by Lucy Score
Aiden stilled in his seat. “What makes you think I had anything to do with that?”
Elliot sneered. “You’ve been ignoring my existence my entire life. I overheard a lot of things in that house.”
Aiden’s hand tightened on the pen, but he kept his face impassive, disinterested.
“Do you really think that information would have any effect on my relationship with Franchesca now? If you’ll recall, Chip and Pruitt are happily married now. No thanks to you.”
“Ah, but imagine how Franchesca would feel knowing that you were the reason her best friend in the whole world was nearly hospitalized? There were plenty of rumors back then about how hard she took the breakup. Chip didn’t know what you were doing, but I did. I recognize manipulation when I see it. How do you think he would feel knowing you orchestrated his breakup?”
“You have nothing. I’m offering you the chance to finally be a real part of this company.” Aiden kept his words clipped.
“You have a week to decide. Buy me out, or I’m spilling your dirty little secrets to Franchesca.” With that, Elliot stormed from Aiden’s office in a fit of temper.
And now Aiden’s headache was full blown. He glanced at the blinking voicemail indicator, at the dozens of new messages in his inbox, at the neat stack of contracts awaiting his signature and rose.
By the time he got there, Frankie would likely be getting home. He wanted her. Needed her. He called his car service. “We’re going to Brooklyn.”
--------
Aiden closed his eyes in the car and let the dark and the quiet relax him. By the time he got to Frankie’s front steps, it was ten, and he just wanted to lay down on that big bed, wrap his arms around her and sleep.
He pressed the buzzer for Frankie’s apartment and wasn’t surprised at the lack of response. He pressed the buzzer for Mrs. Gurgevich in 2A.
“Sorry to bother you so late, Mrs. Gurgevich,” Aiden said when she answered. The world was spinning in halos and nauseating visual disturbances around him.
“That girl hasn’t given you a key yet?” she grumbled.
“Not yet, ma’am.”
“Have you tried flowers?” she suggested through the crackle of the speaker.
“I’ll try that,” he agreed.
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” She buzzed him inside, and Aiden trudged up the three flights of stairs praying that his head didn’t fall from his shoulders. He’d just sit in the hallway and wait for her. He should have texted her, but part of him wanted to test her. Would she be happy to see him? Annoyed? He needed to know before he went any farther. He could feel himself getting pulled into her. And he needed to know exactly how far she was comfortable going before he could give any more pieces of himself.
The door across the hallway cracked open. “Oh, it’s you. I thought it was Mr. McMitchem down the hall stealing my paper,” Mrs. Chu said, glancing down to make sure her decoy newspaper was still there.
Aiden caught a glimpse of pink house coat and plush puppy slipper through the crack in the door.
“Sorry for startling you, Mrs. Chu. I’m just waiting for Franchesca—ah, Frankie—to get home.”
“If you’re lurking out here, Mr. McMitchem will get scared off. Here.” She disappeared for a moment and then returned, shoving a key at him. “We have a spare.”
He needed to get Franchesca into a building with better security. Her neighbors would happily welcome an AK-47 wielding bank robbery suspect inside.
But it would be more comfortable than sitting in the hall. He unlocked the door, returned the key, and went inside.
He was always struck by the contrast between his home and Frankie’s. Hers screamed lived in, if somewhat messily. There were dishes in the sink, mail on the table, and a lump of clean laundry on the floor just outside the kitchen as if she’d dug through the basket in search of a particular piece in a hurry.
With a ridiculous amount of gratitude, he noted she’d washed a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt. He changed out of his suit, thought about raiding her cabinets, and decided his headache would be better off with rest over food. He lay down on the couch and tried to put his brain to work on the problem at hand. He knew how it would go if Frankie knew what he’d done. How he’d pushed Chip into breaking up with Pruitt. And from comments Frankie had made, the breakup had been devastating to Pruitt.
How was he going to fix it all? It was his last thought as the dark and the quiet enveloped him.
Chapter Forty-Seven
He was sprawled on her couch, a pillow over his face, his t-shirt showing a sexy peek of abs above the low waistband of his sweatpants.
Frankie would have screamed when she walked through her front door, but there was no mistaking that gorgeous, god-like body for some stranger who broke in to rob and rape her. Aiden Kilbourn was her mysterious guest, and judging by his bleary eyes, he wasn’t here for sex.
“Hey,” she said softly.
He winced at the light and closed his eyes again. “Hi,” he said, his voice raspy. “What time is it?”
“Not quite 11.”
“Sorry for breaking in.”
“Seeing as how my door’s still intact, I imagine Mrs. Chu let you in,” Frankie said, brushing her fingers through his thick dark hair.
“You need better security.” He nuzzled his cheek against her hand, and Frankie melted on the inside.
“Headache?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Hang in there, tough guy.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and headed into the kitchen. She returned with a glass of water and two caplets. “I don’t have any of Pru’s good prescription stuff, but this is over-the-counter.”
He worked his way into a seated position, and she could see that it pained him.
“How was your night?” he asked her, downing the pills and water.
His hair was disheveled from sleep, the ends curled softly at his neck. How was it that arrogant and demanding Aiden could make her blood sing, but vulnerable, sweet Aiden turned her cold steely heart to mush?
“It was fine,” she lied. It hadn’t been fine. It had been a pain in the ass. And a bit of a culture shock to go from attending a huge charity function one week to working one the next. She felt as if she didn’t belong in either place now.
Perhaps she was two people too. Franchesca the entrepreneur’s girlfriend and Frankie the grad student from Brooklyn who sprinkled the f-bomb like fairy dust.
“How was your day?”
He pressed his fingers to his eyes, but she could still see the grimace.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She took his empty glass back to the kitchen and opened a can of Coke.
“I do. That’s why I came here.” Now he sounded just the slightest bit surly, and she found it endearing.
She handed the can over. “Here. Let’s double up on the caffeine.”
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“Come on,” she said, gently tugging on his hand. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To bed.”
“I don’t know how well I’ll perform—”
“To sleep, Aide. Just to sleep. I promise not to jump your bones until you feel better.”
“Oh.”
She led him into the bedroom and tucked him in on his side of the big king bed. His side. He had a side in her bed, a drawer in her bathroom, and it was probably time he had a key too instead of depending on the kindness/nosiness of her neighbors.
Frankie brushed a kiss to his forehead. When she tried to move away, he grabbed her hand. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Honey, I’m just going to change and then I’m coming to bed.”
“You’re probably not tired yet.”
She wasn’t. After running around like a fool for four hours feeding rude people and cleaning up their messes she was usually a little revved.
“I’m going to read in bed, right next to you.”
“Okay.” He pressed his face into his pillow.
God damn it. Vulnerable, needy Aiden was still sexy as fuck and all she wanted to do was bundle him up in a quilt and baby him until he felt better. It was making her feel weird in her chest area. Warm and… happy. She didn’t like it.
She took her time brushing her teeth and washing her face. When she came back into the bedroom in search of pajamas, he was asleep, a pillow pulled over his head.
Poor indestructible Aiden had found his limit. It must have been a very rough day indeed. She’d caught peeks at his work calendar before. He was scheduled down to the minute on most days. Aiden Kilbourn got more done before ten than most people did all day—hell, all week. But she recognized a pattern.
Work was his life, and he pushed until he burned out, and then he got back up and pushed some more.
She could admire that kind of dedication, Frankie thought as she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets. She settled back against the pillows with her eReader.
It was something they had in common. Sure, his work life involved him running a multi-billion-dollar conglomerate. Her work life was two part-time jobs and grad school. But still, they both had their eyes on the prize, and neither would stop at anything. Him: world domination or the corporate equivalent. Her: a master’s degree and a financially secure future.
It was funny how similar two people from opposite sides of the tracks could be.
He shifted on the mattress. Without opening his eyes, he rolled to her side, curling around her and pressing his face against her arm.
The most eligible bachelor in the city was in her bed, holding on for dear life, and her heart was doing something funny and fluttery.
“Son of a bitch,” she murmured. She was falling for him. And this was not going to be a soft landing.
She picked up her eReader and opened the novel she’d started. At least on the page she was guaranteed a happily ever after.
Aiden Kilbourn’s new girlfriend a cocktail waitress?
Just the tip: Waitress bags billionaire
Chapter Forty-Eight
Frankie swung through the crowd, a tray of pancetta crisps in her hand. It was her next to last catering gig. With the cash from tonight, she’d have almost enough to pay off her credit card that was still sobbing from Pru’s wedding.
The rich were raising money for manatees or sea turtles or some kind of endangered marine life in an Upper West Side art gallery. They were scribbling checks with one hand while downing signature cocktails and stuffed mushroom caps with the other.
“These are divine,” a woman in black sequins sighed, plucking another appetizer from Frankie’s tray. “The only reason I come to these things is for the food,” she confessed.
Frankie gave her a smile. “In that case, don’t miss the brie toast points.”
She made a lap around the far side of the room, smiling politely and pointing out the restrooms when asked. And was completely surprised when Cressida’s considerable rack came into her line of vision.
Shit. She’d been hoping to remain as under-the-radar as possible. Her catering boss already had reservations about letting Aiden Kilbourn’s girlfriend hand out apps to her new peers. The last thing she needed was a run-in with Pru’s bridal party.
Frankie ducked behind a tall, stooped gentleman and peered around his elbow. Cressida wasn’t alone. She was on the arm of groomsmen and day-trading boy genius Digby. Frankie was so surprised that she didn’t notice when her cover wandered off toward the bar.
“Frankie?” Digby asked, cocking his head to one side.
Crappity crap crap.
Frankie plastered a bright smile on her face. “Hey, Digby. Cressida. It’s nice to see you,” she said for once wishing she was in a nice dress holding a fundraiser program and not a tray of pancetta snacks.
Cressida eyed Frankie’s uniform. “You are working?” she asked.
Frankie straightened her shoulders, daring them to say anything. “Yep. So, what brings you two here?” she asked.
Digby snatched a piece of toast off her tray. “Cressida owns the building,” he said, chewing happily.
“And I like the manatees,” she added pointing at one of the informative banners hanging from the ceiling.
The big-boobed blonde was a real estate mogul, and Frankie was pushing appetizers for a living. Sometimes life just wasn’t quite fair.
Digby reached into his pocket.
“You use your phone, and I will have you killed,” Cressida purred.
Digby sheepishly ended his search and reached for another appetizer.
“I am training him to not be an asshole,” Cressida announced. “Good luck with your training of Aiden.”
“Uh, thanks?” Frankie said.
Digby grinned. “I heard Margeaux didn’t take the news of you two dating well.”
“Why Margeaux thinks it’s any of her business is beyond me.”
“That one does not like to lose,” Cressida announced. “We must go make love now.”
Digby’s face lit up, and for once, it wasn’t from the backlight of his phone. It looked as though he was trading in his day-trader ways.
“Great seeing you, Frankie. Tell Aiden we said hi,” he said in a rush, grabbing Cressida’s wrist and dragging her toward the door.
“Huh,” Frankie said, watching them leave. Maybe there had been something in the water in Barbados. She shivered, pitying whatever man ended up with Margeaux.
She moved on, circulating like a ghost through the crowd until her tray was empty. Back in the cramped kitchen, she restocked. Jana slid through the door with a tray of dirty glasses.
“Another hour, and we start packing up,” she sang. Her blonde hair was streaked with turquoise today.
Frankie couldn’t wait for that hour to end, and with it this portion of her life so she could step into her newly favorite role. Aiden’s bed warmer. Since she was already in town, it only made sense for her to stay at his place tonight. Especially since tomorrow was Saturday. The plan was to sleep in and have a lazy Saturday brunch. Then dinner with Aiden’s father, his new lady friend, and Aiden’s mother. As always, the Kilbourns kept it quite civilized. Though not civilized enough to invite the step-mother/soon-to-be-ex. News of the divorce had leaked early. And the gossip was rampant even here.
Rumor had it that Jacqueline had been on the guest list for tonight but was too humiliated to show her face. Frankie guessed the woman was probably reviewing her prenup with a magnifying glass rather than suffering any actual humiliation. It was funny serving food to some of the same people she’d danced alongside of last week. But as was typical, no one looked a server in the eyes unless they were after something more than food or drink.
The anonymity was more comforting than anything. Aiden hadn’t mentioned anything about her catering gigs, but she imagined it must be odd for him to have a girlfriend who cleaned up after his peers.
“Franchesca?” Cecily Kilbourn cocked her head to one side. “It is you!” She was dressed in a simple yet stunning yellow dress that only a woman with her coloring and bearing could begin to pull off.
“Mrs. Kilbourn,” Frankie said, nearly bobbling her tray.
Her ghost status had just been revoked.
“Please, call me Cecily,” she said with a genuine smile. “Is Aiden here?”
“No. He was working late tonight.”
“Ah. My son is always working,” Cecily sighed. “He takes after his father in that area.”
“He’s very dedicated,” Frankie agreed.
“That’s a very polite way of saying he needs to be careful before he starts following in the rest of his father’s footsteps. I’m very glad he’s found you. He seems quite taken with you.”
“Same. I mean, I feel the same way.”
“I may be biased,” Cecily said, “but he is quite the prize.”
“We’re enjoying our time together,” Frankie said, not knowing how to make small talk with her boyfriend’s mother when she was supposed to be handing out miniature shrimp cocktails served in ceramic spoons.
“What did you find now, Cecily? You’re going to end up ten pounds heavier when you leave here if you don’t stay away from the food.” Jacqueline, neither humiliated nor glued to her prenup, sidled up to them and plucked a sample from Frankie’s tray. She sampled it and wrinkled her pretty nose. “Ugh. Disgusting. I hate shrimp.” She dropped the half-eaten shrimp back on the tray in a masticated lump.
Asshole.
“Where’s the girl with the brie?” she demanded.
“Jacqueline, you remember Aiden’s girlfriend Franchesca, don’t you?” Cecily said pointedly.
It took Jacqueline a moment to realize that Cecily was talking about the tray-wielding Frankie and not someone else. “You’re a waitress?” Jacqueline asked with a laugh. Her eyebrows were trying valiantly to raise, but the flawless forehead only allowed her eyes to widen ever so slightly.
“Among other things, Mrs. Kilbourn.”
Jacqueline looked like she was weighing whether or not she should be seen talking to the help.
“Well, enjoy your girl talk,” she said, going nearly cross-eyed from looking down her nose at them. “I’ve got another party to attend soon, so I must say my good-byes.” She swished away in satin and pearls.
“Let’s hope the next one is slightly more tolerable,” Cecily sighed.
“How did Ferris go from you to that?” Frankie asked. Oh shit. When was she going to learn to keep her mouth shut?
“It probably had something to do with her being pregnant with his child,” Cecily mused. “Oops. Family secret. Just pretend I said something really Zen and sweet instead.”
“You’re right. Jacqueline really is a treasure,” Frankie said.
“Oh, Cecily!” A woman in a burgundy shawl waved from her up-close vantage point of a very naked statue.
“That’s a friend of mine. Would you like me to introduce you?” she asked.