Chapter 6

The car crossed the bridge, leaving the glittering skyline of Manhattan behind for the equally glittering, but more secluded, towers of the Upper East Side.

A phone rang. Not Clarice's.

Colton reached into his jacket pocket. The screen lit up. Grandmother.

He answered, pressing the speaker button.

"Colton," an imperious voice barked. It sounded like old money and steel. "Where are you? The gala starts in an hour. You need to meet the oil heiress."

Clarice's eyes widened. She looked at Colton. This was the "unwelcome social obligation" she was hired to prevent.

"I'm not coming, Grandmother," Colton said. His tone was bored. "I'm married."

Silence. Then, a sound like a cane hitting a wooden floor. Hard.

"You did what? With who? Which family?"

Colton glanced at Clarice. "Her name is Clarice. She's a good girl. You'll like her."

"I will be the judge of that," the old woman snapped. "Bring her to me. Tonight. If I don't like her, the marriage is annulled before the ink is dry."

The line went dead.

Clarice felt a wave of anxiety. She looked at Colton and typed on her phone: Your grandmother... she sounds intense. Is this part of my job?

"She likes to think so," Colton said. "She's just loud. Our story is simple: we met, it was a whirlwind romance, we eloped. You are deeply in love with me. Your silence is due to you being shy and overwhelmed. If she thinks we are happy, she will back off."

Pretend we're in love, Clarice repeated in her head. She gave a short, sharp nod. Okay. I can act.

She typed again: But she said "tonight." We're going now?

Colton shook his head. "I called Sterling while you were changing. Grandmother's charity gala runs until midnight. We'll go tomorrow evening. It gives you time to prepare-and me time to make sure the guest list is properly vetted."

He paused, then added, "She won't like being kept waiting. But she'll dislike a poorly presented wife even more. Tonight, we eat. Tomorrow, we shop. Then we face the dragon."

Clarice nodded, relieved.

"Where does she live?" she typed.

"The Bentley Estate. Long Island."

Clarice exhaled. So much for the 'modest means' narrative.

In the front seat, Ford bit his lip to keep from laughing.

The car slowed, pulling into the private, circular driveway of a towering pre-war apartment building with a doorman who looked like a retired secret agent.

Colton caught her wide-eyed stare. "My grandmother believes I live in a rundown walk-up. This apartment is off the family's books. One of the few places I have any privacy."

He unbuckled his seatbelt. "We go up. You change. Then we face the dragon."

"They will eat you alive," Clarice thought, looking at her simple polyester dress.

"I'm not very tasty," Colton said dryly, as if reading her mind. He pushed a button, and the ramp deployed.

Clarice rushed to his side, standing by as he wheeled himself out.

"Just... don't listen to them," he murmured as they headed for the entrance.

She walked beside his chair into the marble-floored lobby.