“This is his idea,” Frankie growled. Mr. Uptight. Mr. Anonymous. Mr. Idiot, who couldn’t be bothered to duck when a shoe came flying across the runway right at him, was behind this latest turn of events.
Frankie had not been aiming at him. Hell, she’d not been aiming at anyone. A situation had been at hand, and a diversion had been needed. She had created the distraction. Unfortunately, circumstances kept her from leaking that truth bomb.
Honestly, she’d never even gotten a glimpse of Mr. Uptight. During the madness that had followed, he’d taken the mate to a pair of one-thousand-dollar stilettos and vanished.
“Think of this as a creative retreat,” Ms. Birdie said.
Frankie shook her head. “I’m done being his puppet. Let him sue us. You can sue him for blackmail.”
“My agreement to this arrangement isn’t because I had no other option,” Ms. Birdie said. “It’s because he was right. Your temper needed to be addressed. Besides, he gave you an out. He offered to drop everything if you issued a public apology viaNaked Runway.”
Frankie’s jaw clenched. “And you know exactly why I didn’t.”
Frankie Peterson didn’t do public apologies.
Or private ones.
Or performative groveling to appease people who didn’t matter.
Apologies were for the lily-livered. People who couldn’t stand by their choices.
She would bet her black soul he had known her stance, and that’s why he’d offered the compromise. Not as a peace offering, but as a poison pill. An out she’d never take.
It hadn’t been a real choice. It had been a setup.
As if dealing with a child who never ceased to fray her edges, Ms. Birdie shook her head. “Frankie, if you value your position atNaked Runway, you will go to Gi Gi’s Crossing.”
“Of course I value it. That’s why I went to therapy.” She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and lowered her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “But before I agree to be exiled to some rehab called Gi Gi’s Crossing—”
“Not a rehab, a small town. A quiet place where you can practice the skills you’ve been working on in therapy.”
Frankie gritted her teeth. “When my therapist released me, she said nothing about my needing to practice niceness before returning to work.”
“A simple yes, I’ll do it, or no, I quit, is all the response I need from you.”
Frankie gave a painful nod. This was a fight she wouldn’t win. And not a hill to die on.
As if reading her mind, Ms. Birdie smiled. “There’s one more thing. One of the town’s residents will report back on how well your therapy has…taken.”
“Taken?”
“Think of it as performance art.”
Frankie scowled. “Is that Mr. Uptight’s idea or yours?”
“Mutual.”
Frankie gestured wildly. “If word gets out that I’ve been banished to Nippleton Falls—”
“Gi Gi’s Crossing,” Ms. Birdie corrected.
“—I’ll be a laughingstock,” Frankie finished.
“Then don’t go as yourself,” Ms. Birdie replied smoothly.
Frankie stilled. “What are you suggesting?”
“If you’re worried about your reputation, go as someone else. A rich heiress, perhaps. Someone…eccentric. I suggest you keep it simple. You could introduce yourself to the town’s people as Francesca instead of Frankie. Or Francesca B.”
