Chapter 12 #2
“Bonsoir,” a sharply dressed waiter in a bowtie said, appearing at the edge of their table as if he’d materialized from a puff of bergamot-scented mist. “May I take your drink order?”
His gaze slid between them, eyes narrowing at the tension. “Or shall I give you a…moment?”
“Is champagne okay with the lady?” Marcus asked, gaze locked on Frankie.
She nodded, then looked at the waiter. “Make it one that pairs well with poor decisions.”
With a slight bow, the waiter vanished.
Marcus didn’t look away. That stare wasn’t just heated. It was deliberate. Focused.
For one breathless moment, neither said a word. The challenge she’d issued lingered like last season’s scandal on this season’s runway.
“As much as I want to say yes,” he said finally. “I’m going to have to decline.”
“Really?” She blinked. Since when did a man say no to possible sex?
“When we have sex…and we will…it won’t be because you lost a bet. It’ll be because you finally admit you want to find out if I’ve got the cock to back up my cocky.”
Her pulse stuttered. “Whatever,” she said weakly, just as the waiter returned, gliding in with a silver ice bucket.
“Votre champagne.” He flipped goblets and poured with flair. “Are you ready to order?”
“The filet,” Marcus said smoothly. “Rare.”
“I’ll have the salmon,” Frankie added. “And if the chef’s in a mood, tell him to take it out on someone else’s entrée.”
The waiter bowed, expression unreadable, though she could’ve sworn his mouth twitched. Then he vanished, leaving behind a table crackling with heat.
“Where were we again in the negotiations?” Marcus asked.
“I believe we were at a standoff.”
They both picked up their glasses and took a sip. A silent, slow détente.
Marcus set down his goblet. “I’ll tell you about the conversation you overheard…if you tell me what really brought you to Gi Gi’s Crossing.”
“What makes you think there’s more than I told the town?”
He cocked his head. “Call it male intuition.”
“I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“Do you want my secret or not?”
“Fine. I’ll tell you my truth if you tell me yours.”
He blinked as if he hadn’t expected her to agree.
She was halfway to telling him to forget it when he finally spoke.
“I have four brothers. We were adopted when the oldest of us was only nine. I was eight. Our adoptive mother died recently.”
Frankie reached across the table and laid her hand atop his. “I’m sorry.”
A smile touched his lips. “In her will, she left each of us an envelope. Inside were…assignments. Tasks tied to the town. In mine, she asked me to move there and restore the manor.”
Her breath hitched. “Wait. Are you saying your mom is the one who bought the town and changed its name to Gi Gi’s Crossing?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve never told the town that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Her wish was that we get to know the residents first. Then we could tell them.”
“Why?”
“Knowing Gi Gi, she wanted us to earn their respect and friendship. Not inherit it just because we own a huge piece of the town.”
Frankie thought back to a book she’d read last year. One they’d featured in the Find Your Book Boyfriend column in Naked Runway. “Sounds like she hoped you’d discover a found family in her absence.”
His expression shifted, subtle but sharp. “What makes you think I have family left to find?”
She laughed. “I meant the trope. Small-town romances where people create a chosen family when their real one doesn’t measure up or aren’t around.”
He considered that. “You might be right.”
She narrowed her gaze. “What exactly is it you do that allowed you to drop everything and take on a full-blown renovation?”
“I’m a venture capitalist.”
Whoa. That wasn’t a gig you fell into. And definitely not one you ditched for home improvement. “Who bankrolled your start?”
“My brothers and I created an app when we were young. The revenue gave us options.”
“So…you’re not poor?”
“No.”
“Not a blue-collar worker?”
“No.”
“Not planning to settle down in Gi Gi’s Crossing—”
He held up a hand. “That’s as much as you get. Now, it’s your turn.”
She twisted the corner of her napkin. She could lie. But that wasn’t her style. And frankly, it would be nice to have one person in town who saw the real her.
“There’s this guy,” she said. “I call him Mr. Uptight. He’s the reason I’m in Gi Gi’s Crossing.”
Marcus stilled. “I believe you mentioned him earlier today. How exactly did he upend your life?”
“I did one small thing to piss him off, and suddenly he’s threatening to ruin my life unless I play by his rules.”
His brow lifted. “What did you do?”
“I’d rather not say.” She kept her tone even, but her stomach clenched. To explain it would mean reliving the chaos…and it wasn’t just her story.
“Fair.” He paused. “What do you think Mr. Uptight would say happened?”
She gave a humorless laugh. “He probably thinks he’s some moral crusader, avenging the fall of high standards. Either that, or…” She hesitated. “According to my therapist, maybe he’s got some buried trauma and thinks micromanaging everyone else is how you win at healing.”
Her mouth clamped shut. Crap. Why had she mentioned her therapist?
Across the table, Marcus’s smirk faltered. Not in a teasing way, either. Something raw crossed his features before he wiped it clean.
But she’d seen it. That flicker. Shock. Or guilt. Or a memory that wounded.
“Mr. Uptight sounds like a real jerk,” he said, voice a shade too neutral.
“Ass,” she corrected quickly. “A real ass.” She forced a smile. “Anyway. Thanks to him, I’m stuck here practicing how to smile like I mean it and say things like ‘lovely weather we’re having’ without sounding like I want to punch someone.”
Marcus drummed his fingers against the linen, eyes on her. “You do have a beautiful smile,” he said, his voice quieter now, more personal. Then he laid his hand over hers, warm and steady. “So, not a runaway heiress?”
She snorted softly. “Hardly. I’m Frankie Peterson, editor-in-chief at Naked Runway.”
“Well then.” He raised his glass. “To secrets shared?”
She clinked hers lightly against his. “To secrets…and the people we trust with them.”
When dinner was over, she let her napkin fall to her empty plate, but she didn’t lean back.
Didn’t put her armor fully on again. Instead, she stayed close to the edge of the table, meeting his eyes and holding there.
“So…what comes next?” The words slipped out softer than she intended, carrying more of her than she meant to give away.