by Lucy Score
Frankie shook her head. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d rather stay incognito. I’ve only got one more catering gig to go, and it’s just easier if no one knows my… connection to Aiden.”
Cecily nodded. “I understand. Well, it was lovely to see you, and I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow night.”
“Me, too,” Frankie said. And she realized she actually meant it.
Frankie headed in the direction of the kitchen to get rid of Jacqueline’s dead shrimp. Nothing killed the appetite like someone else’s chewed up food.
“Did you see who Cecily was talking to?”
Frankie heard Jacqueline’s voice coming from a cluster of ladies who were lingering near the bar.
“Who?” someone asked, breathy with excitement over any tidbit of gossip.
“A waitress.”
“Was she getting a recipe?”
“The waitress is her son’s girlfriend.”
“No!” someone gasped in horror.
Okay, that was a bit of an overreaction. It’s not like she just announced Aiden was eating homeless dogs for breakfast.
“Yes!” Jacqueline announced gleefully. “Like father, like son, I suppose. They both have a thing for the help.”
“Was Cecily a waitress too?” one of the other women demanded.
“Almost as bad,” Jacqueline continued. “She was a secretary or something at the interior design firm he hired to do the house in the Hamptons. Can you imagine? Poor dear always thought we were friends. But that’s what you do to help. You pat them on the head and tell them they’re doing a good job and then count the silver when they leave.”
They cackled like a flock of chickens.
“There goes the bloodline,” someone sighed.
“I suppose I should have told my daughter to get a job at a fast food restaurant or as a janitor when she wanted to catch Aiden’s eye all those years ago.”
Frankie was amazed that the tray didn’t snap in her hand from the pressure she was applying. She did a rapid calculation. Exactly how bad would the consequences be if she beaned the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Kilbourn in the head with this tray?
Crap. Pretty bad. She seethed. Okay, physical violence was out. But she wasn’t about to let this go.
Frankie grabbed a cocktail toothpick off of the bar and walked into the midst of the hyenas. “There you are, Jackie. You’ve got a little spinach stuck in your dentures,” she said handing over the toothpick. “I’d hate for everyone to be laughing at you behind your back.”
The laughter screeched to a halt. Jacqueline stared at her coldly.
“Oh, and I’m so proud of you for making an appearance tonight. I can’t imagine showing my face in public after my husband dumped me for a woman fifteen years younger. Good for you, sweetie. Will you be at dinner tomorrow night to meet the new Mrs. Kilbourn with the rest of the family?”
Jacqueline’s mouth was hanging somewhere down around her augmented tits when Frankie breezed away.
Okay, it wasn’t as satisfying as popping her one in the face. But it felt good enough.
She stormed back into the kitchen, took a two-minute breather, and then plastered a professional smile on her face and returned to the thinning crowd. Jacqueline was gone, and it looked like she’d taken most of her cronies with her. Probably to prove she wasn’t wearing dentures.
Everyone was looking at her, though, and laying on the profuse thank-yous when she passed with the tray. Ugh. She preferred it when they were too important to look at her. Word traveled fast in high society. Aiden Kilbourn’s girlfriend was slinging apps in an apron on a Friday night. What was the world coming to?
“I’d love a piece of whatever it is you have.” The voice was smooth with a practiced flirtatiousness that immediately put Frankie’s back up.
“Stuffed mushroom caps?” she asked, shoving the tray between them.
He was leanly muscled and slight of frame, close to her own height. She guessed that she outweighed him by a good ten pounds.
There was something insolent about the way he perused her tray before popping the mushroom cap into his mouth and making a show out of licking his fingers.
“I’m Lionel, by the way.”
“Hi, Lionel,” she said, not interested in continuing the getting-to-know-you portion of their evening.
“I’m sure Aiden’s mentioned me before. I usually beat him on the polo field,” Lionel said, tossing his mop of blond hair off his forehead. “We like to compete against each other in everything.” He lowered his voice as if he were imparting a secret.
“Good for you,” she said side-stepping him. But he followed her, blocking her path.
“You’re very beautiful, you know. I saw you from across the room and just couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
“Cut to the chase, Lionel,” Frankie demanded with the minimum of politeness she could muster. She hated being restrained by the required professionalism of her current role.
He reached out and traced a knuckle over her cheek. “I think you’d like being in my bed better than Kilbourn’s. What do you say?”
Fuck off. Go fuck yourself. Go slather yourself with ground beef and walk into a grizzly bear den. “No thanks.” There was enough chill in her words that Lionel should have gotten frostbite.
“Maybe you need a little convincing. I like it when a girl plays hard to get.”
“Are you talking to me like this because I’m the help or because your wallet says you can?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “What a wildcat you are. Come on. Forget Kilbourn. Have a drink with me. I’ll pay you for the rest of your shift.”
Lionel made a fatal mistake by grabbing her wrist and giving her a tug.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Aiden frowned at the text from Frankie.
Frankie: Can’t make it tonight. Raincheck?
The last time they’d talked, they were both looking forward to a night together. Aiden drummed his fingers on the desk, a dread growing in the pit of his stomach. Had Elliot actually carried out his threat? Had he underestimated his sniveling, lazy coward of a brother? The fact that Elliot needed money was obvious. But as for the why? It was still a nagging mystery.
Aiden’s investigation had barely begun, and he had yet to dig up any connection between Elliot and Donaldson.
He’d assumed it was an empty threat. Elliot was many undesirable things, but his quest to be an important asset to their father was equal to no other goal. And Aiden was counting on that consistency to buy himself some time. He needed to figure out just how to break the news to Franchesca that he’d caused their best friends years of misery.
He could either do that by meeting Elliot’s financial needs or maneuvering his way out of his commitment to his father.
In short, he was fucked.
His phone rang, and Aiden snatched it up. It was his mother. He briefly debated letting it go to voicemail but changed his mind.
“Sorry for calling so late,” Cecily said, her voice bright. “But I knew you were working anyway. I wanted to tell you I ran into Franchesca at an event tonight. She was working.”
“Was Elliot there too, by chance?” Aiden pinched the bridge of his nose and hoped for good news.
“Not that I saw. But his mother was.”
Aiden’s lips curved at the slightest hint of derision in his mother’s tone. She should have been awarded sainthood for her gracious acceptance of Jacqueline and Elliot after his father’s philandering. Now that the marriage was over, Cecily had been sprung from the prison of politeness, of putting on a brave face.
“Anyway, Franchesca’s so different from anyone I’ve seen you with before, Aiden. And I wanted you to know that I like her very much. And that assessment was already in existence before she put Jacqueline in her place tonight when she was running her mouth about father and son enjoying ‘the help.’”
Aiden swore quietly. He felt twin pangs. One of relief an
d one of dread. Even at work, Frankie couldn’t escape his family. And though it hadn’t been Elliot telling secrets, Jacqueline could do enough damage on her own.
“What exactly did Jacqueline say?” he asked, his tone steely.
Cecily laughed. “No need to ride into battle. Your girlfriend handled herself well enough that Jacqueline left with her tail between her legs. She’s a good match, Aiden.”
“Dad doesn’t seem to think so,” Aiden admitted.
“Your father just needs his horizons expanded. I hope you keep her.”
“We’ve only been dating two months. Are you designing wedding invitations already?”
“Two months is the outside for most of your relationships, dear son. And I don’t see any of the usual tells that you’re growing bored with her.”
No, if anything, he was more fascinated, more enamored by the day. And someone in his orbit had upset Frankie tonight. It was his job to protect her from that.
“Where was this Save the Whatever fundraiser?”
--------
He found her, finally, in a bar a block from the fundraiser. The crowds had thinned, and Frankie sat alone at the bar, still in her catering uniform, staring morosely into a glass of something. He barely registered the dark paneling, the soft lighting, and the subtle art under brass lamps. His focus narrowed to her, to the slump of her shoulders, the sweep of her hair, the pursing of her lips.
“You’re blowing me off so you can drink alone?” he demanded, taking the stool next to her.
She didn’t look up, her long hair hiding her face. Aiden could be a patient man when the situation called for it. He signaled the bartender and ordered a scotch.
That got a rise out of her. “So, you’re drinking again?” she asked.
“I’m having one drink with you. A beautiful woman shouldn’t have to drink alone.”
She shook her head and lifted her face. He saw the red eyes, the tear-stained cheeks, and felt his body shift into fight mode. Someone had hurt her, and they would pay.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice low.
“First, you need to know that I’m mad crying. Huge difference from sad crying. I’m not weak.”
“Franchesca,” he said, turning her stool to face him and caging her between his legs. “There isn’t a person on the face of the planet who would ever use your name and weak in the same sentence.” His phone vibrated in his pocket with an incoming call.
She looked down at her bunched fists. “I got fired.”
He reached for her hands and held them in his. “And you’re mad.”
She nodded.
“I heard about Jacqueline,” he pressed. “Did she do this?” His phone signaled again in his pocket.
Frankie shook her head. “I’d actually forgotten about that. I know she’s still technically your stepmother for a few more weeks, but I hope I’m not required to be nice to her. I probably should have checked with you first.”
“Franchesca, I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to be nice to someone who isn’t treating you the way you deserve to be.”
She looked at him, into him, and her eyes welled with tears.
“Shit, sweetheart. Tell me what happened.”
“Oh, I can do better than tell you.” She pulled a hand from his grasp and slid her phone in front of him.
Aiden glanced at the screen and then picked the phone up for a closer look.
The picture drew his attention first. Frankie was in mid-swing with a serving tray heading in the direction of a blond man’s square jaw.
Aiden Kilbourn’s girlfriend attacks business rival at fundraiser.
“Who is he, and what did he do?”
Frankie’s eyes widened. “He made it sound as if you two were Lex Luthor and Superman.”
“There are many people who feel that their relationship with me is more important than it is.” If his phone didn’t quit ringing, he was going to throw it in the bar sink.
“Ouch.”
“You, on the other hand, keep downplaying the importance of our relationship,” he pointed out.
“Nice save. Why aren’t you freaking out? It’s Lionel Goffman, by the way. Rivals on the polo field and business arena,” she said, quoting the article.
Aiden had a vague recollection of the man. “What did he do, Franchesca?”
“He hinted that I should try out his bed instead of yours. I’m required to be polite, professional, at work. I needed that job. Needed the money. But he grabbed me—”
“He touched you?” Aiden’s voice was dangerously calm, but it didn’t fool her for a second.
“Don’t you go all white knight and make this worse, Aide.”
“What exactly did he do?”
“He grabbed my arm and started pulling. He said he was going to buy me a drink and pay me for the rest of my shift.”
Aiden glanced back at the phone. “Did you break his nose?”
Frankie sighed and picked up her glass. “There’s video,” she murmured.
“I beg your pardon?” Aiden asked, leaning closer.
“There’s video. Scroll down.”
He did as he was told and watched as his Franchesca yelled a warning to the unsuspecting dead man. “You don’t get to touch me! In fact, you don’t get to touch any woman without her permission.”
But Lionel wasn’t in a listening kind of mood. He grabbed for her again. “Listen, let’s go for that drink—”
Frankie was shaking her head and then the tray came up. With one hand, she bashed him in the head like the tray was a cymbal. Dazed, Lionel took a step back and tripped, falling on his ass.
“For your information, Aiden Kilbourn is a better man than you could ever dream of being. And if you ever insinuate otherwise, I will hunt you down!” The temper had exploded, and there was no putting it back in the box. She grabbed a tray of champagne from a cocktail table behind her and dumped the entire thing on him.
“There’s your fucking drink, asshole!”
Shocked gasps and some laughter rose from the crowd of witnesses as Lionel tried to scramble to his sticky, humiliated feet.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers!”
Aiden put the phone down and felt his own vibrate in his jacket yet again. If the Rumor Mill blog already had this, it was everywhere by now. Damage control would be… interesting.
He picked up his glass and shocked them both by starting to laugh.
Frankie looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind. “How can you laugh at this? I’ve just humiliated your entire family? Your PR bill is going to be astronomical this month alone.”
But he couldn’t stop laughing. He had Franchesca Baranski in his corner. No smarmy competitor, no wicked stepmother, no idiot brother had scared her off. She stuck. And her fierce loyalty now extended to him.
Just as his heart belonged to her.
“Aiden, stop laughing and start thinking about how much damage I just did. I assaulted someone on video. And if that isn’t bad enough, now everyone knows that your girlfriend is a waitress.”
“Was,” he corrected her. “You got fired.”
She gasped so hard he thought she might fall off her stool. “It’s not funny!”
“There is no one like you in the world, Franchesca. I’m so glad you’re mine.”
“Aide! What do I do? Am I going to get sued? Do I have to apologize? Because fuck that. Do you know how long it’s going to take me to pay off my credit card on just the development center’s income?” She put her head down on the bar, her dark curls spilling over like a waterfall.
“Franchesca, you’re not getting sued.”
“Did you watch the end of the video when he starts howling about lawyers?”
Aiden sighed and pulled out his phone. Twelve missed calls. He skipped the ones from his mother, father, and Oscar and dialed his PR firm.
“Michael,” he said by way of greeting. “Hold on while I confer
ence in Hillary.” He called his favorite of the family’s attorneys. “Hillary? I’m on the line with Michael. Here’s where we stand. I want a countersuit prepared and ready to file if this Goffman asshole is stupid enough to proceed. I also want a statement prepared that says Ms. Baranski and I are weighing the idea of pressing charges for assault. She felt physically threatened by his overtures and handled the situation as best she could to safely diffuse the threat.”
Frankie gaped at him.
“I’d like to further add a statement about Kilbourn Holdings’ recent stand on sexual harassment and bullying. Some standard wording about how this behavior won’t be tolerated whether in a business or social setting, and we are proud of Franchesca and women like her who stand up to outdated patriarchal behaviors and call them out for what they are. Antiquated customs intended to value one sex over the other have no place in this day and age.”
“Got it,” Michael announced. “I’ll coordinate with Hillary, and we’ll get you a draft before it drops tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Make sure you mention that Ms. Baranski is repped by Hutchins, Steinman, and Krebs.”
“Looking forward to kicking some ass,” Hillary announced.
“Thank you for the overtime,” Aiden said and disconnected the call. His phone was already ringing again. It was his father. He ignored the call. Two texts popped up on the screen from Oscar. They were screenshots from other gossip blogs.
“Your dad is going to hate me even more,” Franchesca moaned.
“The only Kilbourn you need to be worried about is me. And I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. And I also owe you an apology. Our relationship is the reason you’re dealing with this, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that. But I will make it right.”
“Oh, God. You’re not going to kidnap him, are you?”
“Do I look like Elliot?”
She gave him a ghost of a smile. “So, you’re really not mad?”
“I’m furious. But not at you. Never at you.”
“You hide it well. I feel it, I blow up, and then I spend a day or two regretting it.”