“I have a drink.” Greta lifted her barely touched glass of champagne.
“I mean, to keep an eye on Cece? You were worried I was a scam artist, and here she’s with Roger, who’s also a complete stranger . . . ”
“Ha! There’s no comparison. Roger is Leah Ann Miller’s younger sister’s tutor, so he comes with a recommendation. You’re a guy we picked up on the street. If anything, I’d say Roger is more likely to be trustworthy.” Roger was not as easy on the eyes as Dalton, but at least someone was vouching for him. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“I told you, my name is Dalton,” he said, looking amused.
“Okay, that’s a start. Now how about a last name?”
“Mine or yours?”
She crossed her arms. “Yours, of course. I know my last name. Hansen. Greta Hansen.”
Dalton gave a little laugh. Despite her intention not to let him off the hook, she couldn’t help but smile. Oh, he was charming. “Greta Hansen,” he said approvingly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Hansen before.”
“Move to Wisconsin, and you’ll find it hard to avoid them.”
“So you’re from Wisconsin?”
“Yes. You?”
“Connecticut. What part of Wisconsin are you from?”
“Nice try,” Greta said. “But you can’t steer the conversation that way. We’re talking about you. Do you have some proof of your identity?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“What constitutes proof?” Dalton was stalling. From the look in her eyes, she knew it.
“A picture ID would work. Driver’s license, passport, whatever you have.”
He shook his head, trying to look sad. “Believe me, I’d love to have something to show you.” Dalton patted his pockets, feeling the ReadyHelp device in one pocket and the folded bills in another, neither of which would prove his identity. “I got nothing.”
“Every adult I know carries something with their name on it. Credit cards, a library card, insurance cards. No one leaves the house without something.”
“I know. That’s how it usually works.”
“But you have nothing with you. Why?”
She wanted an answer, and he wanted to give her one. There was no need for her to think he was a serial killer or one of the paparazzi. “Okay, I’ll tell you.” Behind them a group of girls laughed uproariously, drowning out his words. After they went by, he moved closer to Greta and spoke into her ear. “My family is well off. I have an apartment in Connecticut, but I’m living the life of a homeless person as an experiment.”
She pulled away and regarded him warily. “So you live in Connecticut, but came to New York to pretend to be homeless. As an experiment.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t get it. Why pretend to be homeless? Why the ruse?”
“It’s a long, not very interesting story. Basically, I have something to prove to my father.”
They were interrupted by Cece, who’d pushed her way through a throng of people, towing Roger behind her. They both held oversize martini glasses filled with a green liquid. “Greta, you won’t believe it! Roger knew the bartender from middle school, and they did their secret handshake for me.” She laughed and set the drink on the table. “It was hilarious. You should have seen it.”
Roger modestly said, “It wasn’t that big of a deal. I’m surprised he remembered it.”
“You have to teach it to me,” she said, giving him a grin. “Seriously, Greta, you would have died. It was so funny.”
“You know what’s really funny?” Greta said. “Turns out Dalton is only pretending to be homeless. His family is rich.”
“I’m not rich. My parents are.” He could not stress that enough. The amount in his actual bank account lacked the multitude of zeroes found one generation up.
“That’s what all rich guys say,” Roger said, making Cece laugh again. She thought he was an absolute riot. He made finger quotes. “I’m not rich. My parents are.”
Dalton didn’t know why Cece thought that was so funny. If anything, her family was the wealthier of the two. Everything she had could be traced back to her family connections. Without them, she’d be sending out her résumé and going to interviews like everyone else. Dalton didn’t think it was a crime to get help from his family. Despite his background, he was trying to be his own man and follow his own social conscience. That should count for something.
“You shouldn’t have lied to us,” Greta said.
“I know. That was wrong of me,” he said. “I was trying to keep a low profile and keep my family name out of it. If I had to do it over again, I would have been truthful right from the start. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” Cece lifted her glass and took a sip. “Ooh, this is good. I could drink these all night.” She made a face. “Vance used to make me stop after two. He said I became unpredictable.”
Dalton turned to Greta. “Do you accept my apology?”
“Do I have a choice?” The words were snarky, but the amused quirk of her lips said otherwise. She tucked a wave of hair behind her ear, uncovering a dangling gemstone earring.
“Well, of course you do. I have to warn you, though, if you don’t accept my apology, I’ll spend the rest of my life currying your favor in an attempt to get you to reconsider.”
“In that case, I’m holding off for a bit. I’d like to see what that looks like.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Greta didn’t entirely trust him. For one thing, his story sounded unlikely. He decided to go homeless to prove something to his wealthy father? Please. She’d have to know a lot more to make sense of that scenario. Offhand, she couldn’t think of anything that would fit.
He had a certain something, though, an ease in the way he moved and spoke, an innate charm that was hard to resist. When he smiled her way, it was intense. And any guy who used a phrase like currying favor won points with her. She liked a man who knew his way around the dictionary.
The conversation in the room quieted with the ringing of a bell. Servers walked through, stopping at each cluster of assembled guests to invite them to proceed across the hall to the dining room. It was a slow process with most people ignoring the announcements at first, but slowly, after the second and third announcements, there was a drift in that direction. In the other room, staff escorted guests to their tables. Most of them were set for eight people, but their table had only four place settings.
“We seem to be short a few places,” Roger said. “Our invisible friends don’t have any silverware.”
Cece laughed. “Vance bought out eight spots. He didn’t want anyone else sitting with us. He was always afraid I’d say something stupid and ruin my image. I was encouraged to pretend to be someone else.”
Roger opened his mouth, aghast. “That’s horrible. You’re so much fun. Why would anyone want you to act like someone else?”
“They told me it was a game,” Cece explained. “I had to be mysterious and vague, and I don’t know what else.” She took another sip of her apple martini. “I got dragged around everywhere. They were always talking to each other off to the side, whispering about me. Whenever I asked them to let me in, they brushed me off and said they were talking about things that didn’t concern me, but I knew better.” She tapped her fingernails against the linen tablecloth. “They never let me in. I hated it.”
Roger sympathized, telling her he knew just how she felt. He launched into a childhood story about how his two older brothers told him he couldn’t be part of the Cool Kids’ Club unless he did exactly what they told him to do. He had a funny way of telling the story, doing voices and acting out the motions, all of which cheered Cece up immensely. Dalton found him funny too, leaning in his direction to hang on every word. Both of them were amused by his storytelling, but Greta had trouble concentrating, because something her cousin had said caught her attention.
They never let me in.
Greta could imagine Cece in the commercial for her signat
ure fragrance, the camera zooming in on her beautiful face, her perfect lips whispering, Let me in. In the context of the ad, her words sounded romantic, seductive even, but now, knowing what she knew, Greta realized what had happened. Somehow a camera had caught her saying the phrase more than once, and the machine that was Firstborn Daughter, Inc. felt compelled to explain it—so an entire product and ad campaign were built around it.
Roger finished his story by saying, “Turned out there was no Cool Kids’ Club. They just told me that so I’d do their chores.”
When everyone else at the table finished laughing, Greta asked, “Cece, you didn’t seem surprised that Katrina and Vance left and got married. Did you know they were a couple?”
She nodded. “They didn’t think I knew, but I did. They wanted to leave so badly. I would hear them whispering about the contract and how stuck they were. It was tiresome. I said, ‘Just leave if you want to,’ but then they pretended I misunderstood, and they hugged me and said they loved me and that they didn’t want to go. They thought I was clueless.”
Greta felt for her. “Oh, I’m sure they didn’t think that.”
“But they did. I heard Katrina say it once.” She picked up her plate and looked at her reflection, then tilted it back and forth.
Roger followed her lead, picking up his plate as well. “Cool,” he said. “Look at the way the light reflects.” The light from the chandelier above bounced off the china. Roger directed it at his water glass, taking it to the next level. Rays of light shimmied across the table. Cece grinned and aimed her plate the same way, creating her own beams of light.
At the next table, there were hushed whispers from the other guests. Greta had a feeling they were commenting on Cece’s behavior.
Dalton gave her a look, shrugged, and picked up his plate and followed suit. Not to be left out, Greta did it too. Cece let out a peal of laughter, and Roger gave her an admiring look. He said, “This evening is turning out to be a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”
Cece said, “And the evening is only just starting.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Dalton had to agree with Vance: Cece was unpredictable after two drinks. All of them put their plates down when the servers came with the salads, then listened politely when Leah Ann Miller stepped up to the podium on the dais to thank everyone for attending her dinner and dance to benefit the Museum of Modern Art. Apparently, each seat in the room raised $3,000 for the museum, even the four empty ones at their table. Each occupied table cost $24,000. Dalton tried to do some quick math, counting the tables and doing some mental multiplication, but he got bogged down midway through and never did come up with a total. Regardless, Leah Ann Miller’s event had raised a cartload of money for the museum.
Leah Ann spoke into the microphone, saying, “Please hold your applause,” even though there was no sign of anyone starting to clap, “and remain silent during a five-minute video about the museum.”
It was during the video that Cece got the giggles. It started with a slight smirk and built from there. Her efforts to rein in her laughter only made it worse, and Roger seemingly encouraged her by whispering in her ear. At one point, she held her breath and turned red and slapped Roger away, as if one word from him would make her go ballistic. Finally, just as the video finished, she got up and left the room. Greta followed. Dalton could hear Cece’s explosion of laughter just outside the banquet hall.
“What’s up?” Dalton whispered to Roger, who shook his head like he had no idea.
While Cece and Greta were gone, they heard a distinguished-looking man from the museum board talk about the history of the museum. His talk went on and on, punctuating the fact that the girls had been gone a really long time. When they finally returned and slid back into their seats, Cece had composed herself and Greta looked relieved. “Everything okay?” Dalton asked.
Greta nodded. “All good.”
Leah Ann went back up to the front and spoke into the microphone once again. “Just one more important announcement before dinner is served.” She held her hands together as if praying. “The Vanderhaven Corporation has generously offered to match any additional donations from tonight’s attendees contributed in the next thirty days.” She motioned to their table. “Thank you to Cece Vanderhaven and her family. Cece, would you stand, please?”
Cece got up from her seat and gave a little wave while the room applauded. As she sat down, she murmured, “This is the first I’ve heard of this.”
A formal event was not normally something Dalton enjoyed, but he was looking forward to the dancing portion of the evening. Sometime in middle school, he’d figured out that slow dancing was the safest and easiest way to get a girl to embrace him. One added bonus? He would look like a perfect gentleman just for asking. It was, he thought with a smile, one of the most self-serving things a guy could do in the name of being polite. Now that Cece and Roger had hit it off, he was free to ask Greta without looking like he was a total jerk to his date. When Cece had first invited him to attend this event, he’d had no idea it would work out this perfectly. It was like he’d wished for something and it had magically happened. If only all of life worked that way.
The servers came around periodically with champagne. Even though Cece and Roger weren’t done with their martinis, they each took a glass. They toasted each other and clinked glasses, and when Greta said, her face scrunched in worry, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Cece brushed her off.
“Enough? I’m not even halfway to enough.” Cece patted Greta’s arm. “I feel fabulous. I wish everyone in the world felt this good.” She lifted her glass overhead, and champagne sloshed over the rim, splattering the tablecloth. “Everyone!” Her laughter was so delightful, it was impossible not to smile.
Cece was out of control and loving it. Greta, meanwhile, looked like a parent chaperone who’d lost a first-grader during a field trip to the zoo.
By the time the tables were cleared and the band started up, Greta wasn’t even trying to look like she was enjoying herself. Her eyes were focused on Cece, and her hand fluttered nervously on the tabletop like she was ready to take action but wasn’t quite sure what would help. Dalton was just gearing up to ask her to dance when Cece leaned across the table and called out, “Dalton, when are you going to ask my beautiful cousin to dance?”
Inwardly, Dalton sighed. Cece had gotten ahead of him, and now he wouldn’t get credit for the idea. Nothing to it but to do it. “Greta,” he said, very seriously, “would you dance with me?”
Greta hesitated, shaking her head. “I don’t really—”
“Please?” Dalton put his hand over hers. “I don’t want to beg, but I will if I have to.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.
“Make him beg!” Cece cried out.
Even Roger looked amused. “Do it, man. Beg the woman.”
Dalton got off his chair and dropped to one knee. “Greta Hansen, I’m begging you to please dance with me. If you would, my life will be complete.”
Her face flushed adorably red as she realized they were attracting the attention of everyone in the room. “Get up,” she said, her eyes darting back and forth. “People are looking.”
“Let them look,” he said. “I will not get up until you agree to dance with me.”
“Make him wait,” Roger suggested. “Keep him kneeling.”
“No! That’s mean.” Cece slapped Roger’s arm. “Don’t torture him, Greta. Just dance with him.”
“Fine,” she said. “I accept.”
Dalton scrambled to his feet and extended a hand, which she took with a reluctant glance back at Cece. He led the way, holding Greta’s hand behind his back, and when they got to an opening on the dance floor, he turned around and pulled her toward him in one smooth move.
“You seem like you’ve done this before,” she said.
“On the count of three, I’m going to flip you.” Dalton grinned.
“No!” she cried out, then laughed when she realized he’d be
en teasing.
As they continued to dance, Greta’s attention began to stray, her gaze darting back to the table, watching her cousin. “You’re not responsible for her,” Dalton said. “She’s an adult.”
“She’s acting out because she’s had too much to drink,” Greta said, shaking her head sadly.
“Because you forced her to?” They were swaying now to some orchestral tune he’d never heard before. Old-people music, but perfect for his purposes.
“Of course not.” She glanced up and met his eyes. “But I’m in charge of Cece now that Katrina and Vance left. They’ve been carefully cultivating her image for years now. I don’t want to be the one to blow all their hard work in one night.”
Dalton shot a look at Cece, who had one hand resting on Roger’s cheek. “She looks pretty happy to me. I don’t think you need to worry.”
“It’s not about her being happy. I mean, I want her to be happy, but out in public, she’s supposed to be conducting herself a certain way. They have this big-deal thing coming up that I’m not supposed to talk about, but it’s time-sensitive and might mean millions of dollars. And all of that is riding on my shoulders, so please don’t tell me not to worry.”
He nodded. “Okay, I’m sorry. I have no right to tell you how to feel.” She relaxed in his arms. “How about you give some of that worry to me? Hand it right over. I will gladly take it.”
She laughed. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Why not? People share happiness. Why not worry?”
“Okay, fair enough. I’m giving you half.”
“I’ll take more than half. I want to lighten your load.”
The music was so nondescript that nothing stood out for him except the swell of violins. Still, he hoped the song would last forever. When she rested her chin against his shoulder, her body relaxing against his, he had a quick pulse of gratitude, taking it as a sign of trust. He noticed now that her hair had a wonderful scent—coconut, he thought. When the song finished, Greta pulled apart and politely clapped, but Dalton was intently looking at her face, noticing the half smile and the sparkle in her eyes. The hold she had on his attention was unnerving. Everything else just faded into the background.
Good Man, Dalton Page 19