Page 6 of A Princess for Christmas

But she got right in the front and, without even making eye contact with him, twisted around to face the back seat and said, “Can that thing go in the trunk so my... associates can sit in back?”

Leo did not care for that tone. Not at all. It was cool and entitled. And coming from someone who hadn’t even made eye contact with him yet.

“Thatthingis a dog, so no, he can’t go in the trunk.”

Funny how quickly Leo had become Team Max.

His passenger’s brow furrowed as she looked at the crate—itwas huge and took up half the back seat. Max was small like Toto, but, as the beneficiary of Dani’s complete over-the-topness when it came to her canine companion, he had an enormous kennel they were using to transport him between school and home.

After silently assessing the backseat situation, the woman transferred her attention to her companions, who, given their extreme physical divergence, kind of looked like a nursery rhyme come to life—if Jack Sprat was a competitive body builder and his spouse was a stuffy professor of philosophy. “Well, you two are going to have to stay behind—which is fine.”

“I can’t allow it.” The proper man, who was, upon closer examination, not as old as his formal attire had initially suggested, spoke with what sounded like a German accent. “You need Torkel at least for the party.”

“I don’t. I’m not taking him on board with me. You will recall that I’m attempting to be casual. To circumvent all the formal meetings Gregory won’t take with us.”

“You can’t go alone.”

“Well, I’m not taking Torkel on the boat. I never was.” She looked at the beefy guy. “My apologies, Torkel. You would be a... what do they call it here? A down bringer?” Her brow knit slightly, then quickly smoothed as she found a phrase she apparently liked better. “No, a mood killer.”

The man—Torkel—nodded. It was a strange, deep nod that almost looked like a bow.

The other man sighed and opened the back door, like he was about to get in. “I’ll come, then.” He directed a “move over” motion to Gabby. “This young lady and I shall endure these tight quarters.”

“Hang on, now.” Leo spoke to halt the man’s progress, but he directed his words at the woman. “Rewind.”

She looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since she’d gotten in his car.

His mind had made the cake topper bride comparison because of the voluminous white dress, and maybe because her dark hair was twisted into a low bun that seemed sort of formal and weddinglike, but up close, she did not look like a cake topper at all. Cake toppers were made of plastic and wore generically bland expressions.

This woman’s face was the opposite of generic. It cycled through a rapid-fire slideshow of emotions: confusion gave way to annoyance, and there was still a touch of that entitlement he’d seen earlier. It got his hackles up. She had dark blue eyes fringed with eyelashes so long they looked like cartoons—like someone had drawn them on with a Sharpie—and full, pink lips that also looked kind of cartoonish in the way they formed a heart on top.

It was good she was so snooty underneath all that beauty. That made it easier to say, “Did you not notice that the ‘Off Duty’ part of my sign was lit up?” He pointed to the ceiling.

“It was?” The entitlement slid off her face. It was very satisfying.

“Yeah. We’re headed home, so if you’re on our way, we’ll take you.”

“I’m going to the North Cove Marina.”

“In Battery Park?”

“Battery what?”

“Park?”

“Well, I’m getting on a yacht on a pier in the North Cove Marina. It’s down around the tip of Manhattan. Is that Battery Park?You should be able to take FDR Drive around, and it should take twenty minutes.Exactlytwenty minutes—that’s not me rounding up or down.”

“That might be true if FDR Drive was open.”

The cascade of emotions continued: dismay, panic, and, he was pretty sure, outright fear.

That did something to him. Whatever this lady’s deal was, she apparentlyreallyneeded to get to Battery Park.

“FDR Drive is closed?” she whispered.

“Yep. For resurfacing. Between here and the Manhattan Bridge.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “So you’ll have to go straight across, which, this time of day, will probably take you at least forty minutes.”

She looked at her watch. It was big and chunky and seemed out of place with the fancy, poufy dress she was wearing. She blew out a staccato little breath, like she was steeling herself for something, and turned to him. “I so appreciate you stopping for me. I will pay you any amount of money you name if you will get me to the North Cove Marina by seven o’clock.”

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