“Are you kidding me?”
Nikos slapped a large hand on his desk, sending papers scattering. “Not even a little. You’re rockin’ my socks off right now. That kind of experience alone is golden and shiny as far as I’m concerned.” His words were followed by a hearty laugh, straight from his not as hearty hard-planed belly.
Hello. What about her pain and suffering was rocking-your-socks worthy? Sudden anger tweaked her already raw nerves. “Did you hear me the first time, or did you miss the part about me being an ex-trophy wife? I’m no longer married to Mitch. So no celebrity.”
Flapping his tanned hands, Nikos waved at her dismissively. His grin was wide and effusive. “That’s neither here nor there. You have infamy on your side, and you worked at the Bon Appetit Channel. Bet you have a bunch of secret recipes running around in your head. That’s all I need to know.” He shook his head and shot her a wry grin. “Damn, this is some awesome turn of events,” he stated with obvious glee, hopping up from behind his desk to head to the door in two strong strides.
So cute and dense went hand in hand with Nikos Anta ...Anta ...Chakalakaboomboomwhatever.
“Max, c’mon back in here!” Nikos shouted out into the diner, his voice a cheerful bellow.
Frankie shrunk farther down in her chair as she listened to the muffled words exchanged between Maxine and her employer-who-almost-was.
“Frankie Bennett?” he crowed back into the room.
She rose to turn and take him in, pushing down the baggy folds her jeans created when she stood. Her face held a question she was too tired to ask.
Nikos stuck out his hand to her while Maxine gave her the big thumbs-up sign behind his broad shoulder. “I don’t care if you can’t boil water. You’re hired.”
Shut. Up.
Chapter Three
From the reluctant (very, very reluctant) journal of ex-trophy wife Frankie Bennett: The first rule of the Princess Club? Suck it up. Please. This is by far the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done. I don’t want nor do I care to document my post-divorce road to recovery so I can look back one day and smile at how far I’ve come. Seeing my pain in black and white isn’t therapeutic at all. And PS, Maxine Barker’s a flake. I’m only doing this to appease my Aunt Gail because she’s looking over my shoulder right now and making me feel like I purposely didn’t go to confession just to spite her. So in the interest of keeping her happy, here’s my first entry. And Maxine Barker’s still a flake.
“You do so know who she is, Nikos. That was a crappy thing to do,” his brother Cosmos chided with a slap to his back as they watched Maxine and Frankie cross the parking lot. Nikos mentally noted the drag in Frankie’s step, the slump of her shoulders that were too damned skinny, and the sag of her jeans on what he’d bet his left lung had once been a sweet ass.
He fought a grin. “Giving her a job was crappy how, Cos?”
“You know what I mean, you shithead. I heard everything while you pretended not to know who she was, then went about making like she was the second coming.”
Nikos winced. Yeah, he was a shitty improviser. “That just sort of happened. My bad. But she was working pretty hard to avoid getting herself hired. Max told me she would because she’s post something or other traumatized.”
“Post-divorce.”
“Yeah. That was it. She said she’d be sullen and disinterested. So I just went with it. Steamrolled her, so to speak.”
“How do you suppose it made her feel, knowing you plan to use her infamous freak-out on television as a promotional tool?”
“I would never do that. You know it and I know it. I just didn’t want her to run away, so I did a little off the cuff. Max’ll tell her I was just kidding. Besides, I owe Maxine. She was really good to Kelly. I wanted to return the favor,” Nikos said, reminding his brother of the help Maxine had given their cousin after her ugly divorce.
Cosmos nodded his sleek, dark head. Only an inch shorter than his older brother, he gazed up at him with narrowed eyes. “Yes, Max was great to Kelly. If she hadn’t stepped in when she did, I’d bet Aunt Dora’d be in the crazy house after that jackass and Kelly broke up. But if Frankie didn’t already feel uncomfortable—and judging by the way she won’t look anyone in the eye, she’s a wreck—you only made things worse by telling her she’d bring the diner business with her supposed celebrity.”
“Okay, so it wasn’t the best plan.”
“So what is the plan?”
“The plan,” their mother, Voula, said, poking her head out from the kitchen doorway, “is to fatten her up! Ack! Did you see, Nikos? She is so skeeny. I will make lamb. You think she like lamb?”
Nikos smiled at his mother, short, big-haired, and boisterous. “Who wouldn’t like your lamb, Mama? I agree, Frankie needs to eat.”
Voula nodded, tightening the knot of her apron around her thick waist. “Good. I make baklava, too. Maybe even spanakopita.” She headed back into the kitchen, determined to fatten up the poor, unsuspecting Frankie.
Cosmos took in Nikos once more. “So the plan? She says she hates to cook. I heard it right through those paper-thin walls. How does that help you and me in the kitchen with the prep work?”
“The plan is to give her a paycheck she probably wouldn’t get anywhere else due to her limited skills. Besides, what’s Kelly always telling us Maxine taught her? To suck it?”
“Suck it up, princess,” he corrected.
“Right. Max said Frankie needs to stop indulging in self-pity and get back on the horse. She told me she has to take it like a man, and she needs a paycheck to do it. Frankie’s Aunt Gail was so worried about that woman, she cried. You know how much I love the ladies from Leisure Village. They bring us a ton of business for the early bird special, and I really like Gail and Mona. One hand washes the other, bro. Plus, if I remember reading correctly, Frankie got custody of that little deaf dog, Kiki. Kiki’s cute. She needs to eat.”
Cosmos pursed his lips. “Does she have any idea what she’s in for? She looks like you could scare the skin right off her bones just by bumping into her. We’re not exactly known for the use of our indoor voices, Nik.”
Nikos sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I agree we’re probably not like spending a day chanting with Tibetan monks, but if what Max says is true, she’s had all the quiet time she can handle without spiraling into therapy and meds. Maybe chaos will keep her so busy she’ll forget she was dumped by a limp dick like Mitch Bennett. Either way, take it easy on her, would you?”
Cosmos bounced his head. “Easy-shmeasy. I need someone to help me, not hinder.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Did you really say ‘rockin’ my socks off ’?”
“I did.”
“That was ridiculously lame.”
Nikos chuckled. “Maybe so, but she’s had a hard time of it, and she does know how to prep food. Max told me she did it for that asshole of an ex-husband of hers. On TV, pal. She’s very organized, something you and Mama could definitely use back there, and she knows her way around a knife.”
Cosmos barked a laugh. “Oh, don’t I know it. I saw the way she was wielding that Mitch’s spoon like it was a samurai sword. I plan to tread very lightly around her.”
“Look, if worse comes to worst, I’ll put her on cashier duty. Adara’d love to have some time off to see her friends and shop, okay? Now, don’t you have a slew of chickens to marinate?”
Cosmos threw a white kitchen towel over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. I’m out, but just remember this. I have my reservations about this woman, and if she takes a kitchen knife to my cubes, I’m comin’ for you, brother.”
Nikos slapped him on the back with a grin. “I take full responsibility for any and all cube dicing.”
Cosmos visibly shuddered, sweeping past the long row of stools at the counter before disappearing into the kitchen.
A glance out the window revealed Maxine and Frankie still in the car, heads bobbing, hands waving. Nikos smiled. Frankie was probably giving her shit abo
ut the new boss who wanted to exploit her, and Maxine wasn’t taking any. It was clear Frankie didn’t want a job. Not just this job, but any job.
Couldn’t say as he blamed her. She was right. Her television debut had been some “display” as she’d called it, and he definitely didn’t need some food snob criticizing his diner’s food. Yet, there was something about her he couldn’t pinpoint that made him want to help her, whether she wanted it or not.
Nikos knew exactly who Frankie Bennett was. He, like a million and two other people, had seen the constant replay of her infamous fit all over the place. He’d also cheered the kind of gutsy fortitude she’d shown when she’d threatened to whip Mitch’s dick to a stiff meringue-y peak with his souped-up mixer.
Unlike most of America who’d fallen for the bullshit about his wife’s mental instability, Nikos saw Mitch Bennett for what he was—an overblown ego with a penchant for beautiful young women more than half his age.
Unfortunately, he’d seen a similar scenario firsthand.
Right here in his own diner.
With his best friend’s wife.
Prick.
Frankie flipped through the pamphlet Maxine left her just before she’d skipped out the door of Gail’s and off to the loving arms of her rich hubby.
“Messages of hope,” was what the pamphlet proclaimed. Inspirational speeches of the “giving up your Ferrari for a used Kia didn’t have to suck” variety littered the pages. Phrases like “big girl panties” and “Walmart can be your friend” left her more desolate that she’d been to begin with.
The words began to spin and blur. Her eyes were grainy from so much awake-and-not-allowed-to-wallow time, and her stomach was a sea of roiling acid.
“Oooh, look, Kiki.” She held up the pamphlet, which Kiki assessed with calm eyes along with her owner. “Maxine says cash is cash, and there’s no shame in starting at the bottom of the job chain.”
Nikos’s offer had been generous, considering a prep chef was an entry-level position. When Maxine heard the salary he’d offered her, she’d whooped—loudly, making Frankie wince. But she couldn’t summon up the kind of excitement Maxine apparently felt over the idea that she’d be able to afford her own cell phone and tampons in no time.
“Where would we be without Maxine, Kik?” she asked, chucking her dog under her tiny chin.
“I see you got Maxine’s Survival Guide for Ex-Trophy Wives.”
Frankie grunted at her aunt. “Whether I wanted it or not,” she said on a wide yawn.
Gail glanced at the clock on the wall with the Amish couple in the center. “You’ve been up a whole three hours. Takes a lot out of a girl, eh?”
“Merely breathing takes a lot out of me.”
She was too tired to care that she was being poked with a stick. Her fingers tugged at the elastic band holding her ponytail, yanking it out and running a hand through her hair.
Gail sat on the arm of her plaid couch, placing an arm around her niece’s shoulder to give her a squeeze. “Did you even read the pamphlet? I spent a week typing that up on a computer, sunshine. Used to do almost a hundred words a minute back in the day.”
Frankie pressed it tight to her chest. “I’ll treasure it always,” she teased.
Gail pinched her cheeks and smiled. “Don’t be a smarty pants, young lady. So tell me all about how you nabbed this job and on your very first interview while I make us some dinner. Pretty impressive for someone who’s been in the crapper for six months.”
Her shoulders lifted as she followed Gail into the kitchen, watching her pull out two TV dinners from the freezer. The thought of food made her want to retch. She dropped Kiki at her food dish, giving her little black-and-white bottom a nudge toward the bowl.
“No, Aunt Gail. None for me thanks.”
Gail’s eyebrows rose. “What? Not fancy enough for your overdeveloped palette?”
Frankie let out a sigh. “No, it’s not that at all, Aunt Gail. I’m not as much of a food snob as you’d like to think. There were plenty of nights when Mitch was off globe-hopping that I ate TV dinners.” Though, if Mitch had known, he’d have had heart attack. “I’m just not very hungry.”
Gail’s forehead wrinkled. “Nonsense. You need energy for your new job tomorrow. I just bet you’ll need energy to keep up with that hunk Nikos Antonakas. Phew, he makes my insides all squishy.” She giggled like she was still in high school. “He’s good-lookin’, don’t you think?” She peered at Frankie with covert eyes while poking holes in the plastic TV dinner.
Good-looking? If ever there’d been an understatement. Calling Nikos good-looking was like saying the Andes were just little mounds of dirt. He was gorgeous, and if her libido wasn’t in a state of deep freeze, she’d acknowledge that very fact, but her hormones were officially ice cubes.
“He’s fine, Aunt Gail.”
Gail plunked down some forks and folded paper napkins on the table. “Fine, you say? Fine? Did your eyeballs fall out of your head when you got that divorce? He’s what the kids these days call a smoke-show.”
A gurgle of laughter bubbled up from her throat at her aunt’s use of modern-day slang. “Okay, he’s a smoke-show, but it doesn’t make a difference. I’m not in the man market. Though, apparently, I’m now in the job market.” Albeit under duress and brute Maxine force.
The microwave dinged the completion of their meal. “Maxine said you were none too happy about it either. Why’s that? It’s a perfectly good job with a perfectly good-lookin’ boss.”
A tear stung her eye.
Yes. Everything was perfectly good. She just couldn’t summon the will to care. Grateful was what she should be. What she wanted to be for her aunt’s sake at the very least. Yet she was numb and unresponsive. As limp as the wet noodle Mitch once called his love machine. Each reaction to a kind gesture was merely by rote, and that was some kind of pathetic.
Frankie shrugged her shoulders. “I think I’m just overwhelmed. I did more today than I have—”
“In months, and it’s about time, too.” Gail placed the Salisbury steak–mashed potato combo dinner in front of her. “I know, Frankie. Believe me, I know. You were sinking, kiddo. I had no choice but to call in reinforcements. Someone had to convince you to get out of bed and do something for yourself. You’re young. A beautiful young woman who should be out celebrating her freedom from that wanker, not holed up in her bedroom, sleeping all day, drowning in depression. He’s not worth that kind of vigil, my girl.”
She knew that. She. Knew. Yet, it remained. This dark, dank hole of nothingness. Nothing to plan for, nothing to look forward to, nothing to get out of her own way for. Just nothing.
“You’re right,” she agreed, flat and disinterested.
Gail tapped her fork on the edge of the plastic covering the TV dinner. “I’ll wait until you say it like you mean it. And you will, cookie. I promise you, you will. Maxine was just like you. If you’d been interested enough to ask her, she’d have told you herself. She pulled up her bootstraps, and it wasn’t easy, but she did it. Though she had more at stake with a young boy. What you need to do is find your purpose.”
Why? What was the purpose of purpose anyway?
Frankie pushed the spongy Salisbury steak against her fork, forcing herself to take a bite, knowing it would please her aunt. “I’m not sure what that means anymore.”
“It means you let your whole world revolve around a man who isn’t worth the crud on the bottom of my shoe. You had nothing that was just Frankie’s—it’s why you’re so lost. You were supportive long before he hit the big time, too. You arranged all his appearances and cookbook signings. You answered all his emails from fans and took care of that stupid FaceSpace or whatever ya call it. And he cheated on you, and left you with nothing.”
Frankie fought to swallow the gritty mashed potatoes. “It’s Facebook, and I have nothing because I signed a prenup that said I’d get nothing. There’s no one to blame for that but me.” And it had never occurred to her to change that. N
ot once had she considered Mitch’s empire hers, though she’d helped him build it from scratch.
She didn’t even have a hobby.
Jesus.
Gail threw her fork down in disgust. “He’s a dirty bird, Frankie. I told you that from the get-go. He took advantage of your youth and those starry eyes of yours, all romantic and gooey. That he left you with nothing after everything you’ve done for him, whether you signed something or not, makes me want to sauté his man parts.” She shook her head in revulsion. “Doesn’t matter anymore. We’re moving forward. Just like Max says. Now it’s time for your world to revolve around you.”
Maybe it could just stop spinning altogether and Mitch and Bamby would fall off the edge of it. “Forward,” she mumbled on her last bite of spongy Salisbury steak, washing it down with the glass of water her aunt gave her.
Gail perked up, the hope in her eyes bright and bubbly. “That’s the spirit. Now, if you finish all your dinner, you can have dessert. I made a nice peanut butter cup pie while you were gone with Maxine, hoping we’d have something to celebrate when you got back.”
Yay.
She had a job at a diner.
Celebrate good times.
C’mon.
“Frankie? Wake up.” Gail’s soft hand, covered in a light application of lily of the valley hand cream, caressed her cheek.
She struggled to force her eyes open, muttering, “Are you okay, Aunt Gail?”
“I’m fine, honey. Phone’s for you.” Gail opened her hand and put the phone in it.
She put it to her ear with a groan. No one called her anymore. “Hello?”
“Frankie?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Maxine.”
Woot. The divorce fairy. A glance at the clock told her she was a divorce fairy of the early bird variety. Jesus. It was five in the morning. “Yes?”
“I’m calling to check and be sure you’re up.”
“For?”
“Work, Frankie. You have to be at work in an hour. You’re working breakfast and lunch today, remember?”
Burning Down The Spouse (Ex-Trophy Wives Book 2) Page 5