The Worst Best Man Read online

  “I was just wondering if it was casual day.”

  “This is the one and only outfit of the whole trip that didn’t have to be coordinated with the bridesmonsters, and you won’t ruin my enjoyment of it.”

  “Coordinating outfits?” He was so glad he wasn’t a woman.

  “Price you pay for having friends,” Frankie said. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  And that was why Aiden kept his circle small. Miniscule really. He wasn’t social, didn’t enjoy attention or parties. He liked making money, rising to a challenge, finding the most creative solution to obstinate obstacles.

  “Wow. Look at that water.” She pointed an unpolished finger to their left and leaned closer to him to get a better view. The highway paralleled the turquoise of the Caribbean Sea. He caught the scent of her hair, something exotic, spiced. And for one glorious second, the image of Frankie naked and sprawled across his bed materialized, unbidden in his mind’s eye.

  “Picture perfect,” Aiden agreed.

  “Have you ever been here before?” Frankie asked, digging through her bag. Triumphantly, she pulled out a tube of sunscreen.

  “Are you making small talk?” he asked.

  “Figured we wouldn’t fight as much over ‘pretty ocean’ and ‘come here often?’” She squeezed the lotion onto the pads of her fingers and rubbed it onto her face. Aiden wondered when was the last time he’d seen a woman in anything other than full makeup and perfectly coiffed hair. The women he dated preferred to leave “natural” a closely guarded secret.

  “Oh, I think we can find contention on any topic,” Aiden predicted.

  She hummed an answer and didn’t elaborate.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to be polite. We’re here for Pru and Chip, and I’m not going to spoil their wedding by fighting with you.”

  “You really don’t like me, do you?” Aiden asked with a grin.

  “Nope. But that doesn’t mean I have to be an asshole about it. Some of us were raised better than that.” It was a jab at him, but rather than piss him off, it amused him.

  “How were you raised?” he prodded.

  “Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “We’re not going to play getting to know you. We don’t like each other, and we don’t need to. You do your thing, I’ll do mine. We’ll get through our formal portraits and our bridal party dance, and then we never need to see each other again.”

  Aiden laughed. The sound of it foreign to his own ears. “I don’t not like you.”

  “I’m not biting, Kilbourn. So, you just demolition derby us to the resort in silence, and I’ll sit here and pretend you’re a cute Australian surfer.”

  “I’m not trying to start a fight—”

  “Uh-uh. No words. Drive. Quietly.”

  He grinned, shaking his head, and let her have her way. They zoomed along the skinny highway, swerving around potholes and stopping for the occasional pedestrian. They passed sandy white beaches with swaying palms and sunburned tourists. The street narrowed as he steered them into Bridgetown. They whizzed by store fronts and sidewalk produce stands, past a handful of luxury brand stores, and on by the cruise ship port.

  Frankie’s attention was glued to the water view.

  It was beautiful. The kind of blue that only existed on postcards. And the constant tropical breeze made the mid-eighties feel balmy, not oppressive. Not that he’d enjoy it. The long weekend was chock full of the downsides of wealth and privilege. Social obligation, familial responsibility, and—because he was closer to Chip than his own half-brother—gratuitous celebration. Was a marriage really worth this kind of fanfare? Shouldn’t the bride and groom want it to be something more private, more meaningful? He accelerated up a short hill, frowning.

  “What could possibly be making you make that face while you look at this?” Frankie demanded, extending an arm to the sweeping vista before them.

  “I thought we weren’t talking?”

  “Right. I got distracted watching you look like you swallowed a lemon whole. Back to silence.”

  On cue, his phone rang in the cup holder. Aiden glanced at the screen, his frown deepening.

  “What is it, Elliot?” he demanded, keeping his tone clipped. His half-brother’s calls only ever meant one thing.

  “How’s paradise?”

  The less Aiden gave his brother, the easier the damage was to minimize.

  “What do you need, Elliot?” Aiden asked.

  “We need to talk about the board vote.” He heard the shift in his voice from charm to calculation.

  “We’ve already discussed the vote. I’m not changing my mind,” Aiden said brusquely.

  “I don’t think you’ve really thought it through—”

  “I’m not naming Donaldson CFO. He’s under investigation for fraud from his last company. You can’t expect me to put our entire holdings at his feet and turn a blind eye.”

  “The rumors about the fraud are completely overblown. It was just an ex-mistress with an axe to grind.” Aiden heard the distinct click of metal connecting with a ball followed by polite applause.

  “On the course again?” Elliot spent more time golfing and drinking and fucking his way through the city’s female population than he did behind his desk in his very nice corner office one floor below Aiden’s.

  “Just squeezing in a quick nine with a client.”

  It was bullshit, but Aiden didn’t have the energy to call him on it. The fact was running his family’s company and extensive holdings was falling more and more on his shoulders as their father seemed to be taking a step back. Elliot could only be roused to care about business when it was something that affected him personally. He hadn’t figured out Elliot’s connection to the thieving, cheating Donaldson, but Aiden wasn’t about to step aside and let his brother name the next CFO of Kilbourn Holdings.

  “My vote stands. No on Donaldson. I have to go.” He disconnected before his brother could object and then turned his phone off to avoid the inevitable barrage of calls and texts.

  “Business drama?” Frankie asked without looking in his direction.

  “Family drama with a side of business.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t do business with your family.”

  He shot her a glance. She had her face lifted toward the sun, a sly curve to her lips.

  “It’s not that easy.”

  She deigned to look at him now, lowering her sunglasses. “Nothing worthwhile is.”

  --------

  The resort was walled in against the ocean behind soft yellow stone walls and a gate. He’d paid little attention to it when he’d arrived last night. But watching Frankie ooh and aah over the lush landscape and the curving drive, he tuned in and let himself forget about his family, his business. The hotel rose up three stories of stucco and stone, two wings joined by a two-story, open-aired lobby. The greenery continued inside, colorful pots clustered around a stone fountain. There was a bar on either end of the lobby and a straight through view to the water.

  “Wow,” Franchesca whispered behind him.

  The woman behind the desk with the cheerful knotted scarf in canary yellow looked up from her computer. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay, Mr. Kilbourn,” she said with the subtle accent of the island adding music to her words.

  “Of course,” he assured her. “Ms. Baranski is checking in.”

  “Yes, of course. Welcome, Ms. Baranski.”

  “Thank you. Your resort is beautiful,” Frankie said with an easy smile she’d never given him.

  As if she’d heard his thoughts, Frankie turned to him. She looked him up and down and arched an eyebrow. “Thank you for the ride. You can go now.”

  He gave her a slow, dangerous smile. Franchesca Baranski had no idea who she was taunting. He wasn’t a man who was dismissed. He stepped closer to her, crowding her against the desk, and saw the surprise, the concern in those big eyes. There was someth
ing else too. A little flare, a spark of desire.

  Aiden reached for her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips.

  “The pleasure was all mine.” He saw the goosebumps that rose on her arm and grinned.

  “I’m sure it usually is,” she shot back, yanking her hand free and turning her back on him.

  Chapter Five

  Aiden left Frankie at the desk and followed the sound of the waves. He paused at the bar, debated, and then changed his mind and continued outside.

  He’d been drinking too much. A medication of sorts for the chronic stress that plagued him. His family seemed hell-bent on making every bad decision they could with regards to the business. He’d ignored it for far too long, preferring to focus on his own responsibilities. But now he needed to be present. He’d be damned if he let anyone—family included—destroy what had been three generations in the making.

  Hands in the pockets of his shorts, he strolled across the coral stone terrace, his shirt fluttering in the breeze. The infinity edge pool sparkled under the sun to his right. A handful of mid-afternoon guests enjoyed ceviche and champagne at the outdoor seafood restaurant to his left.

  He followed the path down the stairs and to the right where it meandered between beach and vegetation. Pruitt’s father might not think much of Chip as a son-in-law, but he wasn’t going to let that stand in the way of spending lavishly. He’d been willing to rent out the cordoned off section of the resort to ensure his princess had a special and private day.

  Aiden found the bride and groom sunning themselves at the edge of a freeform lagoon overlooking the beach and ocean. The bridesmaids—bridesmonsters, he corrected himself with amusement—were lounging in studied positions of perfection that best accented their appeal. He noticed the straightening of shoulders, the jutting of chests when they spotted him. They were always on the hunt.

  But he was no one’s quarry.

  He dropped down at the end of Chip’s lounger, his back to the monsters. “Your maid of honor has been delivered,” he announced.

  Pru peeked up at him from under the brim of a ridiculous sun hat. “Aiden! I scheduled a car to pick up Ms. I’ll-Just-Take-a-Taxi.”

  “I canceled it,” he said with a shrug. “I was already heading in that direction.”

  “He’s just trying to get back into Frankie’s good graces,” Chip said loyally. His friend waved his empty glass at a passing pool server and circled his finger signaling a round. It looked like Aiden would be getting that drink after all.

  “Uh-huh.” Pruitt wasn’t believing either of them. Not for a second.

  “Did you pick up my genius best friend to pick on her? Because if you did, I’m not going to be happy with you, Aiden Kilbourn,” Pruitt said, jabbing a finger into his arm.

  “Pick on her? What is this? Second grade?” Aiden teased.

  “What exactly did you say to her at the engagement party?” Pruitt demanded.

  “She didn’t tell you?” Aiden was surprised. He thought Frankie would have run tattling.

  “My beautiful best friend doesn’t want me to worry about a thing. And apparently that includes whatever idiotic thing you said or did at the party.”

  Aiden shared a look with Chip. Neither of them were enthusiastic about repeating the insult.

  Pruitt snapped her fingers. “Oh, no! Uh-uh! Don’t you look at him, Chip. Spill it right now.”

  Chip’s resolve crumbled faster than a cookie in the sticky hands of a toddler. “Aiden may have mentioned that Frankie danced like she had experience on the pole.”

  “You called her a stripper?” Pruitt’s screech could probably be heard by the catamaran five-hundred yards off the coast.

  Aiden winced. “In my defense—”

  “There’s no defense! Damn it, Aiden. She’s one of my favorite people. You can’t treat her like she’s nothing.”

  “I understand, and I apologized, and I tried to make amends by picking her up today.”

  Pru cracked a slight smile. “Tried to, huh? She wasn’t amenable?” she asked innocently.

  “Not exactly,” Aiden admitted. Not at all, really.

  Chip slapped him on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. Our Frankie’s not the most forgiving person in the world.”

  “So one slip up, and that’s it?”

  Pruitt peered at him over her sunglasses. “Why? Are you interested in her?”

  “As she so astutely pointed out, I’m no more her type than she is mine,” Aiden said, side-stepping the question. He wasn’t interested in Frankie. He was intrigued by her, but that was different.

  “Why couldn’t you just have been nice and polite or, God forbid, friendly?” Pruitt sighed.

  “I don’t want to be friendly. I don’t have time for friendly.”

  Pruitt flopped back on her lounger pouting. “And now we have a maid of honor and best man who hate each other.”

  “We should have eloped,” Chip said, squeezing her thigh with affection.

  “We are eloping. We just took everyone with us.”

  Aiden bit back a quip about knowing better for next time. Thanks to him, there almost hadn’t been a first time.

  The server returned with a tray of pink frothy drinks with umbrellas and enough fruit to build a salad. “Mr. Randolph,” he said with a flourish. Chip grinned and passed out the drinks. “Hatfield, you’re the man.” He slid a twenty onto the tray.

  Aiden took a sip of his drink, winced, and set the glass down on the table next to the chair.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mr. and almost Mrs. Randolph.”

  Pru squealed and jumped out of her chair. “You’re here!” She threw her arms around Franchesca.

  She’d changed, he noted. Gone were the very small white shorts and entertainingly tight tank. In their place was a flowy cover up with a deep v that showed an eyeful of breathtaking cleavage and a hint of the black bikini beneath. Her hair was still piled atop her head. She looked exotic, curvy. And if he wasn’t careful, he’d have a hard-on like a teenager in a moment.

  There was nothing subtle about Franchesca.

  “I made it,” she said, grinning down at Pru.

  “How was your flight? Do you want a drink?”

  “Here.” Aiden pressed his pink concoction into her hand.

  She stared at the glass with suspicion.

  “Oh, for God’s sake. It’s not poisoned. Just drink the damn thing,” he ordered.

  “Remember what we were talking about, Aiden?” Pru warned him. “Friendly?”

  “You’re in trouble,” Frankie sang under her breath so only he could hear. She took a sip of the drink. Her full lips closed over the straw where his had been only moments ago. “Don’t you worry about Aide and me. No drama. Scout’s honor. Even if he did cockblock me from a sexy surfer at the airport.”

  Pru linked her arm through Frankie’s and led her away, shooting him a dirty look over her shoulder. “Come on, Frankie. Let’s go spend some time with the girls. Now, tell me about the surfer.”

  Aiden and Chip watched them go.

  “Surfer, huh?” Chip asked.

  “Shut up.”

  Chip laughed. “Come on. Let’s play some volleyball.”

  Chapter Six

  “Ladies, our maid of honor has arrived,” Pruitt announced cheerily to the reclining goddesses.

  “Yay,” Margeaux said without looking up from her phone. Her blonde hair was rolled in a chic chignon at the base of her neck. She looked regal, even in a bikini.

  Pruitt dragged Frankie toward a pair of sun loungers. She took another sip of the pink frozen tartness. It tasted vaguely of grapefruit and vodka. But it would do.

  “Now, sit. And spill,” Pru ordered. “The story, not the drink.”

  Frankie handed over the glass with a sigh. She stepped out of her sandals and pulled the cover up over her head.

  She felt a heated gaze on her skin and turned to see Aiden standing in the sand looking at her. He
flashed her a cocky grin and shucked his shirt. He wasn’t lean like the rest of the groomsmen. He was bigger, more muscled. His chest alone made her mouth water. They stared admiringly at each other.

  “Staaaalling,” Pru sang, drawing her attention.

  “Ugh. Fine.” She turned her back on the beach, on Aiden. “What do you want to know?”

  “How did your ride in from the airport go with Aiden?”

  Margeaux dropped her phone and her jaw. Taffany, who had been busy swilling tequila straight from the bottle in a one-piece with less fabric than Frankie’s bikini, sat up.

  “You and the very good-looking best man?” Cressida demanded, her accent seeming to shift between Austrian and Russian. Frankie couldn’t stop staring at the woman’s breasts that seemed hell-bent on escaping the scrap of fabric masquerading as a bandeau top.

  Self-consciously, Frankie reached up to adjust the ties of her own suit to make sure her girls didn’t escape.

  A chorus of “Ooooohs” rose from the volleyball court, and the girls craned their necks to see what had happened. Aiden, still spectacularly shirtless and ripped, was holding a hand over his eye.

  “What did I tell you guys?” Pru yelled.

  “No bruises!” they parroted back to her.

  “No bruises, no cuts, no scrapes, no freak hair accidents. I need your faces perfect for pictures,” the bride reminded them.

  “Sorry,” they said as one.

  “Aiden was distracted,” Chip added with a wink.

  Aiden gave Frankie a long look, and she dropped her hands from where they were fiddling with the strings of her suit. Had he been watching her?

  “Can’t you guys just sit and read?” Pru begged.

  “No more overhand serves,” Davenport, the peacemaker and resident drunk, offered.

  “Ugh. Fine. But keep your attention on the ball, Aiden.” Pru sat back down. “It’s like herding kindergartners at a candy factory. Now, sit down Frankie before Aiden loses an eye checking you out.”

  All attention on her, Frankie sank down on the chair and stretched her legs out in front of her. “He picked me up at the airport,” she said. She wasn’t a fan of gossip in general and feeding anything to these hellhounds was a bad, bad idea.