The Worst Best Man(102)
“If you have a problem with my performance as CEO, take it to the board,” Aiden suggested.
Frankie moved to stand next to him. “Or, you could trust your son to do right by you and the business,” Frankie spoke up. “You may not understand or particularly like some of his decisions, but you put him in this position. Now it’s time to trust him to do what’s best for your family.”
“I know what’s best for the family. And you are not it.”
Frankie crossed her arms. “Said the guy who dumped an empire on his son and said, ‘good luck running it.’ Oh and try to turn your sociopathic half-brother into a contributing adult. I’ll be in the Caribbean.”
“I’ve given this company everything,” Ferris shouted.
“What have you given your son besides an impossible responsibility?” Frankie shouted back. “You owe him more than a job. And you know what? Even if he wasn’t your son, what kind of sense does it make to hand over the reins and then expect him to do everything with one hand tied behind his back? You’re sabotaging him because you’re doubting yourself.”
Ferris glowered at them both and snatched the newspaper off the desk. “You’d better think long and hard about the choices you’re making.” He was speaking to Aiden but pointed the folded paper at Frankie.
The message was clear. Choose family or choose hot mess girlfriend.
She felt Aiden’s hand settle at the small of her back.
--------
“Well, that was pleasant,” she said dryly after Ferris stormed out. “Are you okay?”
Aiden put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “Come on,” he said, nudging her toward the door.
“Where are we going?”
“I want air. And coffee.”
“Air and coffee sound good.” She watched him slide into his long wool coat, admiring the view of tailored suit, strong jaw, and unreadable eyes. “What if we run into your dad in the elevator?”
“Then you can hit him with a tray,” Aiden promised.
Oscar was sitting behind his desk, pretending to be very busy.
“Oscar, we’re going for coffee. Do you want us to bring anything back for you?” Frankie offered.
“Double espresso with soy,” Oscar rattled off without looking up from his blank word document where he was typing gibberish. “Please.”
Frankie wasn’t sure if she or Ferris had scared Oscar more.
They took the elevator in silence, and Frankie let Aiden lead her through the lobby and out into the frigid first day of March.
He held her hand but remained silent on the half block walk to a café. Frankie’s nerves all but crackled. Was he ushering her off site to politely explain that things wouldn’t work between them anymore? That they’d had a good run, but family came first?
She swallowed hard. She couldn’t blame him exactly. She’d been a disaster from the start. In the time since Barbados, she had assaulted his brother, insulted his stepmother, embarrassed his entire family with a public brawl, and now was to blame for Aiden using the company coffers to get even with someone who dared act like an asshole in her presence.
Maybe she should just do it first. Thanks for all the amazing sex and being a really great, smart, funny, protective boyfriend, Aiden, but it’s time to move on…
Her heart was pounding so loud in her ears, she didn’t hear him ask her what she wanted the first time.
“Franchesca?”
“Oh, sorry. Tea. Ginger?” She needed something to calm her stomach that was currently turning somersaults.
He ordered for them and led her to a small table in the corner. Solicitously, he helped her out of her coat. If he was letting her take her coat off, was he settling in for a long-winded break up? She’d rather he just rip off the bandage and let it weep pus in the open air.
Gross.
“Franchesca,” he began.
She squeezed her eyes closed, bracing for the brush off.
But no brush off came. No words at all. She opened one eye to peek. He was watching her with amusement.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m bracing myself.”
“For what?”
“For the ‘it’s been nice knowing you’ speech.”
“That’s what you think?” he laughed. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to beat me to the punch and dump me in the lobby.”
She blushed.
“You thought about it?” he asked, somewhere between astonished and amused.
“I didn’t know what this was. I thought you were mad. I—just shut up. Okay?”
The barista called Aiden’s name, and still chuckling, he picked up their order.
He handed her the tea and sank back down in his chair.
“Thank you.”
“For what? I’ve done nothing but create disasters since we met.”
“For doing what no one else in my entire life has had the balls to do. You stood up to my father.”
“What about your mother?” Frankie asked, blowing on the steam rising from her cup.
“Mom convinced, cajoled. She never yelled at him. Never called him on his bullshit.”
“See, this is why people become assholes. They’re insulated by trust funds or glass towers or titles, and everyone else is too scared to point out they’ve turned into a monster.”