“Yes.”
“It’s me. Dean. Can I come up?”
She grimaced. “Now?”
“It’s important.”
“Okay. I’m just getting out of the tub. Give me five minutes.”
She hastily dried, dressed in the jeans and red sweater he’d bought for her to wear home, and combed out her hair. Because it was an unruly mass, she twisted it into a bun before she walked into the sitting room. A few seconds later, there was a knock on her door.
Expecting Dean, she opened it.
He handed a newspaper to her. “I’m sorry.”
She glanced down at it and saw it was folded to display a picture of them printed on the first page of that section.
“Oh-oh.”
“It’s not a big deal, except they suggest that I hired you to date me.”
She laughed. “They’re sort of right.”
“Yes. They are.” He ambled into her sitting room. “We have a written agreement that proves it.”
She really liked the way he looked in the leather jacket and boots. Though a suit gave him an air of power, the jacket, jeans and boots made him look strong, male, virile.
She pulled back from that train of thought before she had to fan herself. “So we have an argreement? No one will see it.”
He scrubbed his hand down his face. “No, no one will see it. But this is the kind of gossip I don’t need when my company’s in trouble.”
“Really? I don’t understand how it relates.”
“I look like a lunatic.”
Because she’d just run through all the attributes of how he “looked” she thoroughly disagreed. But even though Kristen herself never had to worry about the press, Princess Eva did. Like it or not, think it was funny or not, Kristen understood.
“You know, you didn’t hire me for tomorrow night’s dinner.”
He sucked in a breath. “So?”
“So it kind of, sort of, is a real date.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, if we went out—right now for instance, when, again, you’re not paying me—and saw some sights and then got dinner, we would officially be dating.”
“And if someone saw us—like the photographers following me—then we’d look official.”
She shook her head. “No. Get into the spirit of this. We won’t look official. We will be dating.”
He met her gaze. “Oh.”
She sighed. “Thanks for your enthusiastic response.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t date.”
“And you wonder why the press prints crazy articles about you?”
He laughed.
She smiled. “See? Dating me is not so bad. Especially since I come with a shelf life. I have to go home sometime.”
“No ugly breakup.”
“Exactly.”
He pondered that for a second before he said, “Grab your coat. We’re going to Rockefeller Center.”
Since she was wearing jeans, she got her old black wool coat from the closet by the door. “Sounds promising.”
“Every tourist goes there. They have a big Christmas tree.”
“Fun!”
He pulled in a breath. “I suppose.”
Kristen shook her head, but didn’t scold him about being a Scrooge. Knowing his story, she could easily see why all this would be new to him.
Out on the sidewalk, a couple of guys in winter jackets—trying to be inconspicuous about holding cameras—followed them to Rockefeller Center. Obviously, they were members of the press Dean was so worried about.
She didn’t have to point them out. She was fairly certain Dean saw them, but he pretended he didn’t. So she pretended too. When he started talking about her charity, she let him.
“You’re going to need a board of advisors.”
She skipped along the sidewalk, working to keep up with his long strides. A light snow began to fall, and she inhaled deeply, suddenly homesick for fresh snow, her mom’s homemade gingerbread cookies and the way the sun dipped at about three in the afternoon, making the world a silent, peaceful place. Even on a Saturday, New York City was mad, noisy, filled with life and energy.
“I know I’ll need advisors. In fact, I’m counting on advisors helping me through the things I don’t know.”