Page 62 of Just One Fake Date

“This is more important,” she said. “I’ll let him know after I get this solved.”

Ty sat back, astonished. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

And then, because he was with Shannyn, it got worse.

“Hey!” a guy shouted and Ty saw that someone had come out of the front door of the house. He winced, guessing that Shannyn would discover the repercussions of coveting someone’s trash. “You like that chair?”

Shannyn twisted around to look at him. “Are you kidding? Ilovethis chair!”

“You want the other one?” The guy stepped back and gestured to the house interior. “It’s all got to go and the sooner the better. Demolition starts Monday.”

Ty saw then that there were permits pasted in the windows of the house. They were renovating the house. Maybe they’d bought the place with furniture. Maybe someone had left it behind. Maybe someone had died.

Either way, Shannyn was gripping the window of the car to appeal to him. “You have to sit in the chair for me,” she said with urgency, her eyes wide and very blue. He was alarmed by how much he wanted to do as she asked.

Just to make her happy.

“I do not. It’s dirty.” Ty eyed the faded orange upholstery with distaste.

“Right, and you’re in a suit, which is infinitely more important.” She shook her head. “Just stand beside it. Put a hand on it. You have to defend it for me.”

Ty realized the implications of what she was asking. “You’re not going in that house alone. You don’t know that guy.”

“Oh, please. He just wants to get rid of a chair that I probably want. This is a mutually beneficial situation with no subtext. I have to go look.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m motivated,” she argued, and she looked it. “Please!” she entreated. “The vultures will be circling.”

Sure enough, a couple was walking down the street, arm in arm. The guy checked out Ty’s car. The woman’s eyes rounded when she spotted the chair.

Shannyn scurried to position herself between them and the chair, keeping a proprietary grip on it. “Taken,” she said with authority.

“Great find,” the woman said admiringly.

“Great car,” the guy said, with just as much admiration. “Not really ideal for the job, though.”

Against his better instincts, Ty turned on the hazards and got out. He eyed the chair and put a hand on it as the couple continued on.

“Happy?” he asked Shannyn.

Her smile was radiant and once again, he felt like a conquering hero. “Yes!”

“Then leave your bag here. I want to be sure you come back. It would be just like you to leave me standing with my hand on this filthy chair for the rest of the day.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?”

“You’ll probably take pictures if I don’t keep your bag as insurance.”

Shannyn laughed, not in the least bit troubled by his assessment. Then she surrendered the bag with her camera inside. “You’ve never picked up anything from the curb?”

“Never.”

“How long have you lived in Manhattan?”

“More than ten years.”

“News flash. Scoring trash is a time-honored Manhattan tradition.”

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