“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what else you know about Gi Gi’s plans?”
“She’d haunt me in kitten heels and couture if I said a word before the will gives the all-clear.”
“Then we’re back to Frankie.”
“And you’re sure you want her running a bookstore in a bankrupt town?”
“It’s no longer bankrupt. The local gossip column calls it up-and-coming. If I can live here, so can she.”
“Live? As in permanently?”
“That’s yet to be determined.” Marcus scratched his head. “Didn’t you say you were in the know on her last wishes?”
“I thought I was,” Ms. Birdie said with a sigh. “She must’ve spruced them up.”
“My life didn’t need sprucing.”
“And yet you’re in Gi Gi’s Crossing and desire Frankie to be there, too?”
“Desire? Absolutely not. I simply feel it’s my duty as a responsible citizen to evaluate her rehabilitation before we release her back into Manhattan.”
“Frankie once petitioned Hallmark to stop making small-town Christmas movies.”
“Okay?”
“She made the female staff sign it. Called the whole 'big city career woman gives it all up for a small town guy' trope an insult to the gender.”
“And I need to know this, why?”
“So, when she says no to your plan, you’ll understand it’s not just stubbornness…it’s a deeply held belief.”
“Until I’m convinced she’s no longer a danger to innocent front-row attendees, I won’t sign off on her return. If she says no, you’ll have no choice but to fire her.”
Ms. Birdie’s laughter softened. “Oh, Marcus. You’re going to regret this.”
“I seldom regret decisions I feel this strongly about.”
But even as he said it, the voice in his head whispered,Seldom is not never.
Chapter 2
Frankie Peterson stormed into Ms. Birdie’s office, the heels of her René Caovilla pumps striking the floor like a declaration of war. Which, to be clear, was exactly what she intended.
“Why the hell was Isabella given the pleasure of informing me I’m not returning to work today?”
She crossed her arms and leveled a glare at Ms. Birdie. One that could crumble giants…if said giants were actually looking at her.
Ms. Birdie was not. Her attention remained squarely on the papers in front of her, like Frankie’s entrance hadn’t been choreographed for maximum impact.
Undeterred, Frankie pressed forward. “Out of all the staff atNaked Runway, you choseherto deliver the blow? My nemesis?”
The final word delivered with the drama of a red-carpet slap.
Still, Ms. Birdie barely looked up. It was as if she were deciding whether the outburst warranted a response. Or if she could ignore it and finish reading whatever was so damn interesting.
“Well?” Frankie refused to be ignored as an adult. She’d gotten enough of that as a child, before her father skipped town when she was eight. “Say something.”
With the slow, deliberate calm of someone who had seen many a meltdown, Ms. Birdie adjusted her pink diamond-encrusted glasses. “Close the door, dear. We need to talk.”
