“My bad. Francesca B will dwell at the manor until such time as the cottage is safe.”
The room buzzed.
Marcus sat there, stunned.
This was a disaster. A red-soled, rumor-prone disaster.
Ben cracked the gavel again. “Meeting adjourned.”
Chairs scraped, conversations flared, and the night’s events were dissected with royal-scandal precision, every detail turned over for maximum drama.
Frankie turned to him with a too-sweet smile. “I do hope you’re okay with my moving into the manor.”
Marcus didn’t answer.
Her grin softened. “Thank you. Really.”
She turned and floated off like she hadn’t just hijacked his life.
Marcus watched her go.
This was fine.
Totally fine.
He’d just been strong-armed into playing house with Frankie Peterson. The woman he was actively lying to, drawn to, and trying very hard not to murder.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 9
Frankie stood in a drafty third-floor bedroom of the dilapidated manor, arms crossed tight, watching Marcus drop logs into the fireplace.
Her cheerful little ‘I’d be happy to stay in the manor’ line now looped in her head like a cursed meme she couldn’t swipe past. At the time, it had seemed like a good plan. Better to crash under the roof of the town’s reluctant handyman than beg for a bed with the local knitting coven.
But now?
Now, she was stuck in a rickety house and with the guy who’d clearly tried to sabotage her small-town acceptance tour. Sure, the Uber driver had threatened payback, but he didn’t know this town from a bad contour job. Marcus did. What a little gossipy bitch he’d turned out to be.
She narrowed her eyes at his back. “How do you think the whole town found out about the Uber thing?”
“Hard to say.” He kept feeding the fire.
“Hard…or was it you?”
Marcus turned, brows knitted. “Say again?”
“Who but you would have known I didn’t tip my driver?” She planted her hands on her hips.
“I didn’t tell anyone.” Maddeningly calm.
“Really? Because walking into that town meeting felt like someone had circulated a newsletter titled Reasons to Hate Francesca B.”
He shrugged. “News travels fast. Especially in towns with their own gossip column.”
“It can’t travel until someone spills the beans.”
“Maybe your driver stopped at the diner. Could’ve mentioned the encounter over a burger and fries.”
