The Worst Best Man

by Lucy Score

He couldn’t tell if the man was going to hit him or hug him.

  “Front fucking row?” Marco whooped.

  “I hope you don’t mind—”

  “Mind?” Aiden found himself enveloped in a male embrace and actually lifted off his feet.

  “This is like a real fucking dream come true,” Gio said, still staring at the tickets. Aiden wasn’t sure, but it looked as though his eyes had gone a little misty.

  Marco released him back to the ground and slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Can Frankie pick ‘em, or can she pick ‘em?”

  “I wish you’d tell her that,” Aiden said before he thought better of it.

  “She giving you a hard time?” Gio asked sympathetically.

  Aiden hesitated. Family loyalty dictated that Frankie’s brothers would be one-hundred percent on her side.

  “She’s great,” Aiden said evasively.

  “She’s a slippery one to nail down,” Marco said. “If you want to be in it for the long haul, she’ll make you work.”

  “Overtime,” Gio added.

  “Tough nut to crack,” Marco said.

  “I can’t tell if she wants to be in this relationship, or if she’s just waiting for it to end.”

  The brothers shared a look and a laugh. “How about we get inside and talk over a beer and some steak sandwiches?”

  “Real quick, hang on,” Gio said, snatching the old tickets out of Marco’s hand. “Hey, kid.” He stopped a gangly teenager in a jersey. “You got tickets?”

  The kid shook his head. “No, man.”

  “Now you do.” Gio handed them over with a flourish.

  “Are you serious?” The kid gaped down at his hand as if Santa himself had just bestowed a magical gift.

  “Pay it forward,” Marco announced cheerfully. “Let’s go.” He led the way inside.

  “I feel like Oprah,” Gio mused, bringing up the rear.

  --------

  The game was action-packed for a basketball game. The courtside seats were worth the astronomical price when Gio and Marco couldn’t stop hitting each other in excitement.

  “This is the greatest night of my life,” Gio announced when one of the Knicks City Dancers blew him a kiss.

  “Top ten, definitely,” Marco said through a bite of steak.

  Together, they razzed the players and shouted along with the rest of the crowd. And Aiden felt like he was part of the unit. He couldn’t imagine spending an evening like this with his half-brother. He and Elliott had never had much, if anything, in common. They were loyal because it was required. But they weren’t tight-knit like the Baranski siblings.

  “Are you excited about being a father?” Aiden asked Marco.

  “Shit yeah,” Marco shrugged. “Never thought I would be. But Rachel? She makes my life a thousand times better than before. And I had a damn good life before.”

  “You know what you’re having?” Aiden asked.

  “Little girl,” Marco puffed up and then shoved a finger in Aiden’s face. “But Rachel wants to be surprised, so she didn’t open the envelope. And neither did I. Got it?”

  Aiden smirked. “Your secret is safe. Does Frankie know?”

  “Not yet.” The way Marco said it made Aiden think there weren’t many secrets the Baranski siblings kept from one another.

  It was an appealing dynamic, he thought. He’d spent his life with family that ruled decisions, friends that he could rarely trust, and hundreds of acquaintances who would sell him out at the drop of the hat. It was nothing like the bond Gio and Marco shared.

  Between plays, the brothers helpfully schooled him on all things Frankie.

  “You gotta understand, Frankie’s looking for what our parents have,” Marco said, washing down the rest of his sandwich with overpriced beer.

  “A partnership,” Gio added. “She’s not settling for less.”

  Less is exactly what they’d agreed upon.

  “So, how would someone prove they’d be a good partner?” Aiden asked.

  “First of all, don’t be a pushover. Don’t give her everything she demands. Like when she calls you tonight and suggests you come over, tell her you can’t, and don’t give her an excuse.”

  “That will drive her friggin’ nuts,” Marco grinned in approval.

  “You’re not giving me bad advice to sink me, are you?” Aiden asked wryly.

  Marco leaned in, the epitome of seriousness. “With the seats you could get us for the Jets? Nah, man. We wouldn’t lead you astray. Hell, we’re hoping you get married and have eight babies.”

  “Frankie grew up with us. She’s basically a guy without the equipment,” Gio pointed out, leading them back to the topic at hand. “Talk to her like you would a VP in your company. Don’t be all like ‘Not now, baby, men are talking.’ She’ll have your balls in a peanut butter jar for that.”

  Marco nodded. “Yeah, she’s a smart girl. Talk to her like she’s one.”

  The crowd exploded as a breakaway was foiled.

  Gio put his hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “Listen, man. Don’t be dicking around if forever isn’t what you’re after. You want to keep it light? Fine, do that. But don’t be getting into her head if you’re just looking to jump ship next week, got it?”

  “Fair enough,” Aiden agreed. He didn’t know if forever was what he wanted, but he sure as hell wanted more than just next week.

  “Good. Because I’d hate to have to beat the shit out of you after courtside seats,” Marco chimed in. “I mean, I’d still do it. But I’d probably be pulling my punches a bit.”

  “Hey, so what’s it like being able to buy whatever you want?” Gio asked.

  --------

  “Hello, beautiful,” Aiden answered Frankie’s call, plugging his other ear with a finger so he could hear her over the din.

  “I saw you and the two stooges on TV,” she told him.

  “I hope you recorded it.”

  “I did. I even took some still shots of them climbing you like a tree on that last second three-pointer. You do remember which member of the family you’re dating, don’t you?”

  He grinned.

  “Is that, Frankie?” Gio hissed.

  Aiden nodded. Marco grabbed a pen off of a waitress and scrawled a note on a beer napkin.

  Don’t say yes to the booty call.

  “So, where are you guys?” Frankie asked.

  “Celebrating with apparently half of Madison Square Garden in a bar,” Aiden told her.

  “You drinking?” she asked.

  He had a vague recollection of his confession before falling asleep on her Sunday afternoon. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or pleased that she was looking out for him.

  “One beer at the game. One beer here,” he reported.

  “Good boy.”

  He wanted to hate the way the praise she gave him made him hard. Made him want to see her, touch her, taste her.

  Marco shoved another napkin in his face.

  Stay strong!

  “I live to serve,” he said lightly.

  Dismayed, Marco and Gio shook their heads.

  “Are you coming back to Brooklyn with them?” she asked innocently. “I might just have a cute, lacey nighty on.”

  He knew her better than that. She was in a tank top and leggings curled up under a mound of blankets.

  “I don’t think so, but you’re more than welcome to come into the city,” he offered. Thinking of her in his bedroom, her dark hair spread out on white sheets, the city lights shining through the windows. Aiden wanted her to say yes. Wanted it more than anything.

  “I’ve got an early morning,” she said. “Don’t stay out too late.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Aiden said, wishing she’d change her mind.

  “Goodnight, Aide.”

  “Goodnight, Franchesca.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Aiden opened the front door of his apartment and, ignoring th
e fresh flowers on the foyer table, headed down the hallway to his bedroom. He deposited his wallet and cufflinks in their special compartments in his closet. He slid out of his suit jacket and shoes, returning both to their appropriate places before changing into jeans and his favorite Yale sweatshirt.

  Comfort clothes.

  It had been another tough day at work. The board had finally settled on a CFO candidate that they could all stomach. All except for Elliot. He’d stormed out of the meeting like a child having a tantrum. Their father ignored the show of temper and moved on to the next agenda item.

  They’d all been far too lenient with Elliot, ignoring his absolute uselessness. Uselessness Aiden could deal with. He didn’t like it but could accept it. However, the willful harm his half-brother was committing against the family and their business? That was a different story. Kilbourns were a lot of things. Manipulative bastards, cold-hearted sons of bitches, competitive enemies. But they never turned their back on family.

  Aiden had broached the subject with his father after the meeting. Ferris had shut him down with a “Not now, son,” and ushered him out the door.

  As much money as he made Kilbourn Holdings, as much value as he added, his father still thought of him as a child to be guided.

  But the unease that had settled into his gut had less to do with work and more to do with Franchesca. She was holding back with him everywhere but bed. It irritated him to extend invitations only to be consistently shut down. She acted as if she couldn’t care less about his life. Yet when they were together he knew she felt it. That magnetic pull that had them orbiting around each other. There was a connection and while she seemed only interested in exploring that connection when he was shoving his cock into her, it wasn’t enough for Aiden.

  And that unsettled him.

  He padded into the living room, his gaze settling on the decanter on the side table. It had become his habit to have a glass as soon as he walked in the door. And another one while he worked for another hour or two in his home office cleaning up what he hadn’t gotten to during the day. And a third while reading or catching the game.

  He didn’t drink to get drunk. He drank to numb himself. It wasn’t pain that he felt. It was something more nebulous. Dissatisfaction? Emptiness? Loneliness?

  Looking around the rest of the room, was it any wonder? He’d hired a designer. People of his stature didn’t choose their own furnishings. The company had done a reasonable job filling the place with things that he mostly liked or at least didn’t have to think about. The leather couch was a little too modern, a little too hard. But it looked right in the space.

  His father always commented that the wealthy didn’t have time to sit around on their furniture. They were too busy making money.

  Aiden’s mother had always rolled her eyes at the sentiment and insisted that Ferris sit and talk. They’d usually get five, maybe ten, minutes out of him before he heaved himself out of the silk upholstered wingback chair and headed back to work. Everything to his father was work. Success was defined by the number of hours a man put in and the number of zeroes in his portfolio. It was a cold way to look at the world. And Aiden had fallen into the same trap.

  He traced a finger over the marble surround of the fireplace he never sat in front of. The leather club chairs flanking the fire had never held guests. The fully stocked bar built into the bookcase served only one.

  He’d considered this place to be his sanctuary, but today it felt like a two-dimensional replica of a home, a life.

  Aiden’s gaze flicked back to the scotch. There was no siren’s song coming from the crystal. Only a habit. He hated weakness, and the fact that he’d managed to develop a crutch without noticing it was embarrassing. He’d confessed to Frankie that he thought he drank too much. Why had he told her that? Why had he given her that weapon?

  He scraped a hand over his face and wandered over to the piano he didn’t know how to play. He didn’t feel safe sharing things with her. Not when she’d clearly marked it as a one-way street. But he couldn’t stop from offering up pieces of himself to her. Sacrifices to a cruel goddess, he mused.

  Only she wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t disinterested. She was… careful. And maybe she had the right idea to remain distrustful.

  The buzzer to his door sounded, and Aiden frowned. Very few people were cleared to this floor. His mother would have called first.

  He crossed to the door and found his father on the other side of it.

  Ferris Kilbourn strolled inside, hands in his pockets in a deceptively casual stance. Ferris and his wife, Elliot’s mother, lived two blocks over in a stunning two-story penthouse. But despite the proximity, they rarely made social calls.

  “This is a surprise,” Aiden said, closing the door behind him.

  “I thought it would be good to talk away from the office,” Ferris told him, perusing the space as if he were a bored guest in a museum.

  “Would you like a drink?” Aiden offered.

  “Macallan?”

  “Of course.”

  Aiden led the way into the living room and poured a glass. He hesitated and then poured a second. He handed one to his father and deliberately took a seat in one of the club chairs.

  Ferris unbuttoned his jacket and sat down on the couch, stretching his arm across the back of it. Aiden had gotten his looks from his mother, all dark hair and blue eyes. His father had the gingery hair of his Irish heritage, most of it gone now. What remained was trimmed short. He was clean shaven and always, always in a suit. His father was the type of man who wore a tie on Christmas morning. And not a silly Santa tie, either. He preferred Hermes.

  Aiden waited while his father gathered his thoughts. Neither appreciated the banality of small talk, and there was power in silence.

  “I’m thinking of retiring,” Ferris announced without preamble.

  “Thinking about?” For his father to verbalize such a bombshell, he’d gone past the considering stage and into planning and implementing. But retirement shouldn’t be in Ferris’s vocabulary.

  Ferris eyed his glass. “I’ve given my life to this company. We’ve achieved something your great-grandfather and grandfather couldn’t have envisioned.”

  “And you’re comfortable just walking away from it?” Aiden asked. He sat his untouched drink on the walnut side table and rested his elbows on his knees. His hands dangled between his knees.

  “Jacqueline and I are getting a divorce,” Ferris said, dropping the next boom as though he were casually commenting on the weather.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve met someone else. My relationship with your stepmother has run its course. We’ve already spoken to our attorneys and are letting them hash out a settlement.”

  “Dad, what the hell is going on?”

  Ferris sipped his scotch and sighed. “It might be a mid-life crisis, but son, this is the most fun I’ve had in my life. I think it’s time I had some.”

  “I’m happy for you,” Aiden said. He probably was. He wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never developed more than a superficial relationship with his stepmother. And she’d rightfully favored her own son over Aiden. He couldn’t say that he’d be sorry that he would no longer suffer through her incessant to-do lists that she nattered on about.

  “I have to go to the salon and then the dermatologist. Then it’s lunch with so and so’s club. Soul Cycle afterwards. Then there’s the board meeting for such and such. I just don’t see how I’m going to find the time to have dinner. People ask me how I do it. They just don’t realize that I’m hanging by a thread!” Always a martyr.

  “Her name is Alice, and she’s a clothing designer. Not high fashion but outdoorsy, athletic lines. Smart, vivacious. We’re going to take the boat down the coast and cruise the Bahamas this spring and summer.”

  Aiden made a mental note to contact the family law firm immediately and have an iron clad prenup drafted before Alice became a Kilbourn.

 
; Aiden stared at the man who looked like his father but sounded like a complete stranger. However, as Ferris had taught him, it didn’t pay to show surprise or confusion in any situation. Even if his father was losing his damn mind.

  “Congratulations,” Aiden said.

  Ferris raised his glass in a toast. “I’ve built an empire. I think it’s time I started enjoying the perks.”

  Mid-life crisis? Or perhaps an undetected brain tumor? Maybe a visit with the concierge doctor his father favored was in order.

  “You certainly deserve to use your time as you see fit,” Aiden responded.

  “I wouldn’t be doing any of this if I wasn’t one-hundred percent confident in your ability to step into my shoes as CEO. You’ve been groomed your entire life for this, Aiden. I know you won’t let me down.”

  “What about Elliot?” Aiden asked.

  “I know you’re not pleased with how I handled him over the Barbados situation—”

  “He abducted someone, Dad.”

  Ferris at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. “It was a family matter that got out of hand.”

  “It was a felony no matter where it happened.”

  “He’s always wanted to be you, son. And, unfortunately for him, he’ll never be. You can’t blame him for being rash with his decisions living in your shadow. He acts out because he’s not you, and I can’t see punishing him for that fact.”

  “Elliot does not put this family first. He doesn’t put the business first. He puts himself first.”

  “And that’s why I’m counting on you to lead him. Groom him into a Kilbourn man. I’ll be the first to admit that he’s an embarrassment.”

  An embarrassment? Aiden suddenly wanted that drink, but he forced himself to ignore it.

  “He’s not just an embarrassment. He’s a danger. He wanted to put Boris Donaldson in our company for a reason.” A reason Aiden had yet to discover.

  “Elliot is harmless and misguided. I need you to take him under your wing. I need you to do this for me, Aiden. I know it’s not easy. But when my father stepped down, I had to make tough choices, too. It’s part of passing the torch. Someday you’ll ask something of your son.”