Burning Down the Spouse

by Dakota Cassidy

“Fluffy’s House of Ill Repute.”

  Frankie’s snort escaped before she could stop it. “You mean the strip joint in the next town over?”

  Maxine’s grin was wide when she thrust her hands into the pockets of her black linen trousers. “Even strippers need to be paid. Jasmine’s a whiz with numbers—we put that to good use while she takes accounting courses at night. For now, it’s an honest living, if unconventional.”

  Again, Frankie smiled, her facial muscles sore from overuse.

  “That looks good on you.”

  “What?”

  “A smile. It really is okay to smile. Nothing bad will happen when you do.”

  “Nothing bad was happening to me when I was in bed. In fact, it was a whole lot less tiresome.”

  Maxine laughed again, tucking her hair behind her ear to reveal modest diamond studs. “How was your first day, anyway?”

  “In a word?”

  “One would be fine. An entire sentence wouldn’t go ignored or unappreciated.” She followed her wish with a grin.

  “Overwhelming.”

  “The Antonakases will do that to you. They’re a noisy bunch, but they have hearts the size of Texas.”

  Yeah. One in particular had something the size of Texas. Something that had littered her thoughts all day long since she’d taken sensitive to astronomic proportions. “They were very nice.”

  “You have no idea how nice. You met Hector?”

  Frankie nodded. He was so quiet in his corner of the kitchen he’d almost freaked even her out. “I met him today.”

  “Then here’s a little something you should know about your boss Nikos. He’s a really great guy, a decent one. It’s no secret Hector was a gambler and an alcoholic, but because he was some friend of a friend of the Antonakases, Nikos hauled him into a state-run rehab and then hired him at the diner. He’s been clean ever since.”

  Frankie had little time to chew on the fact that Nikos was all things beyond supreme hotness before they were interrupted.

  “Max, honey? We really have to get going if we’re going to make the airport in time for Connor,” said a tall, rugged-looking man in jeans and a down jacket who’d just entered the room.

  Maxine’s eyes lit up the moment she caught sight of him. She gave him a quick peck on his lips and smiled with so much affection, Frankie winced. “Frankie, this is my husband Campbell.”

  He held out a lean hand, tan and large, toward Frankie. “Pleasure,” he said with a genuine smile, one that radiated warmth. Maxine leaned into him when he tucked her close to his side. Their obvious love for one another left Frankie with another pang of yearning, so sharp and biting, it stole her breath.

  “Nice to meet you,” she murmured.

  “I’ve got to go, Frankie. My son’s coming in for the holidays from college. But I’ll check in with you later in the week, okay?” Maxine took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. Pulling Frankie’s ear to her lips, she whispered, “Oh, and look. No rich, old man in sight either.”

  Frankie let her eyes fall to the floor in shame. Okay. She’d judged. So sue her.

  “It’s okay, Frankie,” Maxine reassured. “There’s a lesson to be learned from your assumptions about me.”

  “That I’m judgmental and bitter?”

  Her deliberate smile was a sly tease. “No. That all men who are rich have to be old.”

  For the third time that night, Frankie laughed.

  Out loud.

  With gusto.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  From the “still, but maybe a little less, reluctant” journal of ex-trophy wife Frankie Bennett: Okay, so Maxine was right. Sort of. Earning a paycheck is good for the soul. I do feel productive and useful. She was right when she said idle hands are the devil’s tools and all that encompasses as an idiom, yadda, yadda, yadda. Score one for Maxine. But I’ve come to believe Nikos’s hands are the devil’s instruments, and I wouldn’t mind them being idle on me. Sweet. Jesus.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “You’re blind.”

  “Sight impaired, thank you.”

  “So it makes perfect sense you’d be in a strip joint where there’s nothing but a visual Utopia of thong-covered asses and naked breasts.”

  The man at the bar chuckled. “I see with my other senses.”

  Jasmine raised a skeptical eyebrow at this handsome man’s cane and leaned her forearms on the shiny mahogany of the bar top, nodding a thank-you to Bert the bartender when he set a club soda and lime in front of her. “I’ll bet you do.”

  His sandy blond head nodded in appreciation of her tone. “For instance, my sharply honed other senses tell me you’re skeptical.”

  “Me and cynical are old friends,” she only half teased, brushing her hair from her eyes. She wasn’t in the mood to cavort with customers today, paying or not. Most especially with a blind man . . . correction, sight-impaired man in a strip bar. No matter how attractive. And indeed, he was attractive. Lean, with a healthy glow to his cheeks and a body bunched with hard muscle.

  His smile was ultrawhite in the dimly lit corner of the bar where they sat. “I’ll prove it to you.”

  Jasmine sighed, making her irritation at his intrusion clear. Men—young, old, and in between—had been hitting on her since she was thirteen, and since her divorce from Ashton, she’d decided she was fed up. If and when she wanted another man’s attention, she’d make the moves—all of them—in her own damned time. For now, she was enjoying life in all its simplicity from her studio apartment with Gary. A man would only complicate her new path with silly romantic debris.

  “I’m hurt you don’t want to play with me,” he chided good-naturedly, his deep green eyes looking at her as though they actually saw her. “I am blind.”

  Sipping her club soda, Jasmine gave a half smile. “So because you have a disability I’m supposed to indulge you and your come-on? I thought people with disabilities wanted to be treated equally? I’m perfectly happy to give you the same fair treatment I’d give any sighted man. So in the interest of equality—go away.”

  His linebacker shoulders shrugged in his blue football jersey. “Equality is overrated. I’m all about the pity card if it gets me what I want.”

  She began to hide a smile at his joke, then realized there was no need to. Jasmine ran her finger around the rim of her glass. “And what do you want?”

  Mystery Man dragged his stool closer to Jasmine and leaned into her, their thighs touching. He smelled of department store cologne and chicken wings. Yet that didn’t stop him from sending a chill of unadulterated pleasure along her arms when he said, “I want you.”

  Him and the rest of the free male world. “I remain unimpressed.”

  He reached with a deft hand to find the bowl of peanuts and pop one in his mouth. “How disappointing.”

  Jasmine chuckled before she could stop it. “Life’s full of them.”

  “You’re telling me?” he tapped the bar with his lean, well-manicured finger. “Blind guy here.”

  She waved a dismissive hand at him, forgetting he couldn’t see it. “Right. Nice crutch.”

  He surprised her by laughing, deep and inviting. “Is it helping my cause?”

  Another grin spread across her lips. “Not even a little.”

  “So sucks to be me today.”

  “Sir?” A tall man wearing a dark suit and dark glasses placed a hand on her would-be suitor’s shoulder. “We really must go.”

  Mystery Man cocked his head back at the sound of the stranger’s voice and smiled. “Aw, c’mon, Jeeves. Just two more minutes with the pretty lady, and I promise we’re out.”

  Jeeves sighed from pursed lips. “Sir, it’s Winchester,” he scolded, nodding his head with acknowledgment in Jasmine’s direction. “I’m Winchester Barclay—not Jeeves. Simonides loves a good joke.” Putting his hand under Simonides’s elbow, he encouraged him to rise from the bar stool. “Now, while the lovely lady would be a wonderful way to pass a cold and gloomy afternoon, I’ve caught
what you yourself would call her vibe—and it distinctly screams disinterest. Even I, utter novice in the ways of a woman, could sense that from all the way across the room whilst I ate greasy peanuts. I say we call the game and head for your interview before we’re late. You know how Oprah feels about tardiness.”

  Jasmine couldn’t help but wonder at Mystery Man’s name—and Oprah . . . “Simonides?”

  Winchester gave her a curt nod. “Yes. Simonides Rhadamanthus Jones.”

  She sat farther back on her bar stool, stunned. “The football player?” Ashton had been a huge fan.

  Simonides rose, allowing Winchester to place his cane back in his hand. He leaned into her. “Actually, it’s just Simon. Or Blind Guy. Whichever makes you feel sorrier for me so you’ll let me buy you dinner.”

  Jasmine looked to Winchester through the smoky haze of the bar.

  Winchester smiled in return, broad and with a fond look to Simon. “Yes, miss. The football player.”

  Simon made a mock sad face at Jasmine. “Who’s blind. Did I say blind?”

  Winchester chuckled. “As a bat, sir. I think the nice lady is clear. Now shall we?”

  Simon turned to obey Winchester but not without a parting shot sprinkled with amusement. “I’ll be back, Jasmine Archway. Count on it.”

  Long after Simon and his friend had left, Jasmine sat on the bar stool, perplexed. Not just by the legend attached to a man with a name longer than a country mile, or the tragic accident that had left him blind, but simply that he knew her name.

  Plucking a peanut out of the bowl, she found she wasn’t in the least bothered by it either.

  Just curious.

  Very curious.

  “Is she as hot as I remember, Win, or have things gone south for her? Not that I care as much as most think I would, but my curiosity has no shame.”

  Winchester settled in the backseat of the limo Oprah had sent, scoffing in Simon’s direction. “What a shallow question, Simon. Answering it makes me feel cheap and degraded.”

  Simon gave a hearty laugh. “Answer the question.”

  “Don’t you think a heterosexual male would be a much better candidate to provide you an answer?”

  Simon visualized the face Win was making at him right now, sour and disapproving. “You know what a good-looking female is. You definitely know the kind of woman I find attractive. You also know I’ve waited a long time for this moment. This isn’t some whim. This isn’t some casual pickup.”

  “No, sir, not at all. This is what you as a child called backsies. In fact, what you’re doing is as childish as the word ‘backsies.’”

  Simon placed his hands on Win’s face, tracing his mouth and grinning. “I knew it. You’re scowling at me again. No matter how blind I am, I can call up your ‘Simon, I disapprove’ face. It’s a classic.”

  Win cleared his throat, turning his head away from Simon, judging by the sound of his voice. “Good. Then my message is clear. I wholly disapprove of what you plan to do to Jasmine Archway.”

  What he’d planned to do began to fade as what he’d like to do took precedence. “Maybe my plans have changed,” he offered, vague and distracted while his mind busied itself changing courses.

  His conversation with Jasmine, though brief and filled with roadblocks, had changed the landscape he’d so carefully honed in his mind’s eye. “In fact, they’ve definitely changed, Win.”

  Definitely.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Gail crowed from her recliner, clicking off the Bon Appetit Channel as though she’d been caught surfing Internet porn.

  Frankie leaned in to kiss her weathered cheek before plopping on the couch, lifting Kiki up to sit with her. “You don’t have to stop watching because of me, Aunt Gail.”

  “Bah! I’d sooner have my tongue cut out than watch anything even remotely involving that dirty bird Mitch.” She jammed a needle into the needlepoint she was working on.

  “Oh, c’mon, Aunt Gail. You know you think Jean-Luc from Viva La Vegetarian! is cute. It’s okay to admit it. Everyone thinks so—even I do, and he’s nice, too. I’m not so bitter I’ll never watch anything Bon Appetit televises. You shouldn’t be either, though I appreciate the loyalty.”

  “Never mind the TV. Was today any better than the last four days?”

  Frankie closed her eyes, grateful for the reprieve from her aunt’s prying eyes. “It was fine.” Everything was fine. Fine as fine could be.

  “You say that every day when you come home, sassafras. I still don’t know how every day is just plum fine with that hunk o’ burnin’ love Nikos for a boss. He’s anything but fine, young lady. I’d reconsider my retirement for him and his cute butt.”

  Her face reddened. That was part of the problem. The more time she spent at Nikos’s side as his assistant, which she’d discovered was really just a made-up position because Nikos owed Maxine something Frankie was still unsure of, the harder it was to ignore the fact that everything he did made her insides melt like cheese on the grill.

  Pity employment, humiliating as it was, was dandy for now. Lusting for a man she was nowhere near ready to lust for wasn’t dandy or even fine—it was nerve-wracking. When Nikos had fed her that meatloaf, he’d cinched the deal. He was dangerous with a capital H-O-T. Since that first day, she’d stayed as far away from him as she could on her breaks. Yet her eyes found him no matter where he was.

  “I don’t give what he looks like much thought. I’m just putting in my time so Maxine won’t hunt me down and shoot me like an animal of prey.” Kiki rose up on her hind legs, putting her paws on Frankie’s mouth, silently accusing her of being a total bullshitter.

  “Your nose is growing,” was Gail’s dry response.

  She caught her fingers before they sought her nose and clenched them into fists. “Don’t be silly. Yes, Nikos is lovely to look at. Denying that would be like denying the pope wears a pointy hat. But I’m not interested. He’s my boss. Period.” Period, period, period. Now if only someone would tell that to the Sandman so her dreams weren’t littered with him in his tight jeans and T-shirt, she’d be golden.

  “You wouldn’t be the first girl to fall in love with her boss. But I think if we’re going to make him fall in love back, we have to do something about . . . well, something, that’s all. Your clothes are falling off you, and if I didn’t know you, I’d think you were some crazy homeless bag lady. All you need is a shopping cart and another stray dog to complete your bag lady ensemble.”

  Frankie’s face reddened again. How far the fabulous had fallen. Being Mitch’s wife had been filled with the kind of pressure to be beautiful at all times, pressure only beauty queens and movie stars should endure. She wanted to feel the shame that her appearance had a homeless hint to it. Instead, her embarrassment came and went like a double coupon sale.

  She shrugged off Gail’s insult, though she knew her aunt had only said it out of love. Gail had never seen her as anything less than picture-perfect. To see the comparison now had to be a shock. Yet Frankie was making no apologies for this small freedom she’d found since walking out on Mitch. “First, let me set the record straight. No one’s falling in love with anyone. Most especially not me and Nikos. No matter how Greek god–like he is. Second, there’s a certain kind of freedom to not wearing makeup, and there’s definitely no pressure involved in just rolling up out of bed, brushing your teeth, and going to work.”

  Gail snorted, rapping the needlepoint she held against the arm of the recliner she’d had since Frankie’s childhood. “I’ll say.”

  Frankie gritted her teeth. “I’m not working at the diner to impress anyone with my impeccable taste in clothes, Aunt Gail. I’m working because you and Maxine forced me to. I was happy where I was. It was the two of you who decided I needed to shower and find all this purpose and meaning in my life. So here I am. Clean and searching for the meaning of my life in a burger deluxe with a double side of fries.”

  Gail yawned. “You’ll thank us both when they don’t com
e take your cute car from you and put my Squeaky Kiki up for adoption at the pound. You need a cute car to romance a cute man. From what I hear, having your own set of wheels is important when you’re dating so you always have an escape vehicle.”

  “Aunt Gail, I really think it’s much too soon to talk about dating or Nikos or of all things, falling in love. I was married for eighteen years, and I’m just now realizing how unhappy I was for probably the last twelve of those years. I don’t want to consider a relationship with a hamster, let alone a real, live man for a very long time.” No matter how many nights she spent pondering one with Nikos. Were you supposed to do that so soon after you were divorced? This had to be chalked up to a rebound crush.

  Gail trailed her fingers over her niece’s, giving her a warm, albeit appeasing smile. “You’ll change your mind. If you fall off the horse, you just gotta get right back on, kiddo,” she said, blowing Frankie a kiss and planting one on Kiki’s head before leaving the room.

  Frankie let her head fall to the cushioned arm of the sofa in defeat.

  Screw the horse.

  No more riding lessons.

  Kiki cocked her head at Frankie as if she knew her mistress was a big, fat liar. Her wide, liquid-brown eyes pierced Frankie’s.

  She’d better hurry up and find a hobby soon. Distraction was the key to her waking libido. “How do you feel about ceramics, Kik? I could make you a new bowl with your name on it.”

  With a sigh, Kiki dropped her paws from Frankie’s chest, flopping to sprawl across her lap. Frankie gave her a loving nudge. “Fine. But if you’re jealous when I bring home a ‘handmade by Frankie Bennett’ garden gnome to Auntie Gail, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

  “Frankie?”

  “Nikos?”

  “Where are you right now?”

  Cuddling the phone to her ear, Frankie decided every woman who’d been scorned and needed a pathetic, never-gonna-happen fantasy should have a wake-up call from Nikos Antonakas. It was decidedly sinful. After two weeks of working with him, she’d become a never-gonna-happen fantasy aficionado.