Burning Down The Spouse (Ex-Trophy Wives Book 2)

by Dakota Cassidy

  “Simon knows how I feel, don’t you, Simon?” she cooed, breathy and sweet. Well, okay, not quite as breathy as she’d hoped. She sounded more out of breath...“He knows how much I’ve missed you, Mitch. I talked about it the entire way here, right, Simon?”

  Simon nodded slowly with a perplexed look on his face, then bobbed his head up and down with vigorous consent. “That’s so true, Mitch. So true. Talk and talk. That’s all she did. She’s just bananas in love with you. In love, love, love. And I ask you, who am I to get in the way of soul mates? You two lovebirds go work things out while I finish up my phone call, mmkay? Go on, you silly gooses. Make nice.”

  Frankie winked up at Mitch in her best imitation of the seductive winks she’d seen Bamby give him. But her eyelid twitched rather than cooperated due to the fact that it was all she could do not to yak up all that pie she’d eaten.

  “So, Mitch? Is what you said the other night still the truth?”

  Mitch sucked in his cheeks, a sure sign he’d never meant a single word. Just as he was about to bullshit his way out of yet another lie, Simon’s shoe scraped over the recipe, creating a rustling noise on par with an atom blast.

  Hoo boy.

  Mitch whipped around, planting his hands on his hips. His eyebrow rose in question when he rounded the corner of his desk. “What do you have there, Simon?”

  Frankie flew to his side, shooting a quick glance to find Simon’s foot covered almost the entire sheet of paper. “Simon’s so clumsy sometimes. I bet it’s your list of things to do, isn’t it? Simon’s always making lists.” She bent to retrieve it, but Mitch put a warning hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t move,” he warned. “I’ll get that for you, Simon.”

  Mitch began to stoop beside her, pushing Frankie out of the way with a rough hand to her shoulder.

  “It’s now or never!” Jasmine screeched into Simon’s ear so loud, even Frankie heard it. “Tell Frankie to hit the floor and then take this bitch out! Go long, Jones!”

  “Frankie! Hit the floor!”

  But she was already there, sliding under the desk and grunting from the force of her landing.

  The crash of Mitch’s desk toppling over and the sound of bone crunching as Simon took Mitch to the ground in a crushing tackle screamed in her ears. Frankie eyed the recipe and dove for it while Simon wrangled Mitch to the floor, laying him out in a full-body press.

  “Got it!” Frankie yelped in victory. Oh, never was there ever a more fabulous piece of paper than the one she held in her hands right now.

  Jasmine skidded into the office, her heels clacking hard against the wood flooring while Win stomped in behind her. She helped Frankie up, brushing dust off her shirt.

  Simon looked down at Mitch with sightless eyes. “Dude, you are so screwed. Just thought I’d give you the heads-up. Oh, and ease up on the garlic.” Win yanked Simon upward with a grunt, while Mitch moaned from the floor, rising to put the back of his hand to his bloody mouth.

  Frankie handed off the recipe to Jasmine, stalking Mitch back to his kitchen, where he screamed, “All of you get out or I’m calling the police!”

  Her lips thinned. “You, slimy bastard! How could you stoop so low, Mitch?”

  Unfazed, he went to the sink and wet one of his fine linen towels. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  Jasmine held up the recipe, shaking it at him, her cheeks bright red. “This is what she means. It’s called stealing!”

  Mitch placed the cloth to his split lip and stared them down with an arrogant defiance even Frankie would have never believed he possessed. “It was Frankie’s idea.”

  So the anger management thing would have to wait, Frankie decided. And she’d go willingly if sentenced.

  Just not before she ripped Mitch’s dick out through his belly button.

  There was no thought involved in what Frankie did next. No pausing to gather her senses or to curb her blown fuse.

  Frankie reacted, reaching for the first thing she could touch, launching herself at Mitch and pinning him to the wall with the kind of force she’d never have expected from someone who’d eaten nothing but Oreo-cookies-and-cream pie for a week.

  Hah, you, Surgeon General.

  Though, in her white-hot fury, she did revel in a moment of reflection. Everyone who’d seen her flip on national television would probably have to agree, threatening someone’s life with a meat mallet, pointy side up, probably was a whole lot scarier than some silly old wooden spoon.

  “Well, Antonakas, you’ve fucked this up but good. However, pal that I am, I decided to let you in on a little something.”

  Nikos made a sour face. “What’s that, Simon?”

  “Seeing as I screwed everything up about as good as screwing up gets, I thought you at least deserved the chance I’ll never have with Jasmine.”

  “Simon, what the hell are you talking about? I’m shit up to here with pretty much everything. Say it and then have Win take you home. I’m in a piss-poor mood.”

  Simon waved his cane over top of the coffee table, sending empty beer cans flying. “Self-pity by way of Heineken is weak, buddy.”

  Even in his haze of anger and turmoil, Simon could still amaze him. “How the hell do you always know?”

  “I’ve only told you a thousand times. My other four senses are finely honed weapons the likes of which the government has never seen. I could smell you from outside your door. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because you owe Frankie big, and when you beg and scrape, if I can’t see it, I’d at least like to hear it. Because I promise you, I’m going to giggle my ass off.”

  Nikos sat forward on the couch, driving his throbbing forehead into his shoulder. “You’re not making sense.”

  Simon rooted in his pants pocket, pulling out an envelope. “One guess what this is.”

  “A letter from some stray groupie you just couldn’t spend the night without, telling you she’s having your baby?”

  Simon poked him in the chest with his cane and smirked. “Funny. Nope. It’s Voula’s recipe, shithead, and the footage, with full audio of what really happened when Frankie supposedly hooked up with Mitch.”

  Nikos lunged off the couch, tearing open the envelope to scan the paper. He went slack-jawed.

  “I see you’re appropriately shocked. Good.”

  “You don’t see anything,” Nikos muttered, still too astounded to add much more. His gut shifted, hard and uncomfortable.

  “You blew it, buddy. But maybe, just maybe, you can make it up to Frankie if you do that scraping thing I mentioned. She didn’t steal the recipe, Nikos. Hector did, the little weasel. Mitch gave him all of five grand for it, and the dipshit took it. Mitch stood to make a whole lot more, and the idiot took but five bills.”

  Nikos sank to the couch along with his stomach. “Oh, Jesus.”

  “Yeahhh,” Simon drawled. “I admit I had a hand in leading you astray. Now I’m admitting I was a jackass.”

  “How do you know for sure it was Hector?”

  “Oh, you silly. Mitch sang like a fat, yellow canary when Frankie threatened him. He was such a little Mary about it, too. All this squeaky whining and begging her not to ruin him after he left her with nothing but a car and a dog, and he, might I add, threatened to take the dog.”

  “Frankie threatened Mitch?”

  His Frankie? Correction, ass. Not so much your Frankie anymore.

  “Oh, you should have seen it. I should have seen it. I’d have given my left nut to see it. She threatened to go to the press and that big food company about Voula’s recipe and tell them how he stole it. That’s what he planned to do with it. Sell it and turn it into a frozen entrée. Frankie told him even if no one believed her, it’d still make his life a little more miserable than it already was.”

  Simon made his way over to the couch to plop down next to Nikos. “Bon Appetit was thinking of canning Mitch’s show anyway, his ratings were on the downward spiral. Mitch was going to lose his time slot because he couldn�
�t keep his dick in his Dockers. He didn’t need any more trouble than he’s already had since Frankie flipped on him the first time. Seems women all over the country were sending him hate mail about what a scumbag he was. That’s why he was going to tell his viewers it was Frankie who’d helped him create those last shows. It made him look like a hero for taking her back and her look like she was trying to make up for her freak-out. It also made him look like all the bullshit he spewed to the press about how Frankie needed mental help was true.”

  Nikos groaned in misery. “God, he’s a fuck.”

  And he’d fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

  Simon nodded. “Either way, he confessed. While Frankie had him flattened against a wall, and I think Jasmine said she had one of those meat mallets at his throat. Pointy side up. Either way, he gave up Hector. So while I almost wish it had been the president of the Annihilate the Competition Club, because I totally liked Hector better than Chloe, it wasn’t Chloe—our first suspect. I’d lay bets Hector’s drinking and gambling again. Hector’s an addict. Five grand equals a lot of booze and slot machines.”

  “How did all this go down? How did you get your hands back on Mama’s recipe?”

  “Dude, super long story—one I’ll tell you when we have more time.”

  The haze Nikos had been in began to clear, and with that clearing came sharp stabs of guilt for not seeing what was right in front of him.

  “So why didn’t Frankie come tell me this herself?”

  Simon slapped him on the back, the sound making him cringe after all that beer. “That, friend, is part of the pickle you’re in right now. She doesn’t want to see you, though she did ask me to tell Voula she’d meet her for lunch next week.”

  “Mama made plans with Frankie to have lunch?” He didn’t know whether to be angry that his mother had clearly chosen a side or glad she’d been hell-bent on sticking to her original theory. That Frankie was no liar.

  “She did. We’re the only two cavemen who believed Frankie would steal. The only thing you were right about is Mitch isn’t really dying. Another long story I’m all shiny about sharing once we get you cleaned up.”

  Nikos sat stunned into complete silence.

  And then the impact of Simon’s words, his behavior toward Frankie, and his mother’s warning sunk in.

  Fully.

  He ran his hands over his tired eyes. “I so suck, eh, friend?”

  Simon’s sigh was exaggerated. “Oh my God. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “All the evidence pointed toward her,” was his pathetic defense.

  “Uh-huh. And I helped point,” Simon admitted, his eyes going remorseful.

  “You suck, too.” Like that should make him feel any better.

  “Not quite like you.”

  No. Not like him. “I have to explain.”

  “You didn’t trust her when she told you she’d never steal from you or Voula and that she didn’t sleep with Mitch, and I have the doctored footage to prove she didn’t. I’ll force you to watch it later. Anyway, isn’t trust the thing a woman wants most? Don’t they want you to take their word above everyone else’s? That’s what Jasmine said when she found out that douche of an ex-husband of hers was my biological father. She said betraying a trust is the slimiest thing a man can do in a relationship.”

  Nikos’s disbelief grew. “You finally told her?”

  Simon snorted, letting his head fall to his chest. “Nooo, that’s the problem, amigo. She found out that day at the diner from the press. Nice, right? I wasn’t up front with her. I was going to be. I just didn’t do it in time. I put it off. Which makes me not so smart in hindsight. And now look. Like a lovesick teenager. So, in the interest of not letting you end up in this boat with me, as much as I’d appreciate someone who could see in order to steer it, I have a plan. All you have to do is shave.”

  “How the hell do you know I haven’t shaved?”

  Simon grinned. “I can hear your stubble scrape the collar of your shirt. Now quit with the questions and get to crack-a-lackin’. And grab a shower, for the sake of all of us who have to endure your stank. Brush your teeth, too, so you don’t pollute a small village, and then I’ll tell you my idea for winning back your dream girl, lover boy.”

  Nikos rose on unsteady feet.

  His long time friend held out his hand to grab at him, pulling him into a quick shoulder bump.

  Simon wrinkled his nose. “Jesus, Nik. You stink.”

  No truer words.

  “Why are we here again, Aunt Gail?” Frankie surveyed the non-existent audience in the studio of their local cable channel.

  Gail looked away, making a big deal out of digging in her purse. “I told you, Myrna Tuttle’s doing book reviews for WBDH. You know, for the live local show Gil and Lil in the Morning? What kind of friends would Mona and me be if we didn’t show up to support Myrna?”

  Mona popped her lips, looking around the darkened studio. “The good Lord knows she’s gonna need it if she’s reviewing that crap we read last book group. I can tell you this for sure: there’ll be no more dagnabbit astral projection for this girl. Not when I can read one of those spicy romance novels. You hear me, Gail Lumley?”

  “So where’s the rest of the book group?” Frankie asked, sliding her coat off and helping Gail with hers.

  “We are the book group,” Mona said.

  “Ladies,” Maxine intervened with an odd nervous twitter to her words Frankie didn’t miss. She clasped her hands together, then rubbed her knuckles. “We’d better grab a seat.”

  Because they were filling up so fast. Frankie plunked down next to Gail, patting the seat beside her for Jasmine.

  She leaned in to her friend and whispered, “I’m sorry I talked you into this.”

  Jasmine pulled her nail file from her purse, passing Frankie a purposefully bored look. “I’m all about the seniors and being supportive. Won’t be too far down the road when old Jasmine’s going to be glad she got a head start and made friends with them early in the game. They know AARP like RuPaul knows a wig and a girdle.”

  Frankie chuckled at the visual of Jasmine wearing polyester pants or a housecoat. “You’ll be the hottest broad attending Sing Along with Engelbert Humperdinck night.”

  “Oh, shhh! Here come Gil and Lil!” her aunt said, excitement in her voice when she patted Frankie’s arm.

  Frankie rubbed her eyes, exhausted from the past two days of job hunting and forcing herself to try and set Nikos’s obvious rejection behind her.

  Simon had called her to let her know not only that he’d given the recipe back to Nikos with the proof she wasn’t a backstabbing liar, but also that Hector had been officially fired and, apparently, Mitch had lost his time slot. As for Chloe, she’d quit after openly declaring her happiness that Frankie was gone, resulting in Voula chasing her with a rolling pin.

  And still her cell phone remained silent, crushing what little hope Frankie had left that Nikos would at the very least apologize. Two additional long nights of missing his arms around her, missing the craziness of the diner.

  Missing.

  Those tears she’d fought since everything had gone down threatened to return full force. Oh, no. She would not go back to a self-pitying, pathetic wreck.

  But she really, really wanted to.

  Really.

  Commotion from the stage in front of them forced Frankie to refocus, using the techniques she’d read in Maxine’s ex-trophy wife guide. Onward ho—at all costs.

  The lights went up and Gil and Lil began their dialogue. “Welcome back to Gil and Lil! Today we have a very special guest, a local celebrity of sorts who’s here to share a very special recipe. Put your hands together for Riverbend’s own Nikos Antonakas, owner of the Greek Meets Eat Diner!”

  Frankie’s eyes widened while everyone around her clapped.

  A lot. Wildly, even.

  And then she glared at them—every last one of them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  From the jo
urnal of ex-trophy wife Frankie Bennett: Television, live or otherwise, is the root of all evil. Excuse me, but I have to go now. I’m going to blow up Best Buy’s electronics department.

  Jasmine shot her a catty smile.

  Maxine’s grin was Cheshire.

  Gail and Mona just ducked.

  “How could you all do this to me?” Frankie hissed at them. “You lied to me!”

  “Suck it up, princess, and shut your trap,” Jasmine whispered with a giggle.

  Oh, the hell. How could they even entertain the idea of supporting Nikos’s television debut when he’d treated her the way he had? Fury and Frankie became one. She clunked Jasmine in the leg with her shoe so she’d move out of the way when she made her escape.

  “If you don’t sit your ass down and behave like the lady I know you are, I’ll clock you in the head with my new heels from Target. Don’t make me do that, Frankie. I had to save a long time to buy these.” Jasmine clutched the sleeve of her shirt and pushed her back into her seat.

  Gil stuck his hand out, giving Nikos’s a warm shake. God, it shouldn’t hurt so much to see him. Having someone force her to see him just plain tore at her heart. Yet her eyes couldn’t look away. Nikos’s large frame loomed over Gil’s; his raven black hair glistened under the set’s lights. He was wearing her favorite color, a royal blue tie.

  “Welcome, Nikos.” Gil smiled, camera perfect. “First up, tell us about Greek Meets Eat. Lil and I had lunch there just the other day, and the meatloaf is out of this world!”

  And out of Mitch’s hands without so much as a “thank you,” Frankie thought with derision. She blocked out most of the conversation between Gil and Nikos, opting to fight tears with her head down.

  “So show us what you’ve got for us today, Nikos,” Lil directed in super-shiny tones.

  Frankie’s head popped up to catch sight of Nikos, staring with this awkward hesitance at the demo table where some bowls, a mixer, and some measuring cups sat. He pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket of his suit and had to catch it to keep it from falling to the ground.