Page 151 of The Worst Best Man
Gio ruffled her freshly brushed hair and flipped her off. “Family.”
--------
Aiden hadn’t called. When she finally got the nerve to turn her phone back on, she had fifteen missed calls from him, but that was before the showdown at his penthouse. He hadn’t called her since. But he had texted.
Aiden: I know you said no calling. But you didn’t explicitly say no texting. And until you tell me otherwise, I’ll keep texting. I miss you. I’m sorry.
Aiden: I have exactly everything I had before you, but now it feels like nothing.
Aiden: I wish we were on your couch. You cuddled up to me. Me playing with your hair. Leftovers going cold on the table. I miss you.
Aiden: I’m suing a bunch of people today. I thought you should know. No one gets away with hurting you, Franchesca. Not even me. I’m in misery without you.
The next morning the gifts started. No direct contact. Just little gifts with handwritten cards delivered by messenger. On Tuesday, he sent a stack of romance novels and a hefty gift card to Christian’s salon to her apartment. On Wednesday, when she finally returned to work, he had gourmet hot chocolate delivered for her, Brenda, and Raul. Frankie didn’t want to know how he knew she was at work. If he was still keeping tabs on her, he still had hope. Something she didn’t.
On Thursday, Frankie found a bundle of fuzzy knee-high socks outside her apartment door. The kind she loved to wear under her boots.
Friday brought a silky soft set of pajamas. Not sexy lingerie but the kind you’d pull on after a long week and live in for the weekend. She’d put them on immediately and curled up on the couch with Aiden’s Yale sweatshirt that she’d pulled from the laundry basket so it wouldn’t lose his scent.
The week was a blur of “no comment” when she (rarely) ventured out in public and unenthusiastic “I’m fines” at work and around her mother’s dining table. She felt cold inside as if she’d taken the winter within her and would never again warm up.
And every night, she fell asleep on the couch without ever turning on the TV, avoiding the big, beautiful bed and its memories.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Aiden gazed out his office window, ignoring the pile of things that demanded his attention on the desk. He had nothing to give. Just showing up drained him. He was tuned out, shut down, and it was affecting his work. Oscar was walking on eggshells around him. Meetings were magically rescheduled for future dates. His mother spent their entire dinner together last night smiling sympathetically at him.
And Aiden couldn’t rouse himself to care.
His desk phone beeped.
“Yes?”
“There are two burly gentlemen from Brooklyn here to see you,” Oscar announced.
“We’re comin’ in, Aide.” Aiden heard Gio’s voice through the door.
Great.Just what he needed. The Baranski brothers ready to beat the hell out of him.
“Send them in,” he sighed.
A second later, his door opened, and Gio and Marco sauntered in. They were probably playing it cool so Oscar didn’t call security right away.
Marco slumped into one of the visitor’s chairs while Gio prowled the office. Aiden couldn’t tell if he was admiring the view or looking for security cameras.
He waited for one of them to speak first, hurling threats or accusations, demanding sacrificial kneecaps or whatever body part it was the Baranski brothers would break for their little sister.
“Bro, what the hell?” Marco asked, breaking the silence. “You gotta watch yourself around girls like that.”
“Girls like what?” Aiden asked calmly.
“That Margeaux chick,” Gio filled in, coming over to lean against the corner of his desk.
“She exudes evil, man. I’m surprised you fell for it and let her set you up like that,” Marco sighed.
“Set me up? You believe me that nothing happened?”
Gio snorted. “Frankie’s prime rib, and we’re supposed to believe you’d go through the drive-thru for some Skeletor, pinched-face, ball buster?”
