Chapter 4
Frankie
Daniel rings the doorbell precisely at nine a.m.
“Ah,” he says when I open the door. “Miss Beaumonde. You look ravishing.”
I roll my eyes, and give a little curtsey.
“But your curtsey needs work.” Daniel struts past me, looking extra fine in a mustard-colored suit, and narrow white ankle boots. Not many men could pull off that shade of yellow, but the color makes his dark brown skin glow. “And where’s Elvis this fine morning?”
“Locked in the jungle room.”
“Good, good. Where shall we hold our little tête-à-tête?”
“In the kitchen?” Already I’m feeling small and drab compared to Daniel. I am properly dressed and wearing a bra, which is more than I can say most days. “I can make coffee.”
“Lead the way. We’ll start with the vetting. Assuming everything goes well, we’l
