“Obviously.” She locked her phone and gave him her attention.
He smiled, amusement flickering across his face. “So what’s your story, Francesca B? I doubt you just woke up one day and decided to bless Gi Gi’s Crossing with your wigs and wit.”
“Do you truly want to know?” she asked. “Or are you just killing time before your thrilling zoning permit showdown?”
He shrugged. “If you’re living in my backyard, I’d like to know whether you’re a storm, a squatter, or a story I’ll regret not paying attention to.”
She tilted her head, lips curling. “That’s the first interesting thing you’ve said all night.”
“Are you deflecting?”
She leaned forward, tone rich with mock sincerity. “My family’s basically the American version of Crazy Rich Asians. Daddy’s just as wealthy, just as over-the-top, and just as obsessed with controlling his adult children.”
“I’ve never seen that movie.” His face didn’t twitch. Not so much as a raised brow at her claim of generational wealth.
Again, it was as if he knew she was full of shit. “And here I thought announcing myself as an heiress would at least get me a double take.”
“You’re not my first heiress. Still not clear how your wealth status explains your sudden interest in bookstore management.”
“Long story short, Daddy decided it was time I settled down. Naturally, he hand-selected a hedge fund heir named Jeffrey. Because nothing says romance like asset portfolios and quarterly growth projections.”
Marcus tilted his head, finally showing something close to skepticism. “And you told Daddy no.”
“I packed a bag, left a dramatic note, and ran.” She smiled, proud of the fictional bravery. “My source says Daddy’s calling it a phase. He’s convinced I’ll be back within the week, tail between my designer heels.”
“And you came to Gi Gi’s Crossing to…what? Wait him out?”
“More or less.” She dropped her voice half an octave, softening the honesty inside the lie. “He’s never seen me as anything but a disappointment. This is my chance to prove him wrong.”
That truth sat too close to home. She brightened her smile to cover it.
Marcus eyed her for a beat longer. “And working the register at a bookstore is how you plan to redeem your reputation?”
“Brilliant, right?”
He didn’t answer, just gave her a look that said he was either amused or deeply concerned for her mental well-being.
“I’ll have to Google you later tonight,” he said.
She waved a hand, already prepared. “You won’t find a thing. Daddy has a cleaner. Any mention of me getswiped off the internet faster than a drunk text during a PR crisis.”
“Why?”
“He thinks I’ll get kidnapped by some big, greedy villain who wants to ransom his only daughter for yacht money.” Her stomach turned. These lies were starting to taste bitter.
Marcus’s gaze warmed slightly. “But you’re not exactly kidnap-sized anymore. What are you, thirty-nine?”
Her eyes narrowed. She did not look a day over twenty-eight. “I’m thirty-three.”
He shrugged. “Close enough.”
Six years was most certainly not close enough when it came to guessing a woman’s age. “How old are you?” she shot back. “Fifty-five?”
He smiled. “Close. Thirty-eight.”
Chapter 7
Marcus took a sip of his coffee and watched chaos, disguised as a woman, sitting across from him. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes were busy tracking and calculating as if constantly rearranging chess pieces no one else could see.
