The Worst Best Man(83)

She backed into the corner of the closet warding him off with her hands.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You have expensive jewelry in that case, and it’s my right to refuse it. I’ll be a nervous wreck with something sparkly you rented for the evening.”

He opened the case.

“Oh,” she breathed, reaching out. “If you shut the case on my fingers, I’m going to punch you in your very sexy nose.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Do you like them?”

It was a pair of chandelier earrings. They weren’t dripping in diamonds but rather a rainbow of glittering gemstones.”

“Aide, they’re beautiful.”

He handed them over one at a time, and she slipped them into her ear lobes.

“They’re not rented. I saw them and thought of you. Colorful. Interesting. Warm.”

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus, Aide! Exactly how much of your money am I wearing right now?” she asked, admiring the glitter in the mirror.

“Are we going to do this every time I buy you something?”

“Yes. Unless it’s a candy bar or a slice of pizza or any other item under ten dollars.”

“Then I guess we’d both better get used to this conversation. Also, those were some specific food references. Do I need to feed you before we leave?”

“Definitely.”

“I’ll have something sent up.” He paused in the doorway. “Or I can make you a grilled cheese.”

She perked up. “A grilled cheese?”

He nodded.

“That would be perfect.”

He turned to leave again, but she called him back.

“Hey, Aide? Thank you.”

He gave her that warm smile that crinkled his eyes, the one that she was starting to think he reserved just for her.

She turned back to her reflection and took a deep breath, barely recognizing herself. Money really did buy style.

“Who does this on a Thursday night?” she murmured to her reflection in the mirror.

--------

Ever since Kilbourn Holdings had released a PR statement announcing that Aiden was dating business student and small business professional Franchesca Baranski, the attention had noticeably ramped up.

Brenda had to screen Frankie’s calls at work, and her email and social media accounts had blown up with interview and friend requests. She’d actually spotted a photographer outside her building twice, but her neighborhood wasn’t exactly friendly to lurkers. One of her neighbors had called the cops, and the problem disappeared.

But none of it had prepared Frankie for the frenzy outside The Lighthouse at Chelsea Piers.

There was a literal red carpet under her feet. And Aiden’s arm was wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to the spectacle of camera flashes and shouted questions.

“Aiden, what’s your connection to Big Apple Literacy?”

“My mother has been a long-time supporter of the cause. And our family is proud to support its educational initiatives,” Aiden answered smoothly.

“Franchesca, who are you wearing?”

She looked down at her dress. “I don’t know. Whoever Aiden picked out for me.”

The crowd of photographers chuckled like she was a stand-up comedian in the middle of a routine.

“Carolina Herrera,” Aiden filled in. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” He towed Frankie away from the call line.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Am I supposed to answer them when they ask questions?” Frankie frowned.

“You’re supposed to do whatever you want to. I’m not going to treat you like a puppet and feed you sound-bites.”

“But you’ll tell me if there’s something I shouldn’t say?”

“It’s always safe to avoid the word ‘fuck’ on the red carpet.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so helpful.”

She accepted his arm with a death grip. If she didn’t fall off of these sexy as hell icepicks and take a header into an ice sculpture or billionaire, it would be a damn miracle.

Miraculously, they made it inside unscathed. Aiden helped her straighten her skirt for her. “Ready?”

She looked beyond him to the crowd. At least she wasn’t underdressed.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” she said.

“You’re going to be great. You might even have the smallest bit of fun.”

She didn’t believe a second of his pep talk, but Frankie appreciated it all the same.

“Yeah, you too.”

“And when this is all over, I’ll take you through any drive-thru you want, and we’ll eat in pajamas at home.”

“Deal.”

She recognized Ferris Kilbourn from his photo at Aiden’s. He skimmed in just under six feet tall, and his Irish roots showed in the red hair going silver that ringed his head. He wore a tux and seemed as comfortable in it as if he were wearing sweats. He had his arm around a skeletal platinum blonde who had brushed a little too closely to having too much work done. She was dressed in gold and decorated in diamonds.

“My father and stepmother,” Aiden whispered in her ear as they approached.

“Aren’t they getting a divorce?”

“Appearances.”