Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  That got a rise out of her. “So, you’re drinking again?” she asked.

  “I’m having one drink with you. A beautiful woman shouldn’t have to drink alone.”

  She shook her head and lifted her face. He saw the red eyes, the tear-stained cheeks, and felt his body shift into fight mode. Someone had hurt her, and they would pay.

  “What happened?” he asked, his voice low.

  “First, you need to know that I’m mad crying. Huge difference from sad crying. I’m not weak.”

  “Franchesca,” he said, turning her stool to face him and caging her between his legs. “There isn’t a person on the face of the planet who would ever use your name and weak in the same sentence.” His phone vibrated in his pocket with an incoming call.

  She looked down at her bunched fists. “I got fired.”

  He reached for her hands and held them in his. “And you’re mad.”

  She nodded.

  “I heard about Jacqueline,” he pressed. “Did she do this?” His phone signaled again in his pocket.

  Frankie shook her head. “I’d actually forgotten about that. I know she’s still technically your stepmother for a few more weeks, but I hope I’m not required to be nice to her. I probably should have checked with you first.”

  “Franchesca, I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to be nice to someone who isn’t treating you the way you deserve to be.”

  She looked at him, into him, and her eyes welled with tears.

  “Shit, sweetheart. Tell me what happened.”

  “Oh, I can do better than tell you.” She pulled a hand from his grasp and slid her phone in front of him.

  Aiden glanced at the screen and then picked the phone up for a closer look.

  The picture drew his attention first. Frankie was in mid-swing with a serving tray heading in the direction of a blond man’s square jaw.

  Aiden Kilbourn’s girlfriend attacks business rival at fundraiser.

  “Who is he, and what did he do?”

  Frankie’s eyes widened. “He made it sound as if you two were Lex Luthor and Superman.”

  “There are many people who feel that their relationship with me is more important than it is.” If his phone didn’t quit ringing, he was going to throw it in the bar sink.

  “Ouch.”

  “You, on the other hand, keep downplaying the importance of our relationship,” he pointed out.

  “Nice save. Why aren’t you freaking out? It’s Lionel Goffman, by the way. Rivals on the polo field and business arena,” she said, quoting the article.

  Aiden had a vague recollection of the man. “What did he do, Franchesca?”

  “He hinted that I should try out his bed instead of yours. I’m required to be polite, professional, at work. I needed that job. Needed the money. But he grabbed me—”

  “He touched you?” Aiden’s voice was dangerously calm, but it didn’t fool her for a second.

  “Don’t you go all white knight and make this worse, Aide.”

  “What exactly did he do?”

  “He grabbed my arm and started pulling. He said he was going to buy me a drink and pay me for the rest of my shift.”

  Aiden glanced back at the phone. “Did you break his nose?”

  Frankie sighed and picked up her glass. “There’s video,” she murmured.

  “I beg your pardon?” Aiden asked, leaning closer.

  “There’s video. Scroll down.”

  He did as he was told and watched as his Franchesca yelled a warning to the unsuspecting dead man. “You don’t get to touch me! In fact, you don’t get to touch any woman without her permission.”

  But Lionel wasn’t in a listening kind of mood. He grabbed for her again. “Listen, let’s go for that drink—”

  Frankie was shaking her head and then the tray came up. With one hand, she bashed him in the head like the tray was a cymbal. Dazed, Lionel took a step back and tripped, falling on his ass.

  “For your information, Aiden Kilbourn is a better man than you could ever dream of being. And if you ever insinuate otherwise, I will hunt you down!” The temper had exploded, and there was no putting it back in the box. She grabbed a tray of champagne from a cocktail table behind her and dumped the entire thing on him.

  “There’s your fucking drink, asshole!”

  Shocked gasps and some laughter rose from the crowd of witnesses as Lionel tried to scramble to his sticky, humiliated feet.

  “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers!”

  Aiden put the phone down and felt his own vibrate in his jacket yet again. If the Rumor Mill blog already had this, it was everywhere by now. Damage control would be… interesting.

  He picked up his glass and shocked them both by starting to laugh.

  Frankie looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind. “How can you laugh at this? I’ve humiliated your entire family? Your PR bill is going to be astronomical this month alone.”

  But he couldn’t stop laughing. He had Franchesca Baranski in his corner. No smarmy competitor, no wicked stepmother, no idiot brother had scared her off. She stuck. And her fierce loyalty now extended to him.

  Just as his heart belonged to her.

  “Aiden, stop laughing and start thinking about how much damage I did. I assaulted someone on video. And if that isn’t bad enough, now everyone knows that your girlfriend is a waitress.”

  “Was,” he corrected her. “You got fired.”

  She gasped so hard he thought she might fall off her stool. “It’s not funny!”

  “There is no one like you in the world, Franchesca. I’m so glad you’re mine.”

  “Aide! What do I do? Am I going to get sued? Do I have to apologize? Because fuck that. Do you know how long it’s going to take me to pay off my credit card on just the development center’s income?” She put her head down on the bar, her dark curls spilling over like a waterfall.

  “Franchesca, you’re not getting sued.”

  “Did you watch the end of the video when he starts howling about lawyers?”

  Aiden sighed and pulled out his phone. Twelve missed calls. He skipped the ones from his mother, father, and Oscar and dialed his PR firm.

  “Michael,” he said by way of greeting. “Hold on while I conference in Hillary.” He called his favorite of the family’s attorneys. “Hillary? I’m on the line with Michael. Here’s where we stand. I want a countersuit prepared and ready to file if this Goffman asshole is stupid enough to proceed. I also want a statement prepared that says Ms. Baranski and I are weighing the idea of pressing charges for assault. She felt physically threatened by his overtures and handled the situation as best she could to safely diffuse the threat.”

  Frankie gaped at him.

  “I’d like to further add a statement about Kilbourn Holdings’ recent stand on sexual harassment and bullying. Some standard wording about how this behavior won’t be tolerated whether in a business or social setting, and we are proud of Franchesca and women like her who stand up to outdated patriarchal behaviors and call them out for what they are. Antiquated customs intended to value one sex over the other have no place in this day and age.”

  “Got it,” Michael announced. “I’ll coordinate with Hillary, and we’ll get you a draft before it drops tomorrow morning.”

  “Good. Make sure you mention that Ms. Baranski is repped by Hutchins, Steinman, and Krebs.”

  “Looking forward to kicking some ass,” Hillary announced.

  “Thank you for the overtime,” Aiden said and disconnected the call. His phone was already ringing again. It was his father. He ignored the call. Two texts popped up on the screen from Oscar. They were screenshots from other gossip blogs.

  “Your dad is going to hate me even more,” Franchesca moaned.

  “The only Kilbourn you need to be worried about is me. And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. And I also owe you an apology. Our relationship is the reason you’re dealing with this, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that. B
ut I will make it right.”

  “Oh, God. You’re not going to kidnap him, are you?”

  “Do I look like Elliot?”

  She gave him a ghost of a smile. “So, you’re really not mad?”

  “I’m furious. But not at you. Never at you.”

  “You hide it well. I feel it, I blow up, and then I spend a day or two regretting it.”

  Her phone buzzed on the bar, and she picked it up, wincing. “Oh, God. Brenda, my boss. I can’t lose that job, too.”

  “Let me pay off your credit card.” Aiden knew it was a mistake as the words were coming out of his mouth, but he could do this for her, give this to her.

  She was already shaking her head. “Uh-uh. Nope. Not happening.”

  “You know it’s nothing to me,” he argued.

  “Just like you know it’s something to me. I’m not some trust fund kid who goes to Mom and Dad to get bailed out.”

  “First of all, I look nothing like your parents.”

  “Har har. I’m not taking your money, Aide.”

  “Would you take Lionel’s?”

  “What?”

  “Would you take Lionel’s money if it came in the form of an apology for his behavior?”

  “Oh, hell yes.”

  “Then I’ll get you whatever it is he owes you. What’s your balance?”

  Frankie named a figure so paltry that Aiden had to close his eyes and take a breath. “You’re really that close to not scraping by, and you won’t let me do anything about it?”

  “You’re furious at someone else, not me. Remember?”

  “You’re going to give me a headache.”

  “Oh, sure. I bash one of your pals in the head with a tray and douse him in champagne, and you’re totally fine with it. But I turn down your billions, and then you get a migraine,” she pouted.

  “What if there was something that I needed desperately that was in your power to give so easily?”

  “Money is different. Money is power and control, and I want my own, not someone else’s.”

  He hated to admit it, but he could see her incredibly misguided and stubborn point.

  “Fine. I’ll get you Goffman’s money.”

  She shook her head and gave a soft laugh. “You’re something, Kilbourn.”

  “Back at you, Baranski. Can we watch the video again?”

  Girlfriend of Aiden Kilbourn has secret life of catering jobs and sexual harassment…

  Aiden Kilbourn’s girlfriend assaults Upper West Side fundraiser attendee…

  Aiden Kilbourn’s new girlfriend brings Brooklyn bar fight to art gallery fundraiser…

  Aiden Kilbourn threatens lawsuit and charges against girlfriend’s attacker…

  Chapter Fifty

  “I have a name,” Frankie muttered at her computer screen. Brenda and Raul had decided it would be better for everyone if she worked from home until the scandal and ensuing news interest died off.

  “Damn right you have a name,” Marco agreed in her ear.

  “Aiden Kilbourn’s girlfriend,” Frankie snorted. “Every single one of these headlines call me Aiden Kilbourn’s girlfriend.”

  “If they didn’t know your name before, they will now.”

  “Are you eating?”

  “Mmm yeah. Corned beef.”

  “I don’t suppose you deliver?”

  “Not with everyone in the neighborhood stopping by for gossip on our own Frankie B,” Marco snorted.

  “We usually only pull in these kinds of sales around the holidays. But you put us on the map. We got neighbors and reporters crawling out of the woodwork.”

  “Oh, God! No one’s talking to the reporters, are they?” Frankie moaned.

  “Only in glowing lies about your goodness. You’ve been dubbed Saint Franchesca.”

  “You are so full of shit.”

  “Relax. We take care of our own,” Marco said, biting into what Frankie could only assume was a giant dill pickle. “Besides, Aiden and his PR guy stopped by earlier in the week and gave us all the standard line.”

  “Aiden came to the deli?” Frankie asked.

  He’d been so busy in the week since “the incident” they hadn’t seen much of each other. And he had definitely not mentioned the visit.

  “Yeah, had a roast beef for lunch and took another one for the road. Didn’t you see the pictures of him carrying the Baranski Deli bag around? Can’t pay for that kind of advertising. Had a real estate developer call us up and ask if we’d consider opening a location downtown.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She’d been wallowing in her own stew of embarrassment and anger that she hadn’t bothered to give two shits about anything else apparently.

  “We’re not gonna do it. Baranskis are Brooklyn, you know? But it was nice to have the opportunity to say ‘No, thanks.’”

  “What the hell else have I missed? The Pope pop by for a turkey club and a chat with Dad?”

  Marco barked out a laugh. “Ha. I miss your twisted sense of humor. Stop by sometime, okay? Bring your guy.”

  Frankie sighed. “I will. Thanks for having my back.”

  “Family. Later, Frank.”

  “Later, Marco.”

  Frankie scrolled through the Google Alerts she received in the last week and pulled up a picture. There Aiden was in all his wealthy entrepreneur glory in a sexy navy suit, aviators, and a Baranski Deli bag. Looking at him in the picture, it was hard for her to reconcile the fact that she shared a bed with the man. He looked like he’d strolled off of someone’s Perfect Guy Pinterest board.

  She knew why he was working so much this week. He was cleaning up her mess, and he’d taken the time to make sure her family was prepared. Just like family would.

  Tomorrow, he was taking her to a fundraiser supporting a children’s cancer hospital hosted by his mother at her Long Island home. It would be their first “appearance” since the “incident,” and Frankie was already feeling the pressure. He hadn’t told her anything about his parents’ reaction to her brief lack of judgment. All she knew is the family dinner last Saturday had been canceled, presumably because Aiden was working on cleaning up her mess. Or because his parents were horrified by her behavior.

  Well, she’d find out soon enough.

  She scrolled through some more pictures, finding a few of them together. Aiden escorting her out of her building for brunch after a night of mattress pounding sex. Aiden guiding her into his office building with a hand at her lower back. The two of them wrapped up in each other in line at a coffee shop.

  How was this her life? The magnifying glass had lowered without her ever really preparing for it. Now she appeared in magazines. Her decision to smack Lionel with a tray had been debated on a morning talk show. The attention was oppressive. And all she could do was sit and wait for the next celebrity or gossip column favorite to do something outrageous before the rest of the city forgot all about her.

  * * *

  “Come meet me for lunch,” Pru demanded.

  “I’m not showing my face in that borough until someone famous gets arrested for prostitution.”

  “You can’t let them push you into hiding. You’re Franchesca Fucking Baranski. You don’t hide from people!” Pru said, working her way into a halftime football coach pep talk.

  “I’m not hiding,” Frankie argued. “I’m laying low so I don’t get sued by an asshole whose retainer for his lawyer costs more than my MBA.”

  Jesus. She wasn’t safe anywhere. Her corporate social responsibility professor had pulled her aside and asked if Mr. Kilbourn would be interested in addressing the class on sexual harassment at the management level in the workplace.

  She was one of those bugs on a white board with a pin in it. Collected and preserved by greedy fingers.

  “Are you really going to let a little attention banish you from life? Or are you going to grow a pair, put on a gorgeous dress, and come eat lunch with me?”

  “I’m not letting anyone banish me from anything.”

&
nbsp; “Good. Get your ass on the train.”

  “Pru—”

  “Aiden’s worried about you. He thinks he’s ruined your life. I’m giving you the opportunity to prove to him that you’ve got a stronger spine than that.”

  “Do they teach manipulation as a Gen-Ed course in private school?” Frankie asked.

  “I will eat a roll if you come to lunch.”

  “Ugh. Sold.”

  So, Frankie reluctantly threw on that beautiful red dress, slapped on some makeup, and strutted down Fifth Avenue with Pru. There were a handful of photographers shouting questions, but Frankie iced them out behind her oversized sunglasses.

  And damn if it didn’t feel good. Good enough that she ordered two pieces of apple pie to go.

  “I eat one multigrain roll, and you’re going to pound a thousand calories worth of pie?” Pru asked, eyeing the tasty little to go boxes.

  “They’re not for me,” Frankie laughed. “I’m dropping them off for Aiden and his admin at the office.”

  Pru shot her a smug look.

  “What?” Frankie asked.

  “You liiiiiike him,” she sang.

  “You’re so junior high,” Frankie sighed. “I thought we’d already established the fact that I like him.”

  “Allow me my gloating time,” Pru insisted. “I knew you two would be great for each other, didn’t I?”

  Frankie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “You may have mentioned something along those lines.”

  “I can’t wait to be your matron of honor,” Pru said. “I’ve already got a proposal from a party planner for your bridal shower.”

  “We’re dating and having sex, not getting married,” Frankie insisted. The idea of a bridal shower like Pru’s, with bitchy women whispering about how much they hated each other and useless, overpriced gifts like platinum ice cream spoons, gave her the heebie jeebies.

  “We’ll see about that,” Pru mused, rising and sliding into her coat.