The Worst Best Man(31)

Her stylist, unfazed by the exchange, spun her around to show her the results of eight thousand hairpins and six cans of hair spray. She’d tamed the dark curls into submission, wrangling them into a rock-hard bun at the nape of her neck.

“Looks amazing,” Frankie said, jumping out of the chair and throwing cash at her before she could reach for more hair pins.

“You’re just jealous because you’re nothing. You’re literally the help. Pathetic with your hand out for tips so you can pay your dry-cleaning bill.”

“You better watch how you talk around people, Marge. A lot of us are help, and without us, you’d have a dirty toilet, bikini burn, and no food at your stupid parties.”

“Someone like Aiden Kilbourn would never give you a second glance. Unless it was out of pity or to wonder how you managed to shove your Kardashian-sized ass into your dress. You’re going to look like a whale in the pictures next to the rest of us.” She laughed an unhinged, diabolical Dr. Evil kind of laugh.

The stylist working on Margeaux reached for the hot wax and slathered it over the entire brow. He gave Frankie a commiserating look and slapped the waxing strip on top of the wax.

“I might not be the only one people are staring at tonight,” Frankie predicted. She turned and marched out of the room to the music of Margeaux screaming.

“What did you do to my eyebrow you fucking idiot?”

In the hallway, she pulled her phone out of her robe pocket and fired off a text to Aiden.



Frankie: Status update. Where are you with Operation Free the Groom? The bride is getting nervous.



His response was terse.



Aiden: I have it handled.



She’d like to handle him… out of a ten-story window and into a dumpster full of broken glass.



She dialed him as she walked. If he didn’t tell her he was breaching the door to Room 314 right now she was going to get Chip herself.

“What?” he answered brusquely.

“Where are you?” she hissed. She marched down the sun dappled hallway that connected the spa to the main building.

He sighed. “Franchesca, I’m in the middle of something, and every time I have to check in with you, I have to stop working.”

“Will Chip be back here before the wedding?” she asked.

“I’m working on it,” Aiden answered tersely.

“Have you even heard from the kidnapper today?”

“Yes. We have a meeting scheduled.”

“A meeting?” Frankie stormed past the doors to the resort’s library bar and stopped in her tracks. She backed up two steps and glared through the glass doors. It was a spacious room with tall bookcases and ladders straight out of Beauty and the Beast except for the large L-shaped bar with the spectacular ocean view. The bar that played host to one Aiden “Dead Man Walking” Kilbourn.

Disgusted, Frankie ended the call and flicked off the unseeing Aiden through the glass. Under a full head of steam, she approached the front desk. “Excuse me,” she said to the concierge. “My dress is in for an emergency cleaning.”

“Yes, Ms. Baranski. We’re working on the damage right now.”

“I’ll need it ready in time for the ceremony. Because nothing is going to ruin this wedding. Not a missing groom, or an asshole best man, or a stained dress.” She was pointing her finger in the air like a movie heroine making a proclamation.

“Of course, Ms. Baranski.” The concierge gave Frankie the “you’re a crazy person and I have to be nice to you” smile.

“Um. Thank you,” Frankie said. “I’m going to go away now.”

The concierge smiled pleasantly again, and Frankie backed away from the desk. She jogged to the bank of elevators. Once in her room, she shucked the robe and dragged on a sundress. Antonio’s business card fell out of her clutch when she dug out her money.

Maybe she didn’t have to do this entirely on her own.





Chapter Seventeen


“Where’s your uncle’s van?” Frankie asked, eyeing the doorless dune buggy-like vehicle.

“He’s driving it,” Antonio announced sliding out from behind the wheel. “Your chariot awaits, madam.” He was wearing a prep school uniform of navy blue shorts and a white short-sleeve button down. His tie was a clip-on.

“Did you steal this? And I feel like I have to repeat my question from last night. Are you even old enough to drive?”

“You wanna stand here and ask questions, or do you want to go to Rockley?” Antonio asked.

“Oh, my God. Just drive.” Frankie climbed in next to him and fastened the safety harness.

“Yee haw!” Antonio gunned the engine, jumped the curb, and tore down the winding drive to the road.

“Do not kill us!” Frankie shouted over the rumble of the engine.

Antonio approached the highway like a villain in a car chase. Frankie covered her eyes with her hands and said her prayers. She heard horns and braced for death. But the impact and death never came. She peeked through her fingers to see they were tooling down the highway weaving in and out of traffic.

“Okay. We’re not dead. This is a good start.”

“So, what’s the plan, lady? You find your friend last night?”