Page 3 of The Worst Best Man

“What’s my type?” Aiden asked, already regretting it.

“Tall, painfully thin. Doesn’t smile or speak too much. Someone looking to add you to her bedroom portfolio to make her more attractive to the next potential husband.”

“That’s not necessarily my type,” Aiden argued. “That’s just who doesn’t take offense to the arrangement.”

“Frankie would take offense,” Chip predicted. “But I think she might also make you regret temporary. She’s a hell of a girl, Aiden.”

Aiden watched the woman in question as she shimmied and strutted in unison with Pruitt. She moved like a goddess, tempting mortals with her sinful body. In his experience, women tended to highlight their appeal either across the dining table or in the bedroom. And Franchesca was all bedroom.

He turned his back on the dance floor.

“When are you going to give up on dragging me into monogamous bliss?” he asked Chip.

His friend grinned. “When you find someone who makes you feel the way I do about Pru.”

“I’m a Kilbourn. We’re not capable of feelings. Only beneficial mergers.”

“That’s a sad statement to make,” Chip said, slapping him on the shoulder. The server, a slip of a girl with a navy streak in her dark hair, hurried to his side. A glass of scotch clutched in her hand.

“Here you go, Mr. Kilbourn,” she said in a breathless whisper.

“Thank you… Jana,” he said, eyes flicking to her name tag.

Her mouth dropped open, and she backed away with stars in her eyes.

“See. Why don’t you work some of that charm on Frankie?”

“I’m not interested in something that…”

“Fun? Smart? Sexy?” Chip supplied.

“Flashy,” Aiden corrected. “She dances like she’s got experience on the pole. And she’d probably take that as a compliment.”

“No. She wouldn’t,” a husky voice behind him announced.

Fuck.

Chip, ever the tension diffuser, slapped an innocent grin on his face. “Frankie! Aiden didn’t see you there,” he said pointedly.

“Aiden doesn’t seem like the type to notice much of anyone under a certain tax bracket. Why waste his time?” Franchesca announced.

She didn’t hesitate to make eye contact. No, she used those blue-green eyes to bore holes into him. He’d been an ass. Usually he was much more careful about voicing his opinions in venues where they could be overheard, misconstrued. He blamed the headache, the three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.

“Pru asked if you’d get her a drink and save her from the Danby twins. They’ve got her cornered by the stairs.” Frankie pointed to the opposite end of the room.

“If you two will excuse me, I’ve got to go rescue my fiancée. No bloodshed,” Chip ordered, pointing a stern finger at Frankie.

“No promises,” she called after him. She turned back to him, eyes flashing with temper. “Well, ifyou’llexcuse me—which I don’t give a flying fuck if you do—I don’t want to spend my evening looking at you.”

She dismissed him, turning on her heel and whipping that curtain of hair over her shoulder.

“Hang on,” he said it quietly, fingers closing around her wrist.

“Hands off, Kilbourn, or you’ll be Deadbourn by the time I’m done with you.”

He released her but stepped into her path. “Let me apologize.”

“Letyou?” Franchesca crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, I’m sure you’re used to talking to servants and underlings, but a word of advice? Don’t demand that someone listen to your shit show of an apology. Got it?”