“No wonder you have no manners,” Frankie said, not with heat, but almost…pity. Or was that empathy in her eyes? “You’re poor.”
“And poor people can’t have manners?”
“They can.” She got a faraway look, as if recalling something. “But unlike the rich, it’s not a given that anyone taught them. It’s not like their families could afford charm school.”
A taunt settled on his tongue, ready to fly, but he swallowed it. Something told him her words came from the gut, not from superiority.
Besides, she was already standing in mud, soaked to the skin, and humiliated. He didn’t need to pile on. “Point conceded.” Noticing what looked like a twig stuck in her hair, he reached for it. “Hold still.” Without waiting for permission, he gave it a tug.
There was a soft click.
Then a suspicious shift.
And suddenly…her entire bun listed sideways like a ship taking on water.
“Hell.” Not a stick. Not even close. It was some kind of bobby pin that held a fake bun in place. A bun that was now sliding down her head with the grace of a cheap toupee trying to escape a bad date.
And now it was in the mud puddle.
She yelped and snatched it from the murky water. “You—you…unbelievable…barbarian!”
He took a step back. Apologizing felt dangerous.
Completely out of his depth, he did the only thing that made sense. He pivoted and strode away, giving her privacy to reassemble her dignity.
“Where the hell are you going?” she demanded.
“To start the shower,” he called over his shoulder, not breaking stride.
“Excuse me?” she sputtered. “What are you… Wait. You’ve got my purse.”
Hestopped, turned, and held it up. “I’m not stealing it, if that’s what you think. Considering your hands are filthy, and this supposedly costs more than some poor saps make in a year, I was taking it inside where I could put it somewhere clean until you’re ready to handle it.”
She shook the wig in his direction. “My shoes are ruined. You can’t possibly expect me to walk barefoot to my lodging.”
“Fuck me,” he muttered. What the hell had he been thinking, bringing a she-devil to a small town?
Clearly, he hadn’t been.
“Well?” Her voice sharp enough to crash Wall Street. “Are you going to fix this, or just stand there playing mud statue?”
He stomped back toward her, grumbling under his breath, then hoisted her over his shoulder.
She weighed next to nothing, even with half the mud pit clinging to her.
“Put me down, you Neanderthal.” Her fists pummeled his back.
“Knock it off,” he growled. “It’s the only way to carry you and protect your precious purse.”
“Oh.” She went still. “In that case, fine. But don’t you dare look at my ass.”
“Your ass isn’t on my radar.” Of course, that sent his eyes straight to it. Damn it. A great ass on a woman who was absolutely not worth the trouble.
Now he understood why the Uber driver had looked like he needed a bottomless drink.
And this was Marcus’s own damn fault.
He thought back to where it had all begun. The fashion show where Lola’s big moment had been scheduled to happen. He’d arrived early and noticed Frankie the second she’d walked in. Who wouldn’t? She’d looked stunning in all black, heels in hand instead of on her feet.
