His brows shot up like she’d surprised him. Like it had never crossed his mind that she might know how to handle a setback. Why was that?
“Good to know.” His tone didn’t land as deeply as before.
Channeling Sophia, she wrapped herself in harmless banter. “I do hope the plumbing can handle all that mud. I’d hate to inconvenience you further.”
He cleared his throat. “I’ll survive.”
She pressed a hand to her chest in mock relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I was terribly worried.” Then, with a slight tilt of her chin, just enough to draw his gaze to her collarbone, she gave him the kind of look she’d seen often during cover shoots.
He didn’t speak, but his Adam’s apple bobbed.
“You’ve been so kind, really,” she added sweetly. “Carrying me inside, providing all these lovely essentials. Not to mention saving my Birkin. Dare I call you…my hero?” The words scraped a bit on the way out, but they had to be said.
Francesca B knew how to flatter a man with a velvet voice and a perfume-ad smile.
Only Marcus didn’t puff up.
There was no grin. No smug tilt of the mouth. Just a narrowing of his eyes.
If she didn’t know better, she might think he knew her secret.
But that wasn’t possible.
Ms. Birdie had promised.
And they had both agreed. No one in Gi Gi’s Crossing could ever know thatNaked Runway’seditor in chief had been exiled under the alias Francesca B.
“Aren’t you just the cutest thing with that blush staining your cheeks at having been called a hero,” Frankie teased.
The town’s flannel-wrapped handyman, in all his skeptical scowliness, was a perfect person to practice Francesca on. If Frankie could fool him, she could fool anyone.
Marcus shifted his weight. “Your things are in the cottage you rented from my boss.”
“I can’t wait to see it. A cozy cottage sounds so…amazing.” She clasped her hands together and hoped like hell she was radiating wide-eyed sincerity. “You’re a peach and a doll.”
Marcus shoved his hands in his pockets. “Uh-huh.”
Frankie bit back a grin. She had him teetering. Wobbly men were the easiest to knock over. And when they fell, they tended to hand over exactly what she wanted.
Chapter 5
After escorting Frankie to the cottage, Marcus returned to the manor and let the door creak shut behind him. The entryway was cool, dusty, and heavy with the weight of old memories. Gi Gi’s Manor had potential, but right now, it felt more like a holding space than a home. He’d bet good money Frankie thought the same about the cottage. Or worse.
When they’d rounded the corner and the cottage came into view, she’d sucked in a sharp breath and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like architectural offense. When he asked her to repeat it, she smiled like butter and said nothing.
Crooked shutters. Chipped siding. Porch sagging like it had given up. The designer called it forgotten charm. Frankie would probably call it grounds for litigation.
And that was fine. Let her hate it. He wanted her uncomfortable. Wanted to see what she did under pressure.
There was just one problem.
Brain whiplash.
The woman he’d dropped, soggy and snarling, into the shower had emerged an hour later wrapped in a towel and flirtation. Smiling. Teasing. Making vibrator jokes like she was auditioning for stand-up night at the town bar. Something about small-town guys and expectations being, well, small.
It was jarring.
Had therapy really transformed her? Or had she just swapped one kind of armor for another?
