Page 59 of Tempting Frankie
“I'm in marketing,” I say, proud that my voice doesn't shake. “I recently joined the team at Steele Enterprises.”
Mrs. Frogmore’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rise a fraction. “Oh? How…interesting. And how did you come to work for Alexander's company?”
The implication is clear as day. She might as well have asked, “So, how long have you been fucking the boss?”
I plaster on my sweetest smile. “Well, I applied to an open job listing of course. Alexander had no idea and as you should know, CEOs don’t do the hiring of low-level positions.”
The Frogmores finally excuse themselves, leaving me feeling like I need a shower to wash off their judgmental stares. I turn to Alexander, my voice low and urgent.
“This was a mistake,” I hiss. “I can't do this. Everyone here is looking at me like I'm a piece of meat you picked up at the market. Did you see how that Harold creep was eyeing me? I half expected him to ask how much I cost per hour.”
“Well compared to Linda, you’re the first pretty thing he’s seen in twenty years,” He supplies, his green eyes twinkling with amusement.
“It's not funny,” I hiss, glancing around nervously. “They're all going to gossip. I can practically hear the whispers already. 'Oh, look at Steele's latest conquest. Wonder how long this one will last?'”
Alexander's hand slides from my back to my hip, pulling me closer. His touch sends a shiver down my spine, despite my frustration. “Their opinion means nothing,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.
I pull back, fixing him with an exasperated glare. “Easy for you to say. You're not the one being sized up like a prized cow at auction.”
He chuckles, the sound low and rich. “Darling, if you were livestock, you'd be the most exquisite addition to a farm I've ever seen.”
“Oh my God,” I groan, fighting back a reluctant smile. “You're impossible, and I’m trying to be mad here.”
“And you're overthinking this,” he counters, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind my ear. His fingers linger on my cheek, and I hate how easily my body responds to his touch. “You've more than proved yourself to Miranda, and she's a goddamn viper. If you can handle her, you can handle these socialites.”
I snort, thinking of my fierce, take-no-prisoners boss. “Miranda would eat these botoxed bitches for breakfast.”
“Exactly,” Alexander says, grinning. “And so can you. You're brilliant, Francesca. Don't let anyone make you doubt that.”
I want to believe him, I really do. But as another group of impeccably dressed guests sweeps by, their gazes lingering on us a beat too long, I feel my anxiety spike again.
“I just…I feel like an imposter,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Like any second now, someone's going to realize I don't belong here and throw me out on my ass.”
Alexander's expression softens, and he cups my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You belong wherever you damn well please,” he says fiercely. “And right now, you belong here, with me. Anyone who says otherwise can go fuck themselves.”
His words, crude as they are, make me laugh. It's a genuine sound, bubbling up from deep in my chest, and I feel some of the tension leave my body.
“There's my girl,” Alexander murmurs, his thumb tracing my lower lip.
An hour and three glasses of champagne later, I'm starting to feel a little more at ease. The alcohol has taken the edge off my anxiety, and I've managed to navigate a few more conversations without completely embarrassing myself or Alexander. I'm leaning against a marble pillar, watching Alexander chat with some stuffy-looking businessman across the room, when a familiar voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin.
“Well, well, well. If it isn't my used goods.”
I whirl around to find Cameron standing way too close, his breath reeking of expensive scotch. My stomach lurches, and it's not just from the champagne.
“Jesus, Cameron,” I hiss, pressing a hand to my racing heart. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He smirks, green eyes glinting with malice. “It's a charity event, sweetheart. I was invited.”
“Right,” I mutter. “Because you're such a philanthropist.”
Cameron's gaze rakes over me, lingering on the way my dress hugs my curves. His lip curls in a sneer. “Damn, Frankie. That dress is doing you no favors. I can see why my dad’s into you, though. He always did have a thing for thick girls.”
I feel the blood drain from my face, replaced by a hot flush of anger and humiliation. I want to slap that smug look right off his face, but I'm acutely aware of our surroundings. Instead, I plaster on a saccharine smile.
“Wow, Cameron. And here I thought you couldn't possibly be a bigger asshole than you were when we dated. Glad to see you're still exceeding expectations in at least one area of your life.”
His eyes narrow, but before he can respond, he glances around furtively and leans in closer. The smell of alcohol on his breath makes me gag.
