THE WORST DATES BRING CHOCOLATE CAKE!

Chapter 1

Ana

Is he stealing the desserts?

I gritted my teeth, shuffling through the party filled with well-dressed socialites and billionaires, all of them engaged in the mating rituals of Manhattan’s wealthy and elite—the women’s preening, the men’s fake laughter, the way both parties tried to subtly yet unsubtly show off their expensive watches, purses, and jewelry.

I had no patience for it. Or for the dessert-stealing billionaire.

My feet hurt. My underwear was riding up under my sensible skirt, and I had a mean wedgie. My arms, used to doing no more exercise than holding my phone up in bed and periodically dropping it on my face, ached under the weight of the tray.

My life as a single working girl was in shambles and circling the drain.

So why was I so concerned that one of the rich, entitled men was stealing half the dessert table?

I watched him from across the room as I collected the guests’ empty plates and wine glasses.

The tall blond man had his suit jacket off. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. He didn’t look the slightest bit guilty.

Maybe he’s just grabbing a cookie. You’ve been bitter and angry lately. Stop thinking the worst of everyone.

I narrowed my eyes at him as I scooped up several napkins off a small round table.

Nope, he wasn’t just grabbing a cookie. He literally had a shopping bag and was emptying platters of desserts into it. Desserts that I had spent an hour arranging on that table.

Just leave it alone, I told myself, trying to practice mindful meditation.

I took the tray into the catering kitchen, handed it off to another worker, then headed back out with a new tray.

You know how rich people are. They love free stuff.

But the audacity of it, the brazenness, made me grind my teeth.

Instead of heading back into the crowd, I took a hard right to the dessert table.

Leave it alone; don’t make a scene. Servers who make scenes don’t get rehired.

Maybe he wasn’t even invited to the party. Maybe he just wandered in here to steal food. Maybe I was about to save the day.

Or not.

When I stepped up beside the handsome thief, tapping the hard plastic tray, he said, “Sorry. The macarons are all gone.”

“No, they’re not,” I hissed at him. “I saw you dump them in your bag.”

“What? Me? Never.” He winked at me.

I saw red. “This isn’t a joke. Those were very expensive pastries and are supposed to be for everyone. Were you even invited to this party?”

“I’m wearing a ten-thousand-dollar suit,” he replied. He popped a cheesecake square in his mouth then pulled a Tupperware container out of the bag and dumped the rest of the cake inside. “And I’m frankly hurt that you think I would sneak into this party. It’s not even that nice.”

“I helped plan it. Of course it’s nice!” I sputtered. “Not only are you a thief, but you’re rude too.”

“Don’t get your pretty face all worked up,” he said, closing the lid on the container. “All the men are on some sort of high-protein health diet, and all the women are drinking their calories tonight. No one was going to touch your precious dessert table.”

He picked up the tray of the mini Key-lime pies.

He was right, damn him. I knew that hardly anyone was going to touch the dessert table. And I had already called dibs on the untouched desserts, specifically those pies.

My eyes flicked to them.

He gave me a lazy smile. “Ah. Seems I’m not the only thief here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I railed, hoping he didn’t see me blushing.

“I’m not stupid. I know how catering works.” He picked one pie off the tray and held it out to me.

I batted his hand away. “Asshole.”

He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Meet me around back, and we can split the haul.”

I jerked away. “I’m not meeting you in a dark alleyway. And I wasn’t going to eat those desserts.”

Lies. All lies.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a model and a dancer,” I continued. “I would never.” Another lie.

Madame Tatiana, my old ballet teacher, was probably rolling in her grave. She had always said my feet and head were too big for me to be a dancer and that I should go be a trophy wife instead.

Maybe she was onto something. Life sure would be easier. Though I would have to seriously cut back on my dessert intake.

“How about this? What if I take you out,” he said, a lazy smile spreading across his face, “and give you something a little salty to go with your dessert.”

“You disgusting—”

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter!” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m offended and frankly shocked. All I meant was I’d buy you French fries, fresh out of the deep fryer, and not those crappy ones, either—hand cut. Fried in beef tallow. Salted. Goes great with ice cream.”

I scowled up at him, my face burning. “No, thanks.”

“Seriously?” Now it was his turn to be taken aback. “I’m a billionaire, and not to pat myself on the back, but I’m probably one of the best-looking men you will ever see in your entire life.”

“I have tickets to Comic-Con. Chris Evans is doing a panel. So I think I’m covered.”

“He doesn’t have a nine-figure net worth.”

“Honestly, that’s the biggest issue I have with you aside from the fact that I’m sure you’re wearing a girdle under that shirt, what with the amount of cake you just stole,” I retorted.

Don’t look at his chest! Keep your eyes on his face.

It was no use.

I glanced down.

His muscles bulged under the white cotton fabric.

He totally had the tailor make that shirt extra small on purpose.

“My eyes are up here.” The dessert-stealing billionaire shook his head. “She calls me a thief then reduces me to a sex object.”

“I didn’t—that’s not—” I stammered.

“Honestly, I’m so insulted that I’m going to take these chocolate-chip-cookie-dough bars, and I don’t even like them that much.”

No! I needed those to eat with the red wine I was going to steal tonight.

I grabbed his arm as he shoved the entire tray into the overflowing bag, but his bicep might as well have been made of steel. He didn’t move an inch.

“Here,” he said, handing me two of the packed containers still resting on the table.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” I hissed at him as he started heading toward the exit. “Wait, where are you going? You can’t just walk out of here with all those desserts. Get back here!”

“You need to lighten up,” he said as I caught up to him. “Here, have an apple tart. They’re fantastic. Really will turn that frown upside down. No? You don’t want one?”

I glared at him.

He turned to the hotel concierge. “Apple tart?”

“Yes, please!” She giggled as the handsome billionaire turned his megawatt smile and charm on her.

“You need to give me all those desserts right now,” I ordered. As I trotted after the dessert thief through the lobby of the fancy hotel, I stumbled over someone’s dog in a bag.

A black SUV was waiting in front of the hotel when the doormen swung open the massive French doors. The driver hopped out of the front seat and took the bags.

“Thank you for carrying these,” the dessert thief said, taking the boxes from me and climbing into the car. “I’ll be sure to write your boss about your excellent customer service.”

He winked at me, and I stood there with my mouth slack as the driver slammed the door and the car roared off.

God, billionaires were the worst.

I turned and stomped back into the ballroom.

“I so need to find a new job,” I muttered as I tried to rearrange the now-anemic-looking dessert table.

“Ooh, did you find a Prince Charming to whisk you off your feet and solve all your money problems?” Gia, my best friend and fellow server for the evening, skipped up next to me. “Or did you at least have a quick-and-dirty in the coat closet?”

She elbowed me.

“No.” I scowled in the direction of the exit.

“Too bad. You should have at least gotten his number. Once my divorce from the Beanie Baby–stealing, hoeing husband of mine goes through, I could use a pick-me-up.” She looked longingly at the dessert table.

“Oh, shoot, we should have brought more desserts. They were super popular tonight, huh?” She looked confused by my angry expression.

“I’m going to go clear off more tables,” I grumbled. 

And think evil thoughts about cookie-stealing billionaires.

Chapter 2

Walker

“Seriously. Who rejects me?”

“Who in their right mind wouldn’t?” Beck replied.

“She was the love of my life.” I flopped down on my brother’s couch and pulled a slightly crumbled cookie out of the bag.

“Don’t eat in my office,” Beck snapped.

I ignored him.

“Greg,” Beck said to our oldest brother, who had commandeered Beck’s office chair.

“When you showed up last night with a bag of ill-gotten food, you told me that it was for our little sisters,” Greg reminded me, his gaze remaining on the paperwork he was reviewing.

“Okay, one, I rescued this food. No one at that party was eating anything. Two, I get to skim some of the profits. I’m a COO. That’s what I do.” I took a bite of the cookie. “And three, this orange fudge swirl cookie sounded like a bad idea on paper, but the reality is quite pleasant.”

“You better not be skimming profits off Quantum Cyber,” Beck warned.

“You’re the CFO,” I reminded him. “You tell me if profits are being skimmed.”

Part of the cookie broke off and shattered all over Beck’s carpet.

“Oops.”

“Greg,” Beck complained. “Do something.”

Our eldest brother looked up and scowled at me.

“You’re covered in crumbs, Walker.”

“I’m disheveled. Unmoored. I found the love of my life, and she rejected me,” I said dramatically.

“It better not be one of the waitresses at the party. We don’t have sexual harassment insurance,” Greg warned.

“She’s not a server. She’s a dancer and a model,” I said, dusting the crumbs into the trash can Beck held out.

“So she’s an underemployed waitress who strips on the weekend,” Greg said snidely.

“And Walker claims he had good taste,” Beck said, snatching up the bag of desserts before I could reach for another one.

“Strippers make serious money. And it’s a surprisingly good workout swinging around one of those poles,” I informed him. 

After a moment, Beck said, “I don’t want to know how you know that.”

“Too bad, because I’m going to post the video on TikTok.” I snagged my brother’s laptop—Beck’s, not Greg’s. I wasn’t that stupid.

“Good. Then I’ll finally have an excuse to fire you,” Beck retorted.

“You couldn’t run this company without me. You’re the finance guy who locks himself up in his office, while I’m the personality of Quantum Cyber,” I reminded him. I opened a web browser and searched for the name of the catering company where the girl I had met last night worked.

“Hm. I don’t see her on the website.”

“Greg, are you seriously going to let him do this? He’s stalking a woman.”

“Stop it, Walker,” Greg said mildly.

“Considering he just stole that big project from Belle’s company, Greg’s not in the position to tell anyone how to manage their love life,” I said, navigating to a website for a company that delivered luxury gift baskets.

“All’s fair in war.” My eldest brother smirked.

“I think the quote is ‘All’s fair in love and war,’ but I grew up in a cult, so what do I know?”

“If it keeps him occupied instead of harassing me in my office, he can go on his dates,” Greg said to Beck.

“How dare you misconstrue brotherly affection as harassment, Greg? Just for that, you don’t get any stolen cookies.”

“I don’t like sweets,” he said, handing Beck back the stack of paperwork.

“Sure, showing up at a woman’s place of work in the middle of the night with a stuffed monkey was creepy and off-putting and not at all endearing. I certainly learned my lesson. But what woman would refuse a high-end gift basket? Do you think I should buy the one that comes with a loaf of bread?” I asked, turning the laptop around.

“I think you need to get out of my office and stop wasting everyone’s time.” Beck grabbed my arm. 

“You’re right. The bread does come off as a little try-hard. The birthday cake gift basket is the way to go. Who doesn’t like balloons?”

“There’s a helium shortage,” Greg said. His mouth twitched ever so slightly. “She might get offended.”

Beck fumed, his temper starting to rise. “Are you indulging this behavior?”

“Your problem, Beck, is that you don’t have a winning personality. Look at Greg. Sure, he’s looking a little rough around the edges, but he’s making baby steps to move on from his unhealthy obsession with Belle,” I said, shoving a flash drive into Beck’s computer so I could download the keylogger data from the malware I had on his hard drive and get his credit card info.

“Stick with me, Greg. You and I can go on double dates. I bet the cookie gestapo has a friend.”

Greg scowled at me. “It will be a cold day in hell before you and I go on a double date.”

“No problem. I’ll give you the pre-date PowerPoint,” I said, copying Beck’s credit card info into the gift basket site. “The trick is to keep it spicy on the first date. That’s how you get the really interesting women.”

“They’re only interesting because you dump them after three weeks, so you only get the very best of their personality,” Beck said.

“It’s probably more that they’re dedicated gold diggers. I don’t know how any of those women have the stomach to go on not just one date with him but multiple,” Greg said.

Beck snorted then heard his phone chime and pulled it out of his pocket. Rage settled over his face as he read the notification.

“What the fuck? Did you use my credit card on that fucking gift basket?” He stormed over to me and snatched the laptop.

“Hey! I wasn’t done shopping.”

“Out of my office. And I’m canceling that order.”

“It’s nonrefundable,” I said, hoisting the bag of desserts and scooting out of the office.

My brothers always got worked up over the smallest issues. Not me, though. You had one life, and I intended to live mine to the fullest. It didn’t matter if the women I dated were gold diggers or not. I only spent a few weeks with each of them. Then I was on to the next shiny female object.

I wasn’t my father; I wasn’t looking for a wife or a family. I already had my brothers, my sisters, and all my billions. I was here for a good time.

I grabbed another cookie from the bag.

The server from the party yesterday had sounded like she might make the next few weeks very interesting. And tasty.

Chapter 3

Ana

“Um, I’m sorry. What do you mean you’re not going to come pick up your ferrets?”

The young woman on the other end of the line gave an exaggerated sigh. “My new boyfriend is afraid of ferrets. He says they look like furry snakes.”

One of the ferrets around my feet paused and looked up to me as if to say, Your life is a wreck.

Trust me, I know. I glared at it.

“Our pet-sitting agreement was for one week while you were at your bachelorette week in Cabo,” I reminded her, trying not to sound hysterical. One of the ferrets climbed in my purse and started rooting around.

“I’ll Venmo you some more money, geez,” she said. “Women are supposed to help other women.”

“I really need you to just pick up your animals. It’s been five weeks. Hello? Hello? Ugh.” I glared at the phone as it chimed with a notification that I had received money on Venmo.

“You all,” I told the ferrets, who were squeaking at one another as they raced around the living room, “need to be better houseguests. Clearly, we are all stuck with each other for another week at least. God, I hope it’s only a week. So let’s try to coexist peac—”

From the kitchen came a scream and the sound of pans clattering to the floor.

A woman in a flight attendant uniform pointed at the cabinet when she saw me race in.

“You said the ferrets were temporary when I signed the sublease,” she reminded me.

“Yes, their mom is having some personal issues right now,” I explained weakly, picking up the large stockpot. A ferret jumped out to join his friends.

“One was in my bed when I got home last night,” another woman in a flight-attendant uniform complained.

“I am so sorry about that,” I assured her. “I’ll make sure they stay out of your rooms.”

“If I wasn’t so busy, I’d find somewhere else to live,” the flight attendant added, annoyed.

“Sorry,” I said again, gritting my teeth into a smile.

I was an introvert. The happiest I had ever been was when I finally made enough money to afford the down payment on a luxury Frost Tower condo all to myself.

How the mighty have fallen.

It had four bedrooms, each with their own en suite bathroom. I didn’t even want to have people over. I just loved having the space. And it had two floors! With a big kitchen!

Of course, when my popular-food-blog income had dried up, all that space suddenly started looking pretty expensive. Now, instead of a dedicated office and craft room, I had so many roommates that the people on Noah’s Ark would have felt sorry for me.

At least the flight attendants were rarely home, which I could not say about my other roommates.

It’s good to have friends, I reminded myself as Gia paced around the living room, waving her arms and yelling into her phone.

“Ya think, Carlos? Of course I’m not just going to let you walk off with my children...Yeah, screw you too! Maybe I wouldn’t have to call them my children if you weren’t so busy banging the receptionist at your office. You could have been at home, and we could have been a real family...Oh, fuck you! Your grandmother’s a bitch too. My nonna is so much better than yours, and her lasagna is better too. Yeah, up yours! Fuck you! Who cares if it’s Stouffer’s? It’s still better!”

I gingerly grabbed the phone from her before she could throw it. I knew she could not afford a new one.

“I swear! Men. And he better not take the tags off those Beanie Babies,” Gia vowed.

“You have got to be the only person still into those,” I said.

“I can’t help it. They’re just so adorable. And I know he has my Princess Bear hidden somewhere. That rat bastard.” She dumped her purse out on the couch.

“Maybe we can just find you a new one online,” I suggested delicately. “Is it really worth your time to fight over those toys?”

Gia looked at me like I was crazy. “The Princess Bear is worth half a million dollars.”

“Holy shit. Why are they still so expensive?”

“It was a first edition,” she said darkly, pulling out her nail file.

“Did you give him what for?” An elderly woman in a leopard-print dress and brightly dyed red hair bustled into the living room, laden with shopping bags.

“Nonna,” Gia complained, “you can’t keep spending money.”

“These are presents from my sugar daddy,” she exclaimed. “And I brought dinner. You have to keep up your strength.”

She kissed Gia and me on both cheeks. “You need to put some more meat on those hips, Ana. I heard you almost landed a billionaire,” Nonna said as she hustled to the kitchen. With plates in her hands, she returned to the living room.

Gia had already fished the wine out of one of the bags.

“I don’t want a billionaire. I still have a junk drawer of issues with my own billionaire father,” I reminded Nonna.

That was one of the reasons why my condo had meant so much to me. It proved that I could make it on my own, without having to sell my soul and rely on my father.

Guess I was wrong.

It’s fine. You have roommates, a pet-sitting job, and a catering job, and it’s going to be fine. Totally fine.

Gia poured me a glass of wine.

“Have some chicken parmesan,” Nonna said, shoving a plate of piping-hot food in front of me.

“Yum!” Gia said, stealing a forkful. “You’re doing the best in the man department, Nonna. Nothing better than free Camelli’s.”

“Yep! Even though it took me an hour to get him to come, he finally did it. Said he’s paid a number of prostitutes and I was the only one who made his dick work again.”

Gia’s paying rent. Gia’s paying rent, I chanted.

“So, no luck on the Beanie Babies, huh?” I asked, changing the subject from the sex lives of elderly Italian Americans.

“I say we break into his office and see if it’s there and steal it back.” Nonna pumped a fist.

“Please don’t,” I begged. “You can’t afford to get arrested.”

“But once I have those Beanie Babies, I can move out and you can bring your billionaire here for a booty call,” Gia said and took a sip of the red wine.

“I’ll give you some tips that will knock his socks off,” Nonna assured me.

“...I think I’m good.” I took a large bite of the pasta dish, letting the crisp fried chicken and the comforting red sauce wash away my problems.

“If you don’t want to try your hand at reeling in a billionaire, you can always join OnlyFans. This lady I play bridge with makes a killing,” Nonna told me.

I almost choked on my wine. “How is that any better?”

“You can just do photos of your feet,” Gia told me. “Guys will pay a lot of money for it, apparently. Carlos spent thousands on that stupid website.”

“Or sell your dirty underwear,” Nonna told me.

I ate more pasta.

The front door opened.

“Special delivery!” Elsie called out. Like I said, I had a lot of roommates.

The ferrets made a mad dash to the front door. I raced after them before they could escape. I should have just let them go, because my nosy neighbor was standing in the hall, talking loudly at Elsie.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Trudy said, pointing at the ferrets.

I scooped them up.

“Are you running some sort of cat house here? I see women coming and going at all hours of the night. My poor husband is in a state. Bernard constantly mentions it. And those flight attendants. Are those uniforms even legal? I should file a complaint with the FAA.” Trudy crossed her arms.

“I think they fly for a private jet company,” I said.

Hmpf. Trudy frowned.

“If this was actually some sort of brothel,” I added, trying to hold the wiggling animals still, “then there’d be men coming and going, right?”

“Honestly,” Trudy huffed. “You’re doing something untoward. A man doesn’t send a woman a gift basket like that unless he’s getting something out of the deal.” She pointed at the large package in Elsie’s arms.

My friend gave me a helpless look.

“I’m on the HOA board, you know,” Trudy continued, “and I’m not going to stand for this. Frost Tower is an upscale building. You used to be such a nice girl until you fell in with the wrong crowd, Anastasia.”

“Thank you for your concern, Trudy,” Elsie said, shifting into her no-nonsense customer-service mode. “We’ll be sure to have a talk with the other girls.”

She followed me inside, and I leaned against the door to shut it.

“You’d think rich old ladies would be off traveling or cruising. It can’t be that interesting to spy on our front door, can it?” I asked, setting the ferrets down and following Elsie into the living room.

“I’m sure Bernard is excited about the daily cat walk.” Elsie snickered.

“Yeah, because these catering uniforms are so sexy.” I rolled my eyes.

“Oh, he’s not looking at you. He’s looking at me,” Nonna said proudly when we walked into the living room. “His wife won’t come out and say it, but I know she’s jealous of me.” Nonna pushed up her ample chest. “Saved up four months of Social Security checks for these babies. Best money I ever spent.”

“Any more of that wine left?” I asked helplessly.

“No, but maybe there’s some in this gift basket,” Elsie said, tugging at the large pink bow.

“Is it from a client?” I asked her.

Elsie gave me an odd look. “No, it’s from Walker Svensson.”

“A Svensson brother?” Gia squealed. “You didn’t tell me your handsome dessert thief was a Svensson brother. OMG, they are so hot!” She fanned herself then pulled a knife out of her bra and proceeded to cut the plastic wrap off the gift basket. “I heard their dicks are, like, ten feet long.”

“Sounds like a slight exaggeration.”

Gia hefted up a bottle of wine from the basket.

“Are you sure you didn’t blow him at the party last night?” she asked, uncorking the bottle with an expert hand. “A man doesn’t send a gift basket like this unless he’s thanking you for something.”

“Or he’s asking you on a date,” Elsie said, handing me the card that had come with the gift basket.

“No freaking way.” I scanned it.

“I thought you had money problems,” Gia prodded me.

“That I have now solved because I am in control of my own life and have taken in roommates.” I crumpled up the card. 

Another crash came from the kitchen, followed by more yelling from a flight attendant and irate squawks from a ferret.

I grabbed a bottle of wine and some of the snacks from the gift basket.

“Peace offering?” I said sheepishly, handing a gift to the flight attendant in exchange for a gravy-covered ferret.

Gia was digging into the Portuguese cheeses when I returned to the living room.

“My life is crazy enough without Walker in it,” I told my friends. “I’m telling Walker no thanks. We should send the gift basket back. That’s only fair,” I said, sending a terse text to the number on the card.

“I’ve licked all the snack packets,” Gia deadpanned. “No take-backs.”

“You could write a blog post about the gift basket,” Elsie told me, serving herself some of the pasta. “It could be a funny article. Might get some hits.”

“Or you could try selling it to a magazine,” Gia suggested. “‘How to Win a Guy in Ten Days.’”

“Isn’t that already a movie?”

“No, that’s How to Lose a Guy,” Nonna declared. “Matthew McConaughey is lip-smacking good in that movie.”

“Oh!” Gia clapped her hands. “You need to do ‘How to Catfish a Guy in Ten Days.’”

“Why would I want to do that?” I wrinkled my nose and opened a bag of candied walnuts.

“Because it’s funny. You always wanted to write for TV. I bet HBO would make a movie out of the article if it got enough traction. And you already have an interested billionaire.” Gia toasted me.

“Hard pass. Even if a magazine is interested in an article, I’m not going to catfish Walker. I can’t stand him. And I certainly don’t want to waste my free time with him.”

“Come on,” Elsie cajoled, pulling out her laptop. “You have to get back in the writing game. Stop making excuses. You’re moping around. Time to seize the day. Everyone has setbacks now and then. This is a chance to reinvent yourself.”

I didn’t feel confident as Elsie forced me to send query emails to various magazines. I had failed epically once already. Maybe I had already peaked. Was it all downhill from here?

As long as I didn’t have to deal with Walker, then it wasn’t all bad. Things could always be worse, right?

Chapter 4

Walker

“You aren’t wearing your hat,” Luna said accusingly as I rushed around the kitchen, trying to set the food out before my brothers arrived.

“I spend a lot of money to make my hair look this good, darling,” I reminded her as I fanned the cheese slices and cold cuts out on a platter. “A tinfoil hat ruins my look.”

“But they can hear you,” she whispered, staring at me with large gray eyes, her blond head fully encased in a pointed tinfoil hat.

“Not to pat myself on the back,” I said as I scooped out several containers of gourmet crab salad into a glass bowl, “but I kind of sort of own a company that supplies spy equipment to the government, and I can assure you my walls are not bugged.”

“The aliens have better technology than we do.” My sister glared at me. “They’re listening to us right now. There was an article in Alien Times magazine about several people who claim to have seen them. And there have been several unexplained events lately.” She held up a five-inch binder stuffed with newspaper clippings. “They’re in league with the giant voles that live under LA.”

“Damn it, Greg was right. I do let you watch too much TV.”

“Kim Kardashian is starting a line of antisurveillance fashion,” Luna protested as I gave the potato-and-cheddar soup in the Crock-Pot a stir.

“Yeah, our company is developing an algorithm to counteract that, but good luck, Kim. Here, why don’t you help me set out all the desserts?” I said, handing her the Tupperware containers, hoping to distract her. “They’re going to be here—” I heard, then a furious knocking on the door. “Now.”

I inspected my reflection in the mirror then flung the front door open.

“Welcome to the sandwich and salad bar,” I boomed to my siblings.

The oldest, Greg, managed Svensson Investment and seemed to think that having hundreds of billions of dollars under management entitled him to boss everyone else around. The next oldest was Beck, who had no sense of humor or appreciation for desserts. Mike, cofounder of Greyson Hotel Group with our half brother, Archer, didn’t know that when Quantum Cyber programmed his hotels’ high-tech security systems, I always issued myself an access card for the pool and the buffet. Then came yours truly, the cream of the crop as far as Svensson brothers went. After me came Liam, who shared my fondness for stolen food. The youngest was Carl, who worked as an account manager at Svensson Investment and liked to think he was hot shit now that he had a girlfriend. 

My younger sisters had been parceled out to my brothers and me, while my dozens of younger brothers lived in a dog pound in Harrogate. Christmas was fun at the estate, especially because I didn’t stay and clean up.

Beck gave me a dirty look and pushed past me into the airy condo, followed by the rest of my family—at least, the family members who lived in Manhattan.

If you ignored Luna’s serial-killer conspiracy wall off the dining area, complete with yarn and newspaper clippings, my condo was a quintessential high-end bachelor pad.

“Yikes,” Mike said when he came face-to-face with Leif Svensson’s mugshot.

“She’s convinced Dad is up to something. She’s obsessed. But her therapist said this helps her process,” I hissed at him. “Luna’s worried about the upcoming trial. But she seems to be transferring her anxiety onto a potential alien invasion, so I think that’s progress.”

“Right.” 

“Walker,” Liam complained, “you can’t offer to host dinner if you’re not even going to supply enough food.”

Shocked cries of concern came from my sisters—and also some of my brothers, who were grown men and really needed to get it together.

“There is plenty of food,” I said over the din. “Who do you think I am? I mean, look at this.” I motioned to a large bowl heaped with lobster salad. “I spent all night slaving away.”

The timer dinged, and I took the buttered rolls out of the oven. “Not to mention I baked all this bread.”

“He ordered catering,” Luna told our siblings.

“Look, you can’t complain about how aliens are running the world when you’re the one over here snitching on people,” I told her. “The conspiracy is coming from inside the house.”

“Like anyone was going to believe that you cooked all of this,” Beck said, grabbing a plate.

“Someone’s still touchy about his carpet. I hear you and see you,” I said, resting a hand on my older brother’s chest.

He batted it away.

I clapped my hands. “Let’s everyone remain civilized and grab our food in an orderly fashion.” My phone went off as my siblings ignored me. “Damn it.”

“Watch your mouth,” Greg barked, trying to keep the two toddler girls at his feet from climbing up the side of the table to grab food.

“We can always order pizza if we run out,” I told them. Then I turned back to the phone, scowling.

“She didn’t like my gift basket. The gift basket always seals the deal.”

“The older you get, the fewer women are willing to put up with your crap,” Beck said acerbically as he handed a plate to Kiki, who raced out to eat on the terrace with her sisters.

“Is Walker losing his touch?” Mike asked with a smirk.

“Of course not,” I said, more terse than I intended.

I was never rejected. All women wanted to be the next Mrs. Svensson.

Except for Ana.

Just walk away. There are other women in the city.

But the thought nagged at me.

What didn’t she like about me? I was a likable guy. Shit, I just landed a multibillion-dollar contract for Quantum Cyber because the CEO of a drone company had fun playing disc golf with me.

What if I was turning into my father?

I glanced over to his picture on the dining room wall. In the image, he smirked like he was the one with the upper hand even though he was being booked into federal prison.

I’m nothing like him. I shrugged and gave my brothers a nonchalant smile. “Can’t win them all.” See. Totally cool.

But as I kept my sisters from stabbing one another over the last slice of cheese, I couldn’t help wondering if I could do anything to change her mind.

Chapter 5

Ana

I stared blearily at the Word document on my laptop screen. I was trying to write a blog post about the gift basket I’d received. However, knowing that I would make maybe twenty dollars off the ad revenue from it wasn’t motivating me to write.

“Twenty dollars is twenty dollars,” I reminded myself and took a sip of my tea.

My phone chimed.

Walker: Too bad the gift basket didn’t do it for you. Hope you don’t mind me shooting my shot. Hope you enjoyed the wine too.

Walker: Cross my heart you’ll never hear from me again. I’ll even block your number from my phone so I’m not tempted to show up at your next party and steal your cookies.

Walker: Not in a weird way, but damn, girl, those macarons were delicious.

Walker: You should have tried one.

Anastasia: I would have if you hadn’t stolen them all.

Walker: I rescued them. They went to a good home.

“Good freaking riddance. I hate entitled billionaires.”

The cursor blinked on the Word document, taunting me.

“Fuck it, no one’s reading this anyway,” I grumbled as I began to type the introduction, letting it all out—the desert thieving, the nosy neighbor, the ferrets.

Across the hall from me, one of the flight attendants was having very loud sex with a pilot who had shown up late last night.

Suddenly, I heard screaming. The pilot yelled, “Oh my god, it’s a rat. A rat!”

I raced next door.

“Do something about these animals,” the flight attendant shrieked at me when I opened the door, one hand firmly over my eyes.

A high-heeled shoe hit me in the stomach, and I doubled over. “Oof!”

“I was aiming for that rat,” the flight attendant yelled.

I peeked through my fingers in time to see a ferret whiz past me into the hall, a dress sock in its mouth.

“I am so, so sorry,” I said, slamming the door and racing down the hall after the ferret. “Maybe I do have too many people here.”

“No,” Elsie drawled from the kitchen, “never.”

She picked up the sock with a paper towel.

“I’m trying a new recipe,” she explained, gesturing with a spatula. “I’m catering a big wedding, and the groom wants chicken nuggets—but upscale.”

“That’s all you’re serving?” I asked, taking the sock from her and tossing it in the laundry room.

“It’s one item on the menu, but the bride is trying to let the groom have elements he wants in the wedding.”

“He doesn’t just want to get catering from Chick-fil-A?” I asked.

“He does, but they’re compromising.” Elsie rolled her eyes.

“Huh.”

“He’s rich.”

“Ah.”

My phone went off again.

“Guess you haven’t gotten much done today with all these distractions,” Elsie remarked, turning back to the nuggets.

Not that I was going to admit it to Elsie, who ran her own catering business and was a cutthroat former accountant, but I was glad for any excuse to procrastinate on the article.

I scanned the email I had just received. “Oh shit,” I said, clapping a hand over my mouth.

“What? It’s not your dad, is it?” Elsie asked, sounding concerned.

“Worse.” I handed her the phone.

Else skimmed the email then grinned and punched me lightly on the arm.

“Girl, this is great news! The magazine wants you to write an article for them.” She cleared her throat and read aloud: “Dear Anastasia, we are excited and intrigued by your article pitch for ‘How to Catfish a Guy in Ten Days.’ We have read your work on your food blog and can’t wait to see the final article.”

Elsie grinned. “Ana, they’re going to pay you five hundred dollars up front and five hundred more once you finish the article. That’s amazing!” 

“What’s amazing?” Gia stumbled into the kitchen, yawning and running her acrylic nails through her thick, curly hair. “Why are you all up so early?”

“It’s ten in the morning,” Elsie said pointedly.

“Ooh, are those chicken nuggets?” Gia grabbed one. “Yummy.”

“Guess who got a job,” I said with a grimace.

“Oh my god, Ana, did the magazine call you back?” Gia jumped up and down, clapping her hands.

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I babbled. “And it took them hardly any time to reply. Maybe it’s a scam. Who writes back that soon?”

“It’s Ms. Millennial magazine,” Elsie said. “They, Tech Biz, and Vanity Rag are some of the only magazines in the industry to still turn a profit. They’re legit.”

“And,” Gia said, reading through the email, “they think they could spin it into a book deal. Maybe even a movie deal. This is so exciting!”

I poured ground coffee into the fancy espresso machine, which I wished I had never bought because that money could have been used for my mortgage payment.

“It’s too much pressure. I don’t think I can do it.”

“As your friend and accountant who works for free,” Elsie said, pressing her hands together, “any income you can generate is necessary if you don’t want to lose your house.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Right.”

I was hurtling toward a disaster. Gone were the days when I could have a lazy day of writing and then eat a sumptuous dinner. I needed to hustle.

I blew out a breath. “So I need to catfish a guy, huh?”

“In ten days. Starting from now,” Gia added, stealing another nugget.

“What?” I squawked.

“They want an article from you in two weeks. They need it in their next issue.”

“Oh my god, how am I supposed to find a guy to catfish?” Was it too early to start drinking?

“Online dating! Let’s go!” Gia pumped her fist.

“I can’t. It’s too much pressure. What if I catfish a guy who’s a lunatic or a serial killer?” I grabbed the cup of espresso.

“Then your article will be even more sensational.” Gia blew a kiss.

“Just catfish Walker,” Elsie suggested.

“But he already knows who she is,” Gia countered, stealing a sip of my espresso.

“No he doesn’t.” Elsie shook her head. “He just sent a random gift basket addressed to, quote, ‘the dessert gestapo with the bangs,’ who I assumed was Anastasia. He doesn’t know anything about her. Ana, you could pretend to be anyone with this guy.”

I swallowed. “Catfishing is supposed to be, like, an old guy pretending to be a handsome model to snag an unsuspecting woman. I’m just me pretending to be me.”

“No,” Gia countered, putting her hands on my shoulders. “You’re going to be you pretending to be a better, hotter, richer, socialite version of yourself. You’re going to be the perfect girl, the kind all the men want. Then you’ll show the world how to snag a billionaire hook, line, and sinker.”

She clapped her hands. “Get your laptop. We’ve got work to do.”

While I stress-ate chicken nuggets, Gia sat at my computer, updating my social media profiles and the description of myself on my blog.

“An amateur food lover, photographer, model, and dancer who loves hiking and outdoorsy stuff.” Elsie snorted as she read the description. “When have you done that much physical exertion?”

“More importantly, when has she ever modeled or danced?” Gia said, saving the updates.

“Good point. I’m signing you up for a modeling agency, Ana,” Elsie said, whipping out her own laptop.

“I don’t look like a model.” I chewed on my lip.

“You’re tall,” Gia said, “and you have long hair and good cheekbones.”

“But my hips.”

“Swimsuit model.” Gia swatted my thigh. 

“Sign up for a local ballet studio too,” Elsie said. “There’s one on Sixty-Fourth Street. I passed it when I used to work at that bagel place. You used to dance ballet. Check mark. You’re a dancer.”

“It’s been a long time,” I protested.

“I’m sure it’s like riding a bike,” Elsie said firmly. “I’m sending you the sign-up link.”

“You still have all your nice fashionable clothes, right?” Gia asked. “We’re going to make Walker think that you’re a manic-pixie-dream-girl socialite who’s there to help him self-actualize.” She stood up and headed for the kitchen. “You need wine.”

“It’s not even noon,” Elsie said.

“It’s never too early for wine,” Gia retorted, coming back to the table with a bottle.

I picked at my fingernails as I signed up for the ballet class. Flashbacks to Madame Tatiana slapping me with a ruler danced in my vision.

“Maybe I could be a flower arranger instead of a dancer.”

“Guys have a thing for ballerinas. Half the girls at the party last night danced at the New York Ballet,” Gia said, uncorking the bottle. “Ask a friend to go with you.”

“Not me,” Elsie said. “I have flat feet.”

Anastasia: Hey, do you want to do a ballet class with me? *grimace emoji*

Belle: No.

Anastasia: Pleeeaaaassseee.

Anastasia: I can’t go by myself. I still have dance class trauma.

Belle: Ugh. Fine.

Belle: The things I do for you.

“Now that everything is ready, we need to take some more photos of you. You know, make it look like you’re actually interested in what you say you are,” Gia said, heading to my bedroom.

“I have to go hiking?” I asked in horror.

“Through the magic of Photoshop.” Gia wiggled her fingers.

“But I won’t have the pictures on my social media,” I said, feeling concerned.

“Just tell Walker that you use Instagram Stories and then flip through some of the photos in front of him when you two are on your date,” Elsie suggested. “Now, let’s find some cute hiking clothes.”

***

After posing on my balcony so that I could Photoshop myself into stock photos of rugged landscapes, I did another photo shoot in my ballerina getup.

I already had plenty of photos of me eating fancy meals, so now I was ready for my date with Walker.

Except...

“Crap,” I yelled, jumping up from the couch, where I was photo editing, and sending the ferrets tumbling to the ground. “I told Walker to get lost.”

“So text him back that you changed your mind,” Elsie said.

“I’ll sound like a gold digger,” I argued, “like I just now looked him up online and saw that he had money and suddenly became interested.”

Gia grabbed my phone and scrolled through the messages I had exchanged with Walker. “We can work with this.”

I watched her type on the phone.

Anastasia: I am open to meeting up with you if you bring me a mini cheesecake!

Anastasia: I’m a fan of a hot guy carrying dessert.

“Don’t you think that sounds thirsty?” Elsie asked uncertainly.

“Too late. It’s sent.” Gia set the phone on the table.

We all waited. Even though I had been lukewarm on the idea of an article earlier, now I was on board, especially once I looked up how much HBO typically paid for the rights to make a movie based on a book.

The phone chimed.

“The plan is in motion,” Gia crowed.

“Uh, or not,” Elsie added.

Service Error: This number is not able to receive messages from you.

“Damn it.”

“Dang, did he literally mean he wasn’t going to receive any more messages from you?” Gia said, scrolling through the phone.

“What am I going to do?” I wailed.

“We’re going to find you another date. Any date.”

Nausea churned through me as Gia and Elsie quickly made me a dating profile and began swiping through the carousel of men.

It will be fine, I told myself anxiously. You didn’t even like Walker anyway.

Chapter 6

Walker

“See, I’m absolutely a hundred percent not like you,” I told the photo of my father that hung on the wall of my condo.

I had blocked Ana’s number in my phone. I couldn’t send or receive calls or texts from her now.

“I’m moving on, unlike you. You’re crazy. I’m not,” I said to his picture.

“Can you hear him too?” Luna asked in a raspy voice.

I jumped. “Did you just teleport here?”

She looked up at me with solemn eyes. “I found a frog in the toilet. It’s an omen.”

“That’s unnerving,” I said when she showed me the green tree frog in her cupped hands. “Let’s take him outside.”

When my little sisters had arrived, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had had a rough transition from life in a cult to life in civilization. Learning about the big wide world had been exciting, however, even if Greg hadn’t let us completely run wild.

But Luna didn’t seem excited. She just seemed apprehensive and stressed about everything.

She walked beside me with her back straight and head forward as we took the frog to the small park across the street.

“Bye, little froggy,” I called when she released him.

“Do you think he’s going to see his family?” Luna asked in concern.

“I’m sure he is,” I told her, squirting hand sanitizer into her hands.

“Do you think he’s seeing his dad?”

I paused. “Maybe.”

“I hope his dad is nice.”

I patted the tinfoil hat on her head.

“Maybe he ran away because his dad wasn’t nice.” She looked up at me with concern still in her eyes.

“Or,” I said, bending down so I was at eye level with her. “Maybe he was looking for his big brother and you just helped him along the way.”

My sister gave me a small smile. “I hope so.”

***

After delivering Luna to the Svensson Investment office, where Greg had set our sisters up with their own little homeschooling space after their sequential expulsion from their fancy private school, I headed over to my own office.

Beck and Owen Frost, the CEO of Quantum Cyber, were in the conference room.

I set down my bag and grabbed my brother’s coffee to steal a sip.

When he swatted my hand away, I told him, “Sharing is caring.”

 “You’re three hours late.”

“This is supposed to be a family-friendly company,” I said, “and I had a family emergency.”

“Is Luna all right?” Beck asked.

“Just worried about a frog she found in the toilet.”

“Don’t tell Tess about that,” Beck warned. “She’ll freak out.”

“That’s good Luna found a new hobby,” Owen said.

“She still thinks aliens are listening to us through the smart fridge, but you know, baby steps.”

***

I had a late meeting with the sales team and prepped the VP of sales for our big pitch the next week.

It was dark by the time we were done. Beck was still working in his office.

“What’s the point of getting to work early if you’re just going to stay late?”

Beck grunted. “Tess took Enola and Annie to see a movie.”

“You didn’t want some bonding time?” I nudged him.

“It’s about singing ponies.”

“And I’m sure the movie studio also has lots of obnoxious singing toys to go along with it,” I said cheerfully.

“God help me.”

“You want a ride?” I asked him. “Or do you live here now?”

He sighed. “Sure.”

I was still worried about Luna. Now that she was finally free from the cult, I wanted her to have fun, not be scared.

“Corgi macarons,” I decided and told my driver to head over to a fancy Korean bakery.

“I don’t know why I even ride with you,” Beck complained.

“Because I make life fun. Besides, I’m doing this for our sister. Maybe with enough coaxing, she’ll drop the conspiracy theories. To be fair,” I added, “at least she’s using it as motivation to learn how to code. Though a missile home-defense system might not be the safest. But some idiots at the Department of Defense might buy it.” 

“Holy shit,” Beck muttered.

“Cheer up, bro. We’re here.” The car pulled up in front of the bakery.

Minimalist neon signs of happy dancing corgis and smiling ice cream cones decorated the window. The pink and white lights lit up the interior, with soft wood accents all framing a familiar girl.

A girl who looked like she was in the middle of the worst date ever.