Frankie laughed. “Please. It would take more than a curse to keep me here.” She reached for the radio. “You’re not one of those men who only listen to jazz or silence.”
“I like good music.”
The jeep filled with peppy pop.
And then she started singing.
He grimaced.
She glanced over. “What? If you didn’t want singalongs, why invite me?”
“Is that what I did?” he asked, stunned. Singing. Frankie sang. It was cheerful. Human. Kind of adorable. Definitely concerning.
Was this part of the Francesca B act?
She leaned back in the passenger seat, smug and composed. “Face it, Marcus. I’m an acquired taste. But give it time, and you’ll be addicted to the unexpected.”
He shook his head, biting back a smile. God help him if she was right.
“What's this wig’sname?”
“Celestia.”
“Another nemesis?”
“Celestia, because when I wear her, I’m channeling my divine right to sparkle.”
He arched a brow. “We’re still talking about you…right?”
She folded her arms. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
“Hard not to when I am.”
Frankie waved a dismissive hand. “Relax. The sparkle disappears the second the wig comes off.”
“And the singing?”
“When the road trip is over.”
And just like that, he was glad she’d come. He’d hate to think he might have missed this version of her.
As the skyline sharpened and traffic thickened, Marcus felt a flicker of relief. Manhattan. A city that didn’t ask him to donate to bake sales or fake interest in book club politics. A place he could blend in, not stand out as the odd man everyone noticed.
He pulled into a crowded garage and turned to her. “I’ve got paperwork to sign. Try not to get lost while avoiding anything remotely productive.”
Frankie adjusted her sunglasses with a snap. “Please. I’ll be three cappuccinos in and ten IQ points higher before you finish arguing with a city clerk.”
“Just don’t end up on the evening news.”
“No promises.”
He watched her disappear into the crowd, Manhattan’s newest claim, her smirk and invisible middle finger aimed straight at him.
She was going to incinerate something before the day was over. Probably on purpose.
Inside his office, Marcus made the call to expedite the internet upgrade for Gi Gi’s Crossing. The rep launched into a breathless monologue about topography, permits, rural grid limitations. Marcus half-listened, letting the bureaucratic ramble fade into white noise while his mind drifted to Frankie. She was likely terrifying a barista over the difference between foam and froth.
His phone buzzed as he stepped into the hall.
