The problem was, Francesca wasn’t fully formed in her head yet, which meant her act wasn’t consistent. Which meant Francesca couldn’t be trusted to show up under pressure and save her from exposure. Not yet.
The Uber driver had made that painfully clear. He hadn’t responded to Francesca’s charming banter. He hadn’t backed off when Frankie’s edge slipped through. He’d just been rude. And skeptical. And utterly unimpressed.
Clearly, Francesca needed work. When she was on point, there wouldn’t be any negativity activated. Francesca B invited love, not suspicion.
Frankie had cobbled her together from the worst parts of two women she knew. The annoying weirdness of a quasi-friend, Sophia E. The curated quirks of a former friend turned enemy, Isabella P. Then she’d added a very rich daddy.
Because, as her therapist liked to remind her, Frankie had unresolved daddy issues. Her relationships with both women were best saved for a two-martini lunch. She didn’t particularly like either one of them.
Still, she was observant enough to know both women charmed the masses without even trying. Frankie didn’t. Hell, she couldn’t charm her way out of a paper bag, even on her best day. It just wasn’t in her DNA.
Which meant she’d spend the next two months pretending to be a mix of the two. Not because she liked it, but because it upped her odds at getting through this gig without being recognized.
Also, it gave her the best chance of fooling the spy Mr. Uptight had no doubt planted in Gi Gi’s Crossing. If that spy reported back that she’d become someone light, effortless, and unbothered by small-town drama, she’d be out of this mess faster.
Too bad Francesca was the exact opposite of Frankie. She’d been called merciless, calculated, and burdened. Not exactly adjectives that screamed likable.
When her therapist wasn’t fixated on her daddy issues, she liked to remind Frankie that her core characteristics were unappealing on paper.
Frankie had argued they were armor. Necessary protection after growing up wearing secondhand underwear and eating meals at food shelters run by the mothers of the meanest girls at her school.
Her therapist had just smirked, like, “That’s the best you’ve got? I’ve heard worse.”
And maybe she had a point.
Maybe Frankie’s baggage wasn’t the heaviest. But that didn’t make it any easier to carry.
She’d just learned how to make it look effortless. How to be viciously unconcerned with other people’s feelings or their opinions.
College had been her reset button. She’d chosen a school far from the people who’d defined her worstyears. Her freshman year at Drury, she’d enrolled in a course called Fashion Fundamentals. It changed everything.
The class required her to devour fashion magazines.Vogue. Cosmo. Naked Runway.Page by page, she learned about power poses, couture, and influence.
That semester, she’d built herself into someone the world couldn’t ignore. And with that transformation came a new goal.
Not just a job in fashion. The job.
Editor in Chief at a major magazine.
She’d transferred to NYU her sophomore year and never looked back.
She’d reached her career goal while working atVogue. At thirty, she’d been a long shot, according to everyone, including herself. Landing the position had come with champagne, congratulations, and a heavy dose of imposter syndrome.
The fear of being found out followed her like a shadow. That someone would see past the armor, past the designer labels, and recognize the disposable child her father had once decided she was.
So she’d stayed distant her first year as Editor-in-Chief. Kept the walls up. When that worked, she never bothered taking them down.
Now, thanks to Mr. Uptight’s demand that she prove she’d learned the art of niceness, she was stuck in Gi Gi’s Crossing.
No armor. No control. Just her and the fear of being seen.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The sudden thump of fists on the bathroom door caused her to jump.
“What?” she snapped, slipping into her old self.
“Don’t use all the hot water,” Marcus said. “Save some in case you fall in another puddle on your way to your cottage.”
