Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  She’d showered, leisurely, and then decided to treat herself to a coffee—the expensive kind—at the hipster café on her way to work.

  “Good morning,” Frankie said as she breezed through the glass door of the office. Brenda, the receptionist and part-owner of the Brooklyn Heights Small Business Development Center, shivered at the draft of winter air that followed Frankie inside and huddled closer to the space heater under her desk.

  It was a cheery if not chic space. Just last year Frankie had come in on a Sunday to help Brenda and her husband Raul paint the industrial gray walls a nice, clean white. They’d decorated with art by local Brooklynites. Paintings of storefronts, sketches of the skyline and streets. Brenda had added a veritable garden of plants for pops of green and “air filtering.”

  “Girl, you are going to freeze to death walking to work,” Brenda tut-tutted.

  Frankie laughed and unwound the wool scarf from her neck, looping it over the coat rack. After last night, she felt she had heat to spare for the six-block walk having taken so much of Aiden’s.

  “I like walking to work. Because the walk allows me to do this.” She handed over the small green tea she’d picked up for Brenda.

  The woman wiggled her fingers and reached for the cup. “Gimmie! Forget what I said. Walk all you want. Who cares about frostbite when you bring me green tea?”

  “How did Daisy Scouts go last night?” Frankie asked, shrugging out of her coat and carrying her bag over to her desk.

  Brenda had been called to babysit her granddaughter’s Daisy troop when the scout leader—Brenda’s daughter—came down with a case of front row seats to see Bon Jovi.

  “I drank half a bottle of wine after they left. Thirteen seven-year-olds.” Brenda shook her head and then patted her hair to make sure it was still in place. She wore her dark hair in dozens of tiny braids coiled in a bun at the base of her neck. “My dining table looks like a glitter bomb went off.”

  “I warned you not to do sparkly or sticky crafts!”

  “Lesson learned,” Brenda sighed. “What about you? How was your mysterious dinner date?”

  Frankie had been cagey about her evening plans, which had raised Brenda’s red flag immediately.

  “It was uh… good.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Brenda said.

  Frankie felt the color on her cheeks rising. She’d donned a turtleneck today to cover the bruise between her neck and shoulder where Aiden had gotten a little overzealous with his mouth. She’d have to lay down the law before next time: No visible hickeys.

  The thought that there would be a next time? Now her cheeks were flaming.

  “Girl, the shades of pink you’re turning are making me very curious.”

  “I had dinner with… the guy I’m… my boyfriend?” That’s technically what he was. Wasn’t it? It was too much of a mouthful to say the guy I’m seeing temporarily and enjoying naked.

  “Boyfriend?” Brenda perked up. She popped the lid off her green tea and blew on the steam. “Details, please.”

  “Don’t we have to get ready for the social media workshop?” Frankie asked hopefully. She pulled her laptop out of her bag and booted it up.

  “The one you have given every month for the past year? I think we’ve got it down to a science. Spill.”

  What could she possibly say that wouldn’t sound like she’d lost her damn mind? My boyfriend and I are having sex until he gets bored and moves on. But it’s cool because he’s promised me a ton of orgasms and anything I want. Nope. That wouldn’t do.

  “His name is Aiden, and we met at the wedding.”

  “He must be one of the hoity-toity crowd if he was at Pruitt’s wedding,” Brenda guessed.

  “I don’t really know what he does,” Frankie said evasively. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Just because Aiden had more money in his couch cushions than she did in her savings account didn’t mean that she exactly grasped what he did to earn those piles of cash.

  “That’s not like you. Usually you have a dossier of every dateable candidate before you even say yes to the first date,” Brenda pointed out.

  “I’ll have to get on that dossier,” Frankie promised.

  “What’s his last name?” Brenda asked.

  “Kilbourn. Aiden Kilbourn.” Shit was about to go down.

  Brenda shoved a finger in her ear above the neat rows of tiny gold hoops that she wore in her lobe. “I’m sorry. It sounded to these old ears like you said Aiden Kilbourn.”

  “You’ve heard of him?” Frankie asked innocently. Of course, she’d heard of him. Everyone in the five boroughs knew of the Kilbourns and their Manhattan domination.

  Brenda bustled back to her desk, her nails clicking on the keyboard. She was shaking her head and muttering. Frankie slunk into the tiny kitchenette and stored her lunch in the fridge. “Morning, Raul,” she called through his open door.

  Raul was a man of small stature and big heart. He also dressed to the nines in vibrant colored pullover sweaters and nerdy glasses. His hair was going silver. He always made time for anyone who graced his doorway and considered himself an aficionado on bottles of wine below twenty dollars.

  “Morning, Frankie. You ready for the workshop today?”

  “All set. We’ve got ten signed up, which probably means eight will show.” One of Frankie’s specialties was teaching social media marketing to local business owners or employees that were hired to take care of Facebook pages and Instagram accounts. She ran the Facebook account for her parents’ deli after her father had blatantly refused to learn how to turn on a computer. Her mother was quick on an iPad but had no desire to “blab about every damn thing” she did in her day.

  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 f
ew more jobs that she’d already committed to and her credit card balance would be gone. Then 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 even 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 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.

  Of course they were cashmere lined leather.

  “Oh, look! There’s a note in the box!”

  Nestled in the tissue paper, Frankie snatched up the envelope before Brenda could get to it.

  To keep you warm when I’m not around.

  A

  Holy. Shit.

  “What’s it say? What’s it say?” Brenda was practically dancing from foot to foot.

  Frankie cleared her throat. “It just says, ‘To keep you warm,’” she fibbed.

  Brenda squealed. “This is so exciting! Our Frankie lands a jillionaire!”

  Raul poked his head out of his office door. “How’s the workshop setup going?” he asked, eyeing them with suspicion.

  “Great,” Brenda said sweetly. “And thank you for asking!”

  “I’d better go set up,” Frankie said, reluctantly sliding out of the coat.

  “You go ahead. I’m going to pet your coat for a few minutes.”

  Frankie put the coffee on in the kitchenette and then headed up the narrow staircase to the second floor. In the conference room, she turned up the thermostat and set out the notebooks and pens. And then flopped down in one of the chairs. She pulled out her phone.

  Frankie: Where did you find a Burberry coat before 9 a.m. on a Tuesday?

  He answered immediately and she guessed he must have been waiting for her to text.

  Aiden: You’re welcome. I told you. Anything you want.

  But she hadn’t asked for it. Gifts like this? A coat that cost at least a grand and probably more? There was no way in hell she could keep up with him on this side of their relationship.

  Aiden: Do you like it?

  She hadn’t thanked him, and that made her rude in addition to being poor. They had to talk about this side of things. That she wasn’t comfortable being the beneficiary of his deep pockets. But for now a little gratitude was due.

  Frankie: It’s stunning. I want to say I can’t accept it. But I think my boss threw my old one in the trash can with the coffee grounds. Thank you for thinking of me.

  Aiden: I have a feeling I’ll be doing a lot of that.

  Chapter Thirty

  “You’re bringing your young man to lunch on Sunday, aren’t you?”

  Frankie’s mother had caught her between work and class on exam night, guaranteeing the highest amount of stress.

  “Ma! He’s forty. We’re having sex, not going to junior prom!”

  “Even better. He’ll be wanting to settle down and give his mother-in-law a half-dozen grand babies.”

  “Do you torture Marco and Rachel like this? They’re actually pregnant,” she pointed out.

  “If I have to listen to my smug sister tell me one more time how smart Baby Nicky is or how she couldn’t wait to spend the day taking little Sebastian to the park, I’m going to set her on fire.”

  May Baranski was never just a tiny bit dramatic.

  “I don’t know if he can come, Ma,” Frankie sighed, running up the front steps of the building. It was the only class she had to physically be on campus for. The rest were online, thank God. So once a week she schlepped her ass downtown for Corporate Social Responsibility.

  She started for the stairs.

  “Well, you won’t know until you ask him,” May sniffed.

  “Fine. I’ll ask him.”

  “Good. We’ll see you both on Sunday.” Her mother hung up, and Frankie cursed family and its complications.

  She was five minutes early. And rather than reviewing her notes one more time like she should have, she opened her texts.

  Aiden: Good luck tonight.

  How had he remembered that she had an exam? With as packed as she presumed his calendar to be, the fact that he was storing little personal details about her both delighted and unsettled her.

  Frankie: Thanks. You’re going to need some luck now. You’ve been summoned to Baranski Sunday Lunch. You can say no. It’s loud, cramped quarters. People yell a lot. I can tell her you’re busy buying a country or something.

  When he didn’t respond immediately, Frankie silenced her phone and stowed it in her bag. It was for the best if he didn’t go. It would be a mistake to take him to her parents’. Her mother would start building castles in the sky and “finally” planning her “only daughter’s wedding.” And when it ended, when she and Aiden went their separate ways, May would be more devastated than either of them. Plus, she didn’t want to complicate things. And that’s exactly what family usually did.

  They were doing a good job of keeping it uncomplicated. They’d had dinner and (phenomenal) sex on Tuesday and had been texting off and on since then. See? Minus the expensive coat and gloves she loved so much that she wore them watching TV in her icebox of an apartment, they were basically a Tinder hookup.

  That, she could handle.

  Professor Neblanski shuffled int
o class clutching a latte and dumped his briefcase on his desk. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  Frankie hated to admit it, but she was disappointed that she didn’t get to see Aiden Friday or Saturday. Friday night, she already had plans to go out with friends, hitting a new wine bar in Clinton Hill. Saturday Aiden spent half the day in the office and the other half juggling rich guy responsibilities. Something about a fundraiser appearance and a dinner with clients. Now, she was curled up on her couch with Netflix reruns on in the background and her thesis draft in her lap, ignoring both in favor of thinking about Aiden.

  What they lacked in physical attention, they made up for in texting. Frankie was delighted to find that Aiden was funny over text.

  Aiden: Dinner companion mentioned having his hands full of wood. Exactly how am I supposed to respond? (Full disclosure: client owns several lumber mills).

  Aiden: I was going to stop by your place tonight and surprise you, but Brooklyn.

  Aiden: I’ve been disappointed by every single sandwich since the one your brother made.

  And then there was tonight’s message.

  Aiden: Preparing for lunch tomorrow. What’s the best way to take your mother’s attention off of Gio and the fresh widow? Should we tell her we’re adopting a child or that our sex tape was leaked?

  Frankie laughed out loud at that one. She fired off a response.

  Frankie: When is the last time you met a girl’s parents?

  Aiden: I meet most of them.

  Frankie didn’t care for that particular tidbit. It certainly didn’t make a girl feel special.

  Aiden: However, I’m feeling a lot more pressure having heard about your mother. What’s the best way to win her over? Asking for a friend.

  Frankie laughed again. She started to text back and then threw caution to the wind and dialed his number.

  “Franchesca.” He answered the phone sounding both smoldery and delighted.

  She felt like a damn teenager talking to her crush on the phone.

  “Hello,” she said, wondering why she called him. Now they had to make conversation. “Are you really worried about meeting my mother? Because you should be. She’s terrifying.”