“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, his voice husky, as he held her tight.

“We had an unexpected guest.”

“I heard.”

After a moment, Regan looked up at him and smiled. “What, no Chinese food?”

4

S itting in the back of the cab as it sped toward Manhattan, Lorraine Lily was at her wit’s end. Hot, tired, jet-lagged, and fearful, she’d left a message for Clay Nardellini, her fellow actor, on his cell phone. She hoped he hadn’t gotten a part that had taken him out of town. That would be awful.

Lorraine didn’t know what to do next. She hadn’t even told the driver yet that her destination had changed. There was no way she was going to give Conrad the satisfaction of showing up in Connecticut looking for shelter. How could he have sold the loft behind my back? she thought furiously. She quivered at the thought of what she’d left in the safe.

I wish I could just turn around and get on the next plane back to England. All her joy at being praised by the British critics as a “sexy, interesting actress to keep an eye on,” had evaporated. On the plane, she’d been thinking up witty things she’d say, little stories she could tell when she finally was asked to be a guest on the late-night talk shows. She was imagining all the things she would do when she was famous. Now, just a few hours later, she was without her luggage and wondering where she was going to spend the night.

I’m going to have to get a hotel room, she thought. I need to take a shower and I need to be in the city. I’m not leaving until I clear out that safe. If Clay doesn’t call back, I’ll have to figure out another plan. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, thinking regretfully about the loft that she loved. Now those Reillys had their mitts on it. This couldn’t be worse, she thought. It just couldn’t. As the cab rumbled along, she pondered which hotel she should grace her presence with.

“Holy Toledo!” the cab driver blurted.

Lorraine opened her eyes, looked ahead, then lunged forward. They were approaching the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge. The silhouette of Manhattan was black and spooky. “Oh, my God!” she cried.

“I saw the whole thing!” the driver crowed as he fumbled to switch on the radio. “It’s like someone flipped a switch. I hope it’s nothing bad—”

An announcer’s excited voice came through the rear speaker, loud and clear. Lorraine felt as if he were shouting in her ear. “The lights have just gone out all over the city—we will keep you updated with all the latest news…”

“I have to get a hotel room!” Lorraine cried.

“What?” the driver asked, begrudgingly lowering the volume.

“I have to check into a hotel!”

“A hotel?”

“Yes. It’s a long and sad story.”

“We’ve all got problems, lady. Let me tell you something, you’re not going to have much luck getting a hotel room now. The city is packed with tourists and business people attending conventions. Some of them are probably stuck on elevators as we speak. Others won’t be able to get up to their rooms. Finding a room at all, never mind one on a low floor, will be like finding a needle in a haystack.”