to know.”
Hunter surveyed the conference room as if he’d find the answer in one corner. Then he met her gaze again. “Because I hate Christmas. I don’t celebrate it in any way. It’s a question of principle.”
Chloe was shocked even though he looked serious. “Nobody hates Christmas!”
“You just met someone who does.”
“But...but why?”
“I just do.” He held her gaze steadily. “We could enumerate all kinds of reasons: the terrible music, the false charity, the rabid commercialism, elves, but the exact reason isn’t important. I don’t do Christmas. Period.”
Chloe couldn’t believe it, but Hunter got up and reached for his coat, apparently ready to leave. “I’d better find a suit.” He snapped his fingers. “You never told me where you’re staying.”
“At my mom’s.” She emailed him the address.
“Swishy digs,” Hunter said, obviously realizing that the address was on the Upper East Side. “Did you grow up there?”
“Not exactly.”
He looked up, inviting more. “I should know, shouldn’t I? The most compelling fake dates know all the details.”
“We lived in that building when Mandy and I were kids.” At his look, she continued. “My sister. Three years older. Now happily married and living in D.C. with her lawyer husband. She’s already at my mom’s with the kids. Daughters, two. Daphne and Alexandra. Ballet fiend and tomboy.” He smiled crookedly at that. “Marshall probably won’t come until Christmas Eve.”
“He’s missing the big party?”
“He always does. Marshall doesn’t do small talk. Mandy goes with her friend from school, Todd. This works out better for both of them. They both love to dance.”
“No partner for Todd?”
“He’s between boyfriends.” Chloe took a steadying breath, knowing that Hunter wouldn’t let her off with half the story. “So, we lived in that building until my dad died, then we moved out.”
He was watching her closely. “Why?”
“We just did,” she said with impatience, not wanting to get into details. She wondered how much Hunter saw in her reaction. “We moved back when my mom remarried. Cooper died ten years ago and left her all his money.”
“Got it.” He scrolled through her calendar and she thought he was going to razz her about it again. “Shopping tomorrow morning at the Christmas market in Bryant Park with your sister,” he said and looked up.
“Yes.”
“And the kids?”
“Perfect.” He dropped his phone into his pocket. “Meet you at ten at le Carrousel Magique.”
Chloe stared at him. “You can’t be there.”
“Free country,” Hunter said with a cavalier tone that made her want to smack him.
“But my sister...”
He pivoted, pinning her to the spot with a bright glance. “I thought we were making this convincing.”
“You’re just trying to break my rules.”
He laughed. “I don’t even have the list yet.” Hunter came back to her side and claimed her suitcase. His eyes were filled with daring and mischief. “We could go for dinner, review your rules, make sure I don’t miss any of them.”
It was ridiculously tempting to spend more time with him. “I have to get to my mom’s,” she said instead. “She’ll be expecting me.”
“Ah, the homecoming ritual. How does that go, anyway?”
“Don’t you even go home for the holidays?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“No home. It’s not possible.” Hunter spun the bag with a flourish, then wheeled it behind him as he marched out of the office and into the lobby. Chloe strode behind him with her laptop bag and purse, fighting the sense that he was running her show. “You’ll want to go over to Broadway to get a cab uptown. Let me do the honors.” He was changing the subject to distract her. Chloe already recognized his technique.
How could he not have a home?
“I can get my own cab,” she protested, trying unsuccessfully to reclaim her suitcase.
“Of course, you can, but I’m trying out gallantry to see how I do with it. I’m thinking it will be the way to go on Friday night.” He winked at her as he reached for the door to the street. “Come on. Participate in the great experiment of making me into a plausible date for you.”
“You’re just making fun of me.”
“I’m worshipping at your feet, Chloe, and don’t begin to imagine otherwise.” He winked at her as she stepped past him. “Send me the rules, please,” he whispered and she glanced up to find his eyes glinting. “I’d hate to miss one.”
She stopped cold in the doorway and met his gaze. “How can you not have a home? You must live somewhere.”
“Other people’s homes,” he said brightly and set off toward Broadway.
“What?”
“I house-sit. I move every two to four