Ms. Birdie sighed. “Maybe I am wise enough to know some questions do not come with answers. Only decisions.”
Frankie hated philosophical crap.
“One last piece of advice. Be sure you are willing to live with the consequences of your actions. Some deeds cannot be overcome.”
“What does that even mean? And do not tell me to figure it out.”
“Your father did something you consider unforgivable. A day may come when you forgive him, not for his sake but for your own. That does not rebuild the bridge he burned. Some bridges stay burned. When that happens, you walk separate paths and make peace from a distance.”
Frankie exhaled. “So I should let this go? Pretend Marcus was only protecting his privacy and his friend and move on like it does not matter? No revenge?”
“I am saying you must decide what matters more. Punishing him or preserving a bridge you may want to cross again someday.”
Frankie’s nostrils flared. She thought about the advice, thought about him, and shook her head.
No. She did not want that bridge.
But what if she obliterated it? Would she regret it?
She hated the uncertainty. Hated that Ms. Birdie was making her think instead of react.
“Right. I’ll consider the state of all bridges while plotting my revenge.”
“I’lllet Isabella know you’re returning. She’ll be thrilled to have you back at the helm of the print side.”
“Of course she will,” Frankie muttered, already calculating how to mend fences with Isabella without an actual apology.
“And Frankie…try not to burn the bridge while standing on it.”
The line clicked off.
Frankie stared at the phone, groaned, tugged off Blanche, and tossed the wig onto the table.
Her purse wasn’t there.
The Birkin. Brand-new. Limited edition. Not there.
She scanned the room. Nothing.
Pulse up. Had she left it at the manor? With Marcus?
Hell.
If she went back, he would think it was a ploy. Let him keep it—
No. Not an option. The bag was on loan fromNaked Runway’scloset. They all were. She had to retrieve it.
She drafted the text in her head. Porch drop-off. No contact.
Clean. Professional. Emotionless.
The kind of message sent by someone too busy plotting revenge to run an errand.
Satisfied, she flopped onto the couch.How to Make Friends (Even If You’re a Bit of an Asshole)sat on the coffee table like it owned the room.
She snatched it up. “Your fault I’m likable. And capable of liking back.”
She flipped until a chapter waved a red flag: How to Know When It’s Time to Cut a Potential Friend Loose: The Lost Cause.
