Page 71 of The Worst Best Man
“I’m getting my MBA. Should have it by May if I can focus hard enough. The catering thing was a side gig so I wouldn’t go broke on Pru’s wedding. I work part-time for a small business development center.”
“You’re interested in business?” he ventured. Common ground that didn’t involve orgasms.
“Very. It’s what happens when your parents run a business. I’m sure you get that.”
He nodded. “Of course. At times, it can seem as if it’s in the blood.”
“Yeah, well maybe the business part for me but not the lunchmeat.”
At his questioning glance, Frankie laughed. “My parents own a deli in Brooklyn just down the street from their house. My brother Marco runs it now. I grew up in that shop. I can slice a pound of corned beef better than Marco or Gio.”
“But you didn’t want to take over a deli?”
Frankie shook her head. “I like the numbers side of it. The accounting, the planning, the tracking.”
“What will you do with your MBA?”
She shrugged. “I really like what I do at the small business development center. Some people think that big business, huge corporations, are where America works. But it’s not. It’s the second-generation plumbing company or the ice cream shop that’s been open for forty years or the machine shop start-up or the florist. I help those businesses do business.”
Fascinated, Aiden leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table.
“And you think we have nothing in common,” he pointed out.
“How much does this bottle cost?” she asked, lifting her glass to study the wine.
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Well, I do because I Googled it when you were in the restroom. My rent is cheaper than this bottle.”
“Why do I get the feeling that money is going to be an area of contention with you? I don’t care what you have or how much you make or owe. Why should you care about my financials?”
“Aiden,” she laughed. “Your financials put you in an entirely different world than mine. I don’t think those worlds are going to mix well.”
“We won’t know until we try.”
The waiter returned delivering the chicken skewer appetizer with a flourish.
“What do you want me to do, go to galas as your arm candy? Because I’ll be honest. What you saw last night? Sweat pants and UFC and greasy sandwiches? I’d much rather be doing that on a weekend than strutting around like one of Pru’s friends, dressed to the nines and ‘being seen.’”
“In this arrangement, Franchesca, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m not interested in you as another Society Barbie. I like you the way you are.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” he asked.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re trying to come up with another excuse. Try it, Franchesca. Date me. Fuck me.”
“You know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” she joked, taking another sip of wine.
“I’m just being honest.”
She picked up a piece of bread from the plate and studied it. “Fine. I don’t want to be paraded around like one of your other ‘dates.’ And my life is here. I don’t want to be trekking all over Manhattan at your beck and call.”
“Deal. I don’t do messy. I don’t do drama. If you can adhere to those two things, we’ll get along just fine.”
“Monogamy?” Frankie asked, arching an eyebrow.
