The Worst Best Man(57)

But it gave Frankie a special insight into the mind of a small business owner. It was just one of the areas she focused on at her job. But it was usually more fun than grant writing and accounting software tutorials. The people the business development center served couldn’t afford a pricey accountant, and if they could, they wouldn’t trust one. Small business was as different from the corporate level as, well, Frankie was to Aiden.

She slipped back to her desk and found a stack of freshly printed papers.

Brenda had started the dossier for her.

She intended to ignore them, but a headline caught her eye. And then a picture of Aiden and another man at a charity auction. She skimmed the caption and promptly fell down the rabbit hole. Aiden was COO for Kilbourn Holdings, a mega corporation that specialized in mergers and acquisitions as well as corporate finance. Aiden on his own also dabbled in real estate. The man owned buildings. In Manhattan.

And he still played polo but only for charity. Of course.

She flipped to another picture, a group shot on the carpet of some gala. He looked like his mother, one of the women under Aiden’s father’s arm. The same thick, dark hair, the same patrician nose. Spectacular cheekbones. His father had the Irish auburn hair that was going silver. Cozy family, she thought. Aiden’s parents had divorced years ago. Yet they still socialized in the same circles.

Aiden’s stepmother and Elliot the Fink were also in the picture. The women were dressed in stunning gowns, the men in tuxes they’d been born to wear.

Frankie was suddenly beyond relieved that she’d laid down the law on dabbling in his life. No arm candy appearances. She’d done enough catering gigs to see how the whole trophy date thing worked. Stand there and look beautiful but keep your trap shut. Drink but not too much. Don’t eat anything that crunches or crumbles or ruins your lipstick. Smile but not too much.

Barf.

She was not about to sign up for a life that treated Tuesday nights like it was prom.

She checked her watch. She still had an hour before she needed to head upstairs to set up. They had a conference room on the second floor where they hosted educational seminars. Frankie was working on building a set of online classes for business owners who were too busy to take time out of their day to attend. But it was slow going with the grad work and the catering. Just a few more jobs that she’d already committed to and her credit card balance would be gone. Then just a few more months and she’d have that shiny MBA in hand.

And then?

Then she wasn’t sure. She’d love to stay here, working for Brenda and Raul. They were the heart of the business community in Brooklyn Heights. But their budget was already stretched near to breaking. If they lost just one grant, cuts would have to be made, and unfortunately for Frankie, she’d be first in line. It was another reason she wanted to make sure they had the online classes to offer.

She’d find something that excited her, that challenged her. And she’d finally be able to claw her way up from the paycheck-to-paycheck existence she’d known her entire life.

She was startled out of her reverie by the door. A courier popped in hefting a large black box. “Looking for a Ms. Baranski,” he said, popping an ear bud out of his ear.

Brenda pointed an index finger in Frankie’s direction. “You found her.”

“Cool,” he strode over and dropped the box on her desk. “Just need your signature here.” He whipped out a tablet and Frankie signed the screen with her finger.

“Who’s it from?” she asked.

“Big guy at Kilbourn Holdings downtown. Later,” he said, flashing a quick salute before heading back out the door.

Frankie stared at the box, half scared to open it. What could he possibly have had the time to send her in the scant hours since they’d been wrapped up naked in each other’s arms? Even Prime wasn’t that fast. Oh, god. What if it was a box of sex toys?

Brenda leaned over Frankie’s desk. “Hurry up. I’m dying over here!”

She’d be dying if it was a value pack of dildos. But there’d be no getting rid of Brenda until the package was open. Carefully, Frankie lifted the lid and peered underneath.

“Well?”

Frankie dumped the lid to the side and parted the delicate layers of tissue paper. Seriously, who had a gift wrapper on hand first thing in the morning?

“Oooh,” Brenda crooned as Frankie pulled the coat out of the box. It was black like her current one, but the similarities ended at the color.

Wool—and was that cashmere?—with a plaid silky lining.

“It’s so soft,” she murmured.

“Put it on,” Brenda ordered.

“Holy crap. It’s Burberry.”

Brenda shoved her into the coat. It felt luxurious. She stroked her hands over the fabric. The coat nipped in at the waist and fell to mid-thigh.

Brenda nodded approvingly. “You look just fabulous.”

“Don’t you dare look up how much it costs,” Frankie warned her. This was no hundred-dollar coat from a department store.

Brenda shoved her hands in the pockets.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking to see if he stuffed the pockets with loose diamonds.”

Frankie laughed. She felt lightheaded. Was she just supposed to accept this as a gift? How could she possibly reciprocate in kind?

“Aha!” Brenda pulled her hands out of the pockets in triumph. “No diamonds, but I did find these.” She held up a sleek pair of gloves.