Page 72 of The Worst Best Man
“A requirement for us both.”
She nodded. “Good. I guess we have a deal.”
He reached across the table and picked up her hand. But instead of shaking it, he brushed a kiss over the knuckles. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a pleasure doing business with you,” he predicted.
They ate and talked over spoonfuls of fish stew and bites of salt cod fritters and lingered over their coffee. It was strong, not bitter but not quite sweet, on his tongue, and Aiden couldn’t help but think of the flavor of Franchesca. He’d only begun to sample it, and he wanted more.
She picked up the check before he could stop her. “Uh-uh,” she said, snatching the paper away. “Money isn’t an area of contention, is it?”
“I pay, Franchesca.”
“You can get next time. This one’s on me. And stop frowning like that. If it means that much to you, you can get dessert.”
Dessert. The word brought dozens of images of Frankie’s naked body to mind.
“Gelato, Kilbourn. I see what you’re thinking.”
The server returned with Frankie’s change. “I’m leaving the tip,” Aiden announced, laying down a bill roughly the value of the entire tab for dinner.
“Show off.”
They rose, and he helped her into her coat. It was a wool trench that had seen better days. “You’re missing a button,” he said sweeping into his own cashmere coat and eyeing the gap in her coat’s closure.
“Ugh, I know. I lost it last winter when my brothers dared me to sneak out of my old bedroom window at my parents’ house and shimmy down the tree like I used to. In my defense, we were three bottles of wine into Thanksgiving dinner. Still can’t find the button.”
“So, where’s this gelato place?” Aiden asked. He was pleased when she took his hand as they exited the restaurant. He wanted to ask her what she had in mind after dessert. He had an overnight bag in the car and a respectable stash of condoms. He was just being prepared… and maybe a little hopeful.
Frankie led the way around the block. “Did you work today?” she asked.
He nodded. He hadn’t been planning to. Hell, he wasn’t supposed to have flown home from Barbados until this morning, but Franchesca had changed that plan when she left his bed. “I did. Had to make sure nothing catastrophic had happened while I was gone.”
“Did you decide what you’re going to do about Elliot?” Frankie asked.
He tensed, wondering if this was a trap. Another excuse for her to go back to hating him. “I hit him where it hurts the most.”
“His broken nose?” Frankie asked.
Aiden laughed. “No, but he has two black eyes and can’t breathe, so that was entertaining to see as he groveled to our father.”
“You went to your dad?” Frankie asked.
“Elliot was always a problem child. He makes rash decisions, often with large amounts of money. He was given a position in the company because it was only fair in my father’s eyes. But Elliot’s money is tied up in a revocable trust. My father didn’t want him gambling it away or loaning it to a prostitute to start her own brothel.”
“Or a girl who dances like a stripper,” Frankie said, batting her lashes at him.
Aiden nudged her shoulder. “I’m sorry for that. I’d had a long day, and the last thing I wanted to do was spend my evening at a party with friends trying to hook me up.”
“And you had a migraine.”
“That too.”
“Do you get them often?”
“Only on special occasions. Usually when dealing with Elliot.”
“So, what did your father consider a punishment for committing a felony?” Frankie asked.
“He froze Elliot’s accounts for a month.”
