Page 130 of The Worst Best Man
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.
