She turned back to her reflection and took a deep breath, barely recognizing herself. Money really did buy style.
“Who does this on a Thursday night?” she murmured to her reflection in the mirror.
* * *
Ever since Kilbourn Holdings had released a PR statement announcing that Aiden was dating business student and small business professional Franchesca Baranski, the attention had noticeably ramped up.
Brenda had to screen Frankie’s calls at work, and her email and social media accounts had blown up with interview and friend requests. She’d actually spotted a photographer outside her building twice, but her neighborhood wasn’t exactly friendly to lurkers. One of her neighbors had called the cops, and the problem disappeared.
But none of it had prepared Frankie for the frenzy outside The Lighthouse at Chelsea Piers.
There was a literal red carpet under her feet. And Aiden’s arm was wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to the spectacle of camera flashes and shouted questions.
“Aiden, what’s your connection to Big Apple Literacy?”
“My mother has been a long-time supporter of the cause. And our family is proud to support its educational initiatives,” Aiden answered smoothly.
“Franchesca, who are you wearing?”
She looked down at her dress. “I don’t know. Whoever Aiden picked out for me.”
The crowd of photographers chuckled like she was a stand-up comedian in the middle of a routine.
“Carolina Herrera,” Aiden filled in. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” He towed Frankie away from the call line.
“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Am I supposed to answer them when they ask questions?” Frankie frowned.
“You’re supposed to do whatever you want to. I’m not going to treat you like a puppet and feed you sound-bites.”
“But you’ll tell me if there’s something I shouldn’t say?”
“It’s always safe to avoid the word ‘fuck’ on the red carpet.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so helpful.”
She accepted his arm with a death grip. If she didn’t fall off of these sexy as hell icepicks and take a header into an ice sculpture or billionaire, it would be a damn miracle.
Miraculously, they made it inside unscathed. Aiden helped her straighten her skirt for her. “Ready?”
She looked beyond him to the crowd. At least she wasn’t underdressed.
“Yeah, let’s do this,” she said.
“You’re going to be great. You might even have the smallest bit of fun.”
She didn’t believe a second of his pep talk, but Frankie appreciated it all the same.
“Yeah, you too.”
“And when this is all over, I’ll take you through any drive-thru you want, and we’ll eat in pajamas at home.”
“Deal.”
She recognized Ferris Kilbourn from his photo at Aiden’s. He skimmed in just under six feet tall, and his Irish roots showed in the red hair going silver that ringed his head. He wore a tux and seemed as comfortable in it as if he were wearing sweats. He had his arm around a skeletal platinum blonde who had brushed a little too closely to having too much work done. She was dressed in gold and decorated in diamonds.
“My father and step-mother,” Aiden whispered in her ear as they approached.
“Aren’t they getting a divorce?”
“Appearances.”
“Of course.”
“Dad, Jacqueline,” Aiden greeted them. He offered a hug for his father and a stately kiss on the cheek to his stepmother. “This is Franchesca or Frankie if you prefer.”
“Frankie?” Jacqueline eyed her like a wad of chewing gum someone spit on the sidewalk. “Isn’t that… cute?” Her tone made it clear she found it anything but cute.
Frankie ignored the dig. It was hard to take offense to a woman who had been traded in on a younger, hipper model.
Frankie offered her hand to Ferris. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’ve heard my son has been smiling for weeks now,” Ferris said amicably. “I assume we have you to thank for that.” Instead of shaking her hand, he lifted her knuckles to his lips.
Oh. Okay, so this is the 1800s.
“I’m sure there are other factors at play,” Frankie guessed.
Aiden slid his arm around her waist. “Not at all. Ah, and this lovely woman is my mother,” he said, offering Frankie up to a lovely brunette in hunter green.
“Cecily, Franchesca. Franchesca, Cecily.”
Cecily was a stunning woman in her early sixties. Her face had yet to show signs of an intervention by scalpel. She was tall, regal, and lovely.
“Franchesca. I’ve heard so much about you. May I call you Frankie?”
If Jacqueline was the frosty Arctic air, Cecily was a Bahama breeze.
Frankie accepted the woman’s hand and shook it.
“And I believe you already know my half-brother,” Aiden said.
Frankie could hear the tension in Aiden’s voice and slid her hand up under his jacket. She wouldn’t be breaking any noses this evening and embarrassing him. At least not without provocation.
Elliot sauntered into the group, hands in his pockets and an insolent expression on his face.
“Franchesca,” he said, running a finger down the bridge of his ever so slightly crooked nose. “So nice to see you again.”
“Hey, Elliot. How’s the nose?”
She felt Aiden stiffen next to her, but then he covered his laugh with a cough.
“He broke it playing polo,” Jacqueline announced firmly. Either she was an idiot or an idiot in denial.
Frankie wasn’t sure who started it, but soon the Kilbourns were all laughing. Not the genuine belly laugh that was contagious around her parents’ dinner table but the stifled, embarrassed “I know something you don’t know” chuckle she imagined was probably common on this side of the East River.
The Kilbourns were a remarkably civilized lot for people who had done so much damage to each other. It seemed as though everyone knew their particular role and was secure in it.
“And you thought my family was weird,” she whispered in Aiden’s ear.
“Why don’t we find our way to the silent auction?” Ferris said jovially, offering an arm to both his ex-wife and his soon-to-be ex-wife.
Chapter Forty-Five
Franchesca let Mr. Fast Feet drag her on another lap of the dance floor. The man was in his early thirties and very energetic. He also had an ulterior motive. If he said, “I think Aiden would really be interested in hearing about this investment opportunity,” one more time, she was going to stomp on his fast feet and go find some tequila.
“You know, I can’t help but think Aiden would—”
Frankie brought the dance to a halt. “Yeah, you’re not being even remotely subtle. You want to talk to Aiden about something to invest his gazillions in, go to him. Don’t go through me.”
Fast Feet looked chagrined. “It’s a really exciting opportunity—”
“Dude, seriously.” Frankie scanned the crowd for Aiden, and when his gaze met hers, she waved him over. “Tell him what’s in it for him and why you think he’d like… whatever it is you’re doing,” she instructed. “If he says no, I’ll buy you a drink. Just, for the love of God, stop talking to me about it.”
Aiden arrived at her side.
“Aiden, Mr. Uh…”
“Finch. Robert Finch,” Fast Feet supplied.
“Right, Finch has something he wants to talk to you about.” She winked at Aiden as she sailed in the direction of the bar. She didn’t know if tequila was classy to order at a swanky event like this.
“What can I get for you, miss?” the bartender asked, all professional politeness.
“Listen, I’m new here. Is there a way that I can order a shot of tequila and not have half of this crowd gossiping about me?”
His smile warmed a few degrees. “How about I put it in a rocks glass, and you pr
etend it’s top shelf scotch?”
“Sold,” she said, slapping the bar. She slid a five-dollar bill into his tip glass.
He made a show of tossing the bottle over his shoulder and catching it behind his back. Bartender flirtations.
Frankie watched appreciatively and hid her smile when she saw he was catching the eye of a few other ladies in the crowd. There was always someone drunk enough to screw the staff in a closet or a restroom before the end of the night at events like these.
Frankie had been propositioned often enough at the events she worked to accept it as par for the course. Unless those propositions got a little too aggressive.
She accepted the glass that he handed her with a flourish. Clearly a double pour. And gave him a smile and a nod as she left him to his new admirers.
The event felt like someone’s wedding. White and crystal and sterling silver everywhere. A winter wonderland, she believed the theme was. It had to be $500 a head, which made her wonder exactly how many people here would have been happier to cough up $250 just for the privilege of staying home.
But she supposed being seen supporting a worthy cause was part and parcel of the responsibility of wealth. Aiden and Fast Feet were still chatting near the ice sculpture on the canapés buffet.
A suit sidled up next to her. “So, Franchesca, when are you going to apologize for breaking my nose?”
Elliot might have been trying to be charming, but he came across like a slug oozing slime. He was blond like his mother with finer features than Aiden. He was pretty, not handsome. His presence wasn’t commanding like Aiden’s either. It was more of an afterthought.
“Maybe when you apologize for committing a felony and nearly ruining my best friend’s wedding.”
He gave an elegant shrug of his slim shoulders. “No harm, no foul.”
She swung around to face him. “Lots of harm, lots of foul,” she countered.
“I came over to clear the air. Now that you’re part of the family, we can’t have any bad blood between us. Now, can we?”
“I’m completely fine with lots of bad blood.”
He laughed, but it sounded forced to her ears.
“I think you should dance with me,” Elliot announced.
“Did you get a concussion when I hit you?”
“It’s all about putting on a show.” He held his arm out toward the dance floor. “Don’t you want to prove that you can play the game?”
Frankie downed the rest of her tequila and pointed the empty glass at the bartender. He gave her a nod and started pouring.
“One dance, and you will not grab my ass or piss me off or abduct anyone, got it?”
“My word,” he said, crossing his heart.
He led her onto the floor and settled his hand at her waist. She didn’t particularly care for it. There was only one Kilbourn whose hands she wanted anywhere near her.
She followed his lead, grateful for the three weeks of remedial ballroom dance her high school gym class had forced on students every year.
“So, what do you want, Elliot?”
“Maybe I just want to spend time with my brother’s girlfriend.”
“Or maybe you want something. I like people who cut to the chase and don’t waste my time with flattery or threats.”
“I need something from my brother.”
“So ask him,” Frankie said.
“It’s not that simple,” Elliot argued.
“Yes. It is.”
“I need a favor that’s he’s not going to want to give to me.”
“So why are you dancing with me? You going to twirl me into a van and chloroform me until he agrees to whatever you want?”
“Where did my brother find you?”
“Dancing like a stripper at an engagement party.”
Elliot laughed. “You’re refreshing.”
“And you’re stifling me. Don’t use me to get to Aiden. Be a big boy and talk to your brother.”
The song ended, and Frankie abandoned Elliot in the middle of the floor and headed for the bar. She made it within six feet before she was intercepted.
“Franchesca, my dear. There you are,” Ferris Kilbourn said. “Allow me. A glass of wine for the lady,” he said chivalrously.
Frankie stared mournfully at her two fingers of tequila sitting behind the bar.
“Walk with me, will you?” Ferris suggested, handing her a glass of white wine.
“Certainly.”
She followed him to the edge of the room where a wall of windows and doors overlooked a stone courtyard. He held out a chair for her at an empty table.
Grateful to get off her feet, Frankie flopped down and kicked off her shoes under the table.
“I wanted to make sure you didn’t take offense to the concerns I voiced to Aiden,” Ferris began.
Frankie caught on to his game quickly.
“Concerns?” she said innocently.
“I’m sure you’re a lovely girl,” Ferris began.
“I’m an even better woman.” Frankie didn’t like it when older men tried to put her in the same category as her thirteen-year-old cousin who was obsessed with Harry Styles and Snapchat.
“Of course, of course. What I mean to say is I don’t want you to take it personally that I believe you don’t quite fit into our world. In fact, I’d be very surprised if you didn’t agree with me.” There was no malice behind his words. Manipulation, yes. But no real desire to harm.
She’d spent forty fucking minutes on her makeup for this. She could have troweled on blue eye shadow and bronzer in five minutes instead since they saw her for who she was. A girl from Brooklyn with student loans and no portfolio.
“Then I guess you’d be surprised. I’m not on my way out like some other family members,” Frankie said, staring pointedly across the room at Jacqueline.
Ferris looked flustered for a moment.
There, didn’t expect that, did you smarty pants?
He’d dropped the Aiden bomb knowing full well his son wouldn’t have discussed that particular conversation with her. But she’d gotten a piece back.
“I really don’t think I’m the right person to be having this conversation with. If you’re so concerned with your family, maybe you should plan to stick around.”
Ferris sighed and lifted his glass. “I’ve given enough. It’s my time to enjoy. My father never got the chance. Heart attack in his office at age 71. I don’t want that to be me.”
Frankie turned in her chair to face him. “Ferris, I don’t think anyone would begrudge you your chance to do what you want. But don’t try to dictate Aiden’s life. He’s your son, not just a business partner. Trust his judgment and not only when it comes to broads from Brooklyn.”
He sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand the complications of our family,” Ferris said. “Our business, our family, are inextricably intertwined. There is no one without the other. My son has a responsibility to make choices that will benefit both our company and our family.” Again, his words lacked spite. He was simply a man sharing his truth.
“And which one of those don’t I fit?” Frankie asked.
“Do you even want to fit?” Ferris asked, turning it back on her.
“I want to see Aiden happy.”
“Sometimes, happiness is a luxury that no one can afford.”
Frankie smirked. “I’m pretty certain the Kilbourns could find a way to pay for it.” If Aiden’s deep pockets were any indication of the family coffers, they could all quit working to live in a multi-million-dollar commune in Dubai without ever feeling the pinch.
“I’m only trying to save you some time and heartache,” he added. “I don’t see how a woman who could give a damn about appearances would willingly fit into this world. There are expectations that we must live up to.”
“Would your world really come crumbling down if the girlfriend of your CEO didn’t spend five hundred dollars on her hair and nails every two weeks? Would anyone really care if I show up to a family meal in
$25 Target jeans?”
“Frankly, yes,” he laughed. “There are certain expectations that we uphold. To the Kilbourns, work comes first. I missed out on most birthdays, baseball games, even some Christmases. It was the price I had to pay. But I built something that they can have long after I’m gone. Aiden will do the same. And he’ll need a woman by his side who understands that, accepts that, embraces that.”
“Did you ever think that maybe Aiden would rather have a piece of you instead of a legacy?” Frankie suggested. “Maybe he’d rather have dinner with you than you pulling his strings from a goddamn yacht because now he has to suffer for the next twenty years of his life while you finally live.”
“You think I’m very selfish, don’t you?” Ferris asked.
Frankie put her glass down. “I don’t know you well enough to judge you yet.”
“Touché.”
“Thank you. For the record, I don’t care who you’re divorcing or where you’re sailing. But if you care for your son more than you do a bunch of zeroes and buildings and whatever the hell else, don’t lock him in the same prison you just busted out of.”
Ferris eyed her. “I may have underestimated you.”
“Usually the case. But that makes it easier to win.”
Ferris raised his glass to her. “Maybe you would fit in.”
Frankie tapped her glass to his. “For future reference, I prefer tequila to wine.”
“Franchesca.” Just the sound of Aiden’s voice was like a caress on her skin.
She rose, forgetting that she’d kicked off her shoes under the table. “Oops. Sorry. Too many dances,” she said, fishing the heels out from under the table.
He tugged her into his side. “Are we having a private meeting?” his voice was guarded.
“Your dad and I were just discussing our beverage preferences.”
Ferris rose. “Franchesca, it was… refreshing talking to you.”
“Illuminating,” Frankie agreed. They watched him walk away, joining a group of men clustered around a painting of what looked like a roman orgy.
“Was my father bothering you?”
“Not really. He’s quite polite with the ‘you’re not good enough for my son’ spiel.”
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