Page 120 of The Worst Best Man
Ferris looked flustered for a moment.
There, didn’t expect that, did you smarty pants?
He’d dropped the Aiden bomb knowing full well his son wouldn’t have discussed that particular conversation with her. But she’d gotten a piece back.
“I really don’t think I’m the right person to be having this conversation with. If you’re so concerned with your family, maybe you should plan to stick around.”
Ferris sighed and lifted his glass. “I’ve given enough. It’s my time to enjoy. My father never got the chance. Heart attack in his office at age 71. I don’t want that to be me.”
Frankie turned in her chair to face him. “Ferris, I don’t think anyone would begrudge you your chance to do what you want. But don’t try to dictate Aiden’s life. He’s your son, not just a business partner. Trust his judgment and not just when it comes to broads from Brooklyn.”
He sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand the complications of our family,” Ferris said. “Our business, our family, are inextricably intertwined. There is no one without the other. My son has a responsibility to make choices that will benefit both our company and our family.” Again, his words lacked spite. He was simply a man sharing his truth.
“And which one of those don’t I fit?” Frankie asked.
“Do you even want to fit?” Ferris asked, turning it back on her.
“I want to see Aiden happy.”
“Sometimes, happiness is a luxury that no one can afford.”
Frankie smirked. “I’m pretty certain the Kilbourns could find a way to pay for it.” If Aiden’s deep pockets were any indication of the family coffers, they could all quit working to live in a multi-million-dollar commune in Dubai without ever feeling the pinch.
“I’m just trying to save you some time and heartache,” he added. “I don’t see how a woman who could give a damn about appearances would willingly fit into this world. There are expectations that we must live up to.”
“Would your world really come crumbling down if the girlfriend of your CEO didn’t spend five hundred dollars on her hair and nails every two weeks? Would anyone really care if I show up to a family meal in $25 Target jeans?”
“Frankly, yes,” he laughed. “There are certain expectations that we uphold. To the Kilbourns, work comes first. I missed out on most birthdays, baseball games, even some Christmases. It was the price I had to pay. But I built something that they can have long after I’m gone. Aiden will do the same. And he’ll need a woman by his side who understands that, accepts that, embraces that.”
“Did you ever think that maybe Aiden would rather have a piece of you instead of a legacy?” Frankie suggested. “Maybe he’d rather have dinner with you than you pulling his strings from a goddamn yacht because now he has to suffer for the next twenty years of his life while you finally live.”
“You think I’m very selfish, don’t you?” Ferris asked.
Frankie put her glass down. “I don’t know you well enough to judge you yet.”
“Touché.”
“Thank you. For the record, I don’t care who you’re divorcing or where you’re sailing. But if you care for your son more than you do a bunch of zeroes and buildings and whatever the hell else, don’t lock him in the same prison you just busted out of.”
Ferris eyed her. “I may have underestimated you.”
“Usually the case. But that makes it easier to win.”
Ferris raised his glass to her. “Maybe you would fit in.”
Frankie tapped her glass to his. “For future reference, I prefer tequila to wine.”
“Franchesca.” Just the sound of Aiden’s voice was like a caress on her skin.
She rose, forgetting that she’d kicked off her shoes under the table. “Oops. Sorry. Too many dances,” she said, fishing the heels out from under the table.
He tugged her into his side. “Are we having a private meeting?” his voice was guarded.
“Your dad and I were just discussing our beverage preferences.”
Ferris rose. “Franchesca, it was… refreshing talking to you.”
“Illuminating,” Frankie agreed. They watched him walk away, joining a group of men clustered around a painting of what looked like a roman orgy.
