolines in the backyards. The village could be mapped out as concentric circles radiating outward. In theory, New York, being a grid, should have been even easier to navigate than her hometown, but she was the new girl and had no sense of where they were.
“I told you I was taking the long way, Greta,” Cece said, laughing.
The long way? Oh no. She had a sinking feeling. What if Cece was deliberately getting them lost to extend the adventure? She considered getting out her phone and using GPS to find their location, but she’d have to stop to do that, and Cece had been unstoppable ever since they’d left the apartment.
Dalton talked around her. “Don’t worry. We’re heading in that general direction. Five minutes, and we’ll be there.”
So he knew her name and where she lived. Was the Vanderhaven address common knowledge among New Yorkers? It was likely. Still—and here her imagination ran wild—what if he was with the paparazzi, and he’d
followed them from the apartment, and he’d been watching them the whole time? Then fake-rescued them and befriended Cece just to get a big story? It wasn’t all that far fetched. Maybe all women fell madly in love with him at first handhold, and that was part of his routine. Dalton Bradshaw might not even be his real name. It sounded a little fake, like the name of a character in a daytime drama.
When she saw the apartment ahead, Greta began to feel better. At the next intersection, Cece rounded the corner, telling Dalton, “We need to go in the service door, or else all these people will rush up and bother us.” She sounded exasperated. “It’s so annoying.”
“I bet,” he said. “I would hate that.”
His voice was so kind, Greta wanted to get lost in it. It was hard to believe someone could fake being that charming, that genuine. Or maybe she just didn’t want to believe it was all an act. She thought of all the girls who had narrowly escaped getting into the car of a rapist or a serial killer. They’d say that some instinct told them something was off. Her instincts were on high alert, but she wasn’t getting any warnings that he was dangerous. All her warnings were of the emotional variety, cautioning her against getting her hopes up. They were saying, Even if he is the real deal, the genuine article, a super nice guy who also happens to be good looking, why would he be interested in you, Greta Hansen? Out of all the young women in New York, most of them more sophisticated and all of them better dressed, why presume he’d felt the same connection she did?
The thing that she’d thought she’d felt, the jolt of lightning to her heart? It had to be one sided. She didn’t come to New York to make herself an idiot over some guy she’d just met. Taking care of Cece had to be her priority.
When they got to the back of the building, Greta stopped. “Thank you for escorting us home, Dalton,” she said, and could have smacked herself on the forehead. Escorting us home? What was she, a character in a Brontë novel? “I think we can take it from here.” Off in the distance, a taxi horn blared.
Dalton nodded as if agreeing, but he didn’t make a move to leave, and Cece still had her hand in the crook of his elbow. She and Dalton were each planted firmly on either side of Cece, like they were going to play tug-of-war.
She tried again. “Thank you. You were a lifesaver back in Times Square, and we appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.” He gave her a smile, flashing straight white teeth.
“We should probably say goodbye, Cece, so we can go inside and get ready for tonight.” Greta had developed this cajoling tone during her teenage babysitting years. It wasn’t any more effective now than it had been then.
“No.” Cece shook her head. “I don’t want him to go.” She looked up at him. “Dalton, would you be my date tonight to the Forgotten Man Ball?”
Greta’s mouth dropped open. How could she invite Dalton to be her date? He was a complete stranger! Sure, he was a hot stranger, but still, he was a stranger. “Oh, Cece, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” She turned to Dalton. “It’s this ultra-formal black-tie dinner and dance, a fund-raiser.” She waved a hand dismissively. “You’re supposed to ask someone you know, which, as you’re well aware, we just met you, so that doesn’t work. The event is supposed to be like a thank-you—”
Before she could even finish, Dalton said, “I’d love to be your date tonight, Cece. Thank you for asking.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Going to a black-tie event wasn’t in keeping with Dalton’s plan for being homeless, but he’d vowed to be open to whatever came his way, and this definitely qualified. Besides, it was only for one evening.
It was pretty clear that Greta was trying to discourage Cece’s invitation, but Dalton had steamrolled right over her objections. For one thing, he wasn’t ready to walk away and never see Greta again. Second, she’d mentioned dinner. As in, a free meal, and probably something much better than a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich. He had all the time in the world. With nothing else on his social calendar, he was in.
Even after he accepted the invitation, Greta kept going.
“That’s so nice of you, Dalton, but I don’t think it will work out. You’d have to wear a tuxedo. Plus, it’s such short notice, I’m sure you must have other plans.”
Cece leaned against Greta. “He doesn’t have any other plans, Greta. He’s a homeless person. Besides, you know the wardrobe people are going to bring tuxedos.” She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and looked him over. “I’m willing to bet he’ll fit in Vance’s suit perfectly.”
One of her words caught Greta’s attention. “You’re homeless?” She sounded shocked.
“Yes, ma’am, for the time being, anyway.” Dalton smiled to reassure her it was all right, but he could see by the look on her face she found this troubling. “But I promise you, I’m harmless.”
“Well, of course you are, Dalton!” Cece said, beckoning toward the door. “Hurry up, you two. I can’t wait to tell Brenna and Nanny about all the fun we had today.”
Greta wasn’t budging. “Hold up a minute, Cece. Don’t you think we should at least check his ID first before we go inside? He could be anyone.”
Dalton winced. The jig was up. He had no ID, and worse yet, he’d given them a fake last name. The only way to fix this was to make up a story about losing his wallet or being robbed, or more honestly, he could simply explain why he was posing as a homeless person. His reasoning for the facade was honorable. That might win him points. He said, “This is going to sound hard to believe—”
Before he could finish, he was interrupted by the noise of three people, two guys and a woman rushing toward them.
“There she is!” the woman yelled, jogging their way. “I knew it was her.”
One of the men, coming more slowly, held a phone in front of him, filming as he walked. “Cece? Can you answer a few questions?”
“Is it true you were caught shoplifting in Times Square?” the other guy shouted.
Initially startled, all three of them froze, but as they got closer, Greta sprang into action, guiding Cece down the concrete steps, yanking the door open and kicking the rubber stopper aside. Dalton grabbed the edge of the door right before it shut and followed. He closed the door firmly behind them, then made sure it was locked.
It was a narrow escape.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“How much fun was that?” Cece nudged her with her elbow. “And you were so worried, Greta. Everything turned out fine.”
It wasn’t that Greta had worried for herself. It was Cece she was protecting. She’d been put in charge of keeping her cousin’s reputation intact and took the responsibility seriously. Firstborn Daughter, Inc. and Cece’s parents were counting on her. She imagined Cece’s company losing sales because of something that had happened on her watch. Lost sales could mean decreased revenue, which could lead to jobs being eliminated. Employees without salaries could lose their houses. Couples might wind up divorced from the stress. Their children might not get what they wanted for Christmas.
The trickle-down ramifications as a result of her failure would be vast and serious. She was starting to understand she was not made for the stress of corporate life.
As they reached the top of the stairs, Greta realized that Dalton was still right behind them. She glanced down to see his face tipped up toward her, and man, he was even cuter from this angle.
“You okay?” he asked with a smile.
“Fine,” she said, resigned to him being there. It’s not like she had much to say about it. Cece was the one who had invited him. Plus, he had helped them when the store owner was going to prosecute Cece for shoplifting. Both good reasons to use as a defense when Cece’s parents took her to task for letting the whole day go off course. They couldn’t blame her for something that wasn’t her fault, could they?
According to Vance and Katrina, they definitely could.
She followed Cece, very much aware of Dalton right behind them. When they got to the apartment, Cece ushered them in, chatterin
g away about the Forgotten Man Ball. “Greta can go with Michael, since that’s already set up.” She cupped a hand to one side of her mouth and said, “Sorry, Greta!” She laughed. “And Dalton can wear Vance’s tuxedo, and Greta can wear Katrina’s dress.” Once again, she looked him over. “I think you’re almost exactly the same size as him. I can’t believe how perfectly this is working out.” She clasped her hands together.
Katrina’s dress. Greta hoped it would fit and not make her look like a stuffed sausage. And if she couldn’t wear it, she hoped the wardrobe woman could find something else suitable. She hadn’t brought anything even remotely appropriate.
“You’re sure you want Dalton to go?” she asked Cece. “I mean, he seems like a great guy, but no offense, Dalton, we don’t know anything about you.”
“None taken.”
“He could be a serial killer or a violent psychopath.”
“Or a violent psychopathic serial killer,” he chimed in, clearly amused.
“For all you know, he could be a reporter or photographer gathering dirt for one of the tabloids.”
“One of the tabloids?” Dalton’s mouth quirked. “I always saw myself as more of a People magazine kind of guy. Or maybe TMZ?”
Greta said, “See, he’s joking about it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. The thing is, we don’t know either way.”
Cece waved away her concerns. “It’s going to be fine, Greta. You always worry too much. It’s time to live a little.”
She slung her arm around Greta’s shoulders, and some of her anxiety melted away. Greta did have a tendency to worry too much; Cece was right about that. And it was true that Greta was due to live a little, so maybe it was okay just to go with it. They weren’t changing the plan too much. And Katrina and Vance had just left them stranded. Greta was making do as best she could.
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