“Moving on,” Chase said, flipping the agenda sheet. “Any new business?”
Marcus rose. “Requesting permission to begin electrical work on the caretaker’s cottage.”
Ben narrowed his eyes. “What kind of work?”
“The lights shorted out minutes after Francesca moved in. She smelled smoke. Probably bad wiring, but I won’t know until I bring someone in. Either way, it’s not safe.”
Ben snorted. “Convenient timing. You rent it to her, and now it needs an overhaul.”
Marcus held steady. “Housing’s limited. She needed a place, and I said yes. Figured it was the neighborly thing to do.”
The lie tasted worse every time he said it. Offering her the cottage had been about keeping a close eye. But standing here now, pretending to be some well-meaning contractor? Yeah. That was going to bite him.
“Or maybe you’re trying to bypass the required thirty-day waiting period,” Ben said, puffed up with self-importance. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to slip one through.”
“The problem happened tonight.” Marcus kept his voice level. “I’m bringing it to you at the first opportunity.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Ben leaned back, tapping the table like he was weighing how petty to be. “Have you cleared this with your ‘boss’?” He did air quotes around the word.
Marcus sighed. “If you mean the owner of the renovation company, then yes. I’ve got the power to make the request.”
“And just who would that be?”
“As I’ve said, my boss wishes to remain anonymous.”
Ben shot a smug glance at a fellow dissenter. “Tell you what. You want rewiring? Tell your boss to bring this town real internet. Fiber, not this dial-up-in-a-dress we’ve been stuck with.”
A low murmur rippled through the room.
Marcus clenched his jaw. He could handle negotiation, but this was blackmail dressed in small-town folksy.
“And if my boss agrees, can the team start tomorrow?”
Ben scoffed. “Not until we see the results.”
“Where exactly do you suggest Frankie sleeps in the meantime?” Marcus asked, only now realizing he should’ve figured that out before.
Ben scanned the crowd. “Anyone willing to take Francesca B in?”
Silence.
Then came the gossip explosion.
“I heard she made her Uber driver cry.”
“Didn’t even tip him.”
“She yelled at him for not opening her door.”
“Sounds like someone with her nose in the clouds.”
Beside him, Frankie went still. Her shoulders pulled back like a storm was brewing.
Marcus braced for impact.
But instead of blowing, she rose and smoothed her skirt like she was headed for the podium.
“Most of that’s true,” she said sweetly. “I did stiff my driver. Just the tip. Want to know why?” She turned, smiling, spun-sugar sweet. “Because I politely asked him to pull forward so I wouldn’t step into a mud puddle in heels, and he told me, and I quote, ‘Princesses shouldn’t leave the castle.’”
