Page 9 of The Worst Best Man
“What could possibly be making you make that face while you look at this?” Frankie demanded, extending an arm to the sweeping vista before them.
“I thought we weren’t talking?”
“Right. I got distracted watching you look like you swallowed a lemon whole. Back to silence.”
On cue, his phone rang in the cup holder. Aiden glanced at the screen, his frown deepening.
“What is it, Elliot?” he demanded, keeping his tone clipped. His half-brother’s calls only ever meant one thing.
“How’s paradise?”
The less Aiden gave his brother, the easier the damage was to minimize.
“What do you need, Elliot?” Aiden asked.
“We need to talk about the board vote.” He heard the shift in his voice from charm to calculation.
“We’ve already discussed the vote. I’m not changing my mind,” Aiden said brusquely.
“I don’t think you’ve really thought it through—”
“I’m not naming Donaldson CFO. He’s under investigation for fraud from his last company. You can’t expect me to put our entire holdings at his feet and turn a blind eye.”
“The rumors about the fraud are completely overblown. It was just an ex-mistress with an axe to grind.” Aiden heard the distinct click of metal connecting with a ball followed by polite applause.
“On the course again?” Elliot spent more time golfing and drinking and fucking his way through the city’s female population than he did behind his desk in his very nice corner office one floor below Aiden’s.
“Just squeezing in a quick nine with a client.”
It was bullshit, but Aiden didn’t have the energy to call him on it. The fact was running his family’s company and extensive holdings was falling more and more on his shoulders as their father seemed to be taking a step back. Elliot could only be roused to care about business when it was something that affected him personally. He hadn’t figured out Elliot’s connection to the thieving, cheating Donaldson, but Aiden wasn’t about to step aside and let his brother name the next CFO of Kilbourn Holdings.
“My vote stands. No on Donaldson. I have to go.” He disconnected before his brother could object and then turned his phone off to avoid the inevitable barrage of calls and texts.
“Business drama?” Frankie asked without looking in his direction.
“Family drama with a side of business.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t do business with your family.”
He shot her a glance. She had her face lifted toward the sun, a sly curve to her lips.
“It’s not that easy.”
She deigned to look at him now, lowering her sunglasses. “Nothing worthwhile is.”
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The resort was walled in against the ocean behind soft yellow stone walls and a gate. He’d paid little attention to it when he’d arrived last night. But watching Frankie ooh and aah over the lush landscape and the curving drive, he tuned in and let himself forget about his family, his business. The hotel rose up three stories of stucco and stone, two wings joined by a two-story, open-aired lobby. The greenery continued inside, colorful pots clustered around a stone fountain. There was a bar on either end of the lobby and a straight through view to the water.
“Wow,” Franchesca whispered behind him.
The woman behind the desk with the cheerful knotted scarf in canary yellow looked up from her computer. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay, Mr. Kilbourn,” she said with the subtle accent of the island adding music to her words.
“Of course,” he assured her. “Ms. Baranski is checking in.”
“Yes, of course. Welcome, Ms. Baranski.”
“Thank you. Your resort is beautiful,” Frankie said with an easy smile she’d never given him.
