Page 13 of The Hampton Beach Café 5
To Luce:That’s amazing! I still can’t shake it, though. It feels like she’s up to something.
While she didn’t like being so jaded and suspicious of people, she made a mental note to keep an eye on her, just in case.
With the finishing touches of her makeup complete, she finished getting ready, and she wasn’t really sure what to do with the time she had left––she was early.
She couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive about the night ahead and picked up her phone and texted to ask Lucinda to come up and reassure her that she looked fine. As she hit send, she noticed something in the screenshot.
“King Zebra Holdings?” she said aloud as she zoomed in on the weird name.
To Luce:What’s a King Zebra Holding?
Pulling her leather jacket on over the deep red sparkly blouse she had chosen from Lucinda’s wardrobe, Frances double-checked her reflection. It wasn’t formal, but it was still a party filled with semi-famous beautiful people, and she hoped the tight black pencil skirt, burgundy blouse, and oversized leather jacket would be considered fashionable enough.
Lucinda arrived at the bedroom door. “You look amazing. Stop worrying. And King Zebra Holdings is what Clarkson’s socials are registered under––I was suspicious about his follower count, so I plugged him into the analysis platform I use for coaching clients.”
“And?”
Lucinda shrugged. “An acceptable number of bots and fake accounts. Everyone has some. Even Vin has some. They follow you hoping that you’ll click the link in their profile.”
“So, you’ve been helping Vin on the side, huh,” she asked, trying for subtle.
“Yeah, so?”
“Oh,” Frances said, fiddling with her earring, “just wondering how that was all going…”
“What are you talking about?” Lucinda asked, her tone sharp.
Frances faltered for a moment.
“I just thought... I mean, you guys seem really close lately, and I figured you were… you know,” she said, trailing off.
Lucinda's expression softened, and she gave Frances a small smile.
“We are close, Fran. But that's all it is. Vincent and I are just friends,” she said firmly.
“Okay, sure,” she said, smiling back at Lucinda. “I must be imagining things.”
That was the first time she’d heard Lucinda call him his full name in months, Frances realized. Whatever the reason, Lucinda clearly wanted to keep it on the down low, and she wasn’t about to push. She didn’t imagine anything––there was a crackle between Lucinda and the talented artist, and there was nothing either of them could say to convince Frances otherwise.
A loud honk––Clarkson must have arrived with the limo. Frances made her way downstairs, Lucinda reassuring her the entire way that they’d be fine looking after the café for the night and to stop worrying.
As she entered the car, Frances noticed Alex wearing an extremely well-fitting gray suit. She forgot about all the drama and stress of owning a business for a moment––she just stared. It fits snugly around the shoulders, and the black shirt underneath looked just tight enough to flatter his muscular chest but not so tight as to look cheap or tacky. She swallowed hard, remembering from the beach exactly how muscular he was under there…
“Wow, Alex, you look great,” she said, admiring how the suit hugged his broad shoulders.
Alex grinned, looking a little embarrassed but pleased all the same.
“Thanks. I figured I should dress up for the occasion,” he said.
Frances felt a pang of nervousness as they pulled away from the curb. She wasn't looking forward to being around so many influencers with hundreds of thousands of followers on social media. It didn’t help that––even though there was plenty of room––she found herself pressed into the seat tightly next to Alex as Clarkson popped a bottle of champagne, and Kennedy snapped selfies of them all. The thin fabric of her skirt was no barrier against the heat of his leg pressed against hers. Then to make them both more comfortable, he shifted his arm around her shoulders, and Frances felt her mind go blank.
She was happy, she realized, and she needed to stop analyzing everything––just for one night.
“To a great night,” Clarkson exclaimed, raising a champagne flute.
Accepting the glass of champagne Kennedy handed her, she leaned into Alex’s warmth and clinked her glass against his.
“To a great night,” she echoed quietly, smiling at Alex.
