The Worst Best Man(90)
Poor indestructible Aiden had found his limit. It must have been a very rough day indeed. She’d caught peeks at his work calendar before. He was scheduled down to the minute on most days. Aiden Kilbourn got more done before ten than most people did all day—hell, all week. But she recognized a pattern.
Work was his life, and he pushed until he burned out, and then he got back up and pushed some more.
She could admire that kind of dedication, Frankie thought as she pulled back the covers and slipped between the sheets. She settled back against the pillows with her eReader.
It was something they had in common. Sure, his work life involved him running a multi-billion-dollar conglomerate. Her work life was two part-time jobs and grad school. But still, they both had their eyes on the prize, and neither would stop at anything. Him: world domination or the corporate equivalent. Her: a master’s degree and a financially secure future.
It was funny how similar two people from opposite sides of the tracks could be.
He shifted on the mattress. Without opening his eyes, he rolled to her side, curling around her and pressing his face against her arm.
The most eligible bachelor in the city was in her bed, holding on for dear life, and her heart was doing something funny and fluttery.
“Son of a bitch,” she murmured. She was falling for him. And this was not going to be a soft landing.
She picked up her eReader and opened the novel she’d started. At least on the page she was guaranteed a happily ever after.
Aiden Kilbourn’s new girlfriend a cocktail waitress?
Just the tip: Waitress bags billionaire
Chapter Forty-Eight
Frankie swung through the crowd, a tray of pancetta crisps in her hand. It was her next to last catering gig. With the cash from tonight, she’d have almost enough to pay off her credit card that was still sobbing from Pru’s wedding.
The rich were raising money for manatees or sea turtles or some kind of endangered marine life in an Upper West Side art gallery. They were scribbling checks with one hand while downing signature cocktails and stuffed mushroom caps with the other.
“These are divine,” a woman in black sequins sighed, plucking another appetizer from Frankie’s tray. “The only reason I come to these things is for the food,” she confessed.
Frankie gave her a smile. “In that case, don’t miss the brie toast points.”
She made a lap around the far side of the room, smiling politely and pointing out the restrooms when asked. And was completely surprised when Cressida’s considerable rack came into her line of vision.
Shit. She’d been hoping to remain as under-the-radar as possible. Her catering boss already had reservations about letting Aiden Kilbourn’s girlfriend hand out apps to her new peers. The last thing she needed was a run-in with Pru’s bridal party.
Frankie ducked behind a tall, stooped gentleman and peered around his elbow. Cressida wasn’t alone. She was on the arm of groomsmen and day-trading boy genius Digby. Frankie was so surprised that she didn’t notice when her cover wandered off toward the bar.
“Frankie?” Digby asked, cocking his head to one side.
Crappity crap crap.
Frankie plastered a bright smile on her face. “Hey, Digby. Cressida. It’s nice to see you,” she said for once wishing she was in a nice dress holding a fundraiser program and not a tray of pancetta snacks.
Cressida eyed Frankie’s uniform. “You are working?” she asked.
Frankie straightened her shoulders, daring them to say anything. “Yep. So, what brings you two here?” she asked.
Digby snatched a piece of toast off her tray. “Cressida owns the building,” he said, chewing happily.
“And I like the manatees,” she added pointing at one of the informative banners hanging from the ceiling.
The big-boobed blonde was a real estate mogul, and Frankie was pushing appetizers for a living. Sometimes life just wasn’t quite fair.
Digby reached into his pocket.
“You use your phone, and I will have you killed,” Cressida purred.
Digby sheepishly ended his search and reached for another appetizer.
“I am training him to not be an asshole,” Cressida announced. “Good luck with your training of Aiden.”
“Uh, thanks?” Frankie said.
Digby grinned. “I heard Margeaux didn’t take the news of you two dating well.”
“Why Margeaux thinks it’s any of her business is beyond me.”
“That one does not like to lose,” Cressida announced. “We must go make love now.”
Digby’s face lit up, and for once, it wasn’t from the backlight of his phone. It looked as though he was trading in his day-trader ways.
“Great seeing you, Frankie. Tell Aiden we said hi,” he said in a rush, grabbing Cressida’s wrist and dragging her toward the door.
“Huh,” Frankie said, watching them leave. Maybe there had been something in the water in Barbados. She shivered, pitying whatever man ended up with Margeaux.
She moved on, circulating like a ghost through the crowd until her tray was empty. Back in the cramped kitchen, she restocked. Jana slid through the door with a tray of dirty glasses.
“Another hour, and we start packing up,” she sang. Her blonde hair was streaked with turquoise today.