Page 118 of The Worst Best Man

Fast Feet looked chagrined. “It’s a really exciting opportunity—”

“Dude, seriously.” Frankie scanned the crowd for Aiden, and when his gaze met hers, she waved him over. “Tell him what’s in it for him and why you think he’d like… whatever it is you’re doing,” she instructed. “If he says no, I’ll buy you a drink. Just, for the love of God, stop talking to me about it.”

Aiden arrived at her side.

“Aiden, Mr. Uh…”

“Finch. Robert Finch,” Fast Feet supplied.

“Right, Finch has something he wants to talk to you about.” She winked at Aiden as she sailed in the direction of the bar. She didn’t know if tequila was classy to order at a swanky event like this.

“What can I get for you, miss?” the bartender asked, all professional politeness.

“Listen, I’m new here. Is there a way that I can order a shot of tequila and not have half of this crowd gossiping about me?”

His smile warmed a few degrees. “How about I put it in a rocks glass, and you pretend it’s top shelf scotch?”

“Sold,” she said, slapping the bar. She slid a five-dollar bill into his tip glass.

He made a show of tossing the bottle over his shoulder and catching it behind his back. Bartender flirtations.

Frankie watched appreciatively and hid her smile when she saw he was catching the eye of a few other ladies in the crowd. There was always someone drunk enough to screw the staff in a closet or a restroom before the end of the night at events like these.

Frankie had been propositioned often enough at the events she worked to accept it as par for the course. Unless those propositions got a little too aggressive.

She accepted the glass that he handed her with a flourish. Clearly a double pour. And gave him a smile and a nod as she left him to his new admirers.

The event felt like someone’s wedding. White and crystal and sterling silver everywhere. A winter wonderland, she believed the theme was. It had to be $500 a head, which made her wonder exactly how many people here would have been happier to cough up $250 just for the privilege of staying home.

But she supposed being seen supporting a worthy cause was part and parcel of the responsibility of wealth. Aiden and Fast Feet were still chatting near the ice sculpture on the canapes buffet.

A suit sidled up next to her. “So, Franchesca, when are you going to apologize for breaking my nose?”

Elliot might have been trying to be charming, but he came across like a slug oozing slime. He was blond like his mother with finer features than Aiden. He was pretty, not handsome. His presence wasn’t commanding like Aiden’s either. It was more of an afterthought.

“Maybe when you apologize for committing a felony and nearly ruining my best friend’s wedding.”

He gave an elegant shrug of his slim shoulders. “No harm, no foul.”

She swung around to face him. “Lots of harm, lots of foul,” she countered.

“I came over to clear the air. Now that you’re part of the family, we can’t have any bad blood between us. Now, can we?”

“I’m completely fine with lots of bad blood.”

He laughed, but it sounded forced to her ears.

“I think you should dance with me,” Elliot announced.

“Did you get a concussion when I hit you?”

“It’s all about putting on a show.” He held his arm out toward the dance floor. “Don’t you want to prove that you can play the game?”

Frankie downed the rest of her tequila and pointed the empty glass at the bartender. He gave her a nod and started pouring.

“One dance, and you will not grab my ass or piss me off or abduct anyone, got it?”

“My word,” he said, crossing his heart.