Page 3 of Tempting Frankie
It’s reckless, pursuing my son’s ex.
But I’ve built an empire by taking risks and the thrill of it has me ready to come all over someone’s pretty heart-shaped face.
Chapter 2
Francesca
Istumble through the door of our shitty apartment, my feet screaming from hours of running around in these god-awful shoes because we have to look respectable and classy. Fucking rich assholes and their champagne wishes.
Slamming the apartment door so hard, the cheap artwork my sister put on the walls rattles, making me feel just a bit better. Fucking Alexander. Fucking Cameron. Fucking men and their fucking games.
I need a shower. I reek of overpriced and pretentious hors d'oeuvres.
“Jesus, what crawled up your ass and died?” Kat drawls from the couch, not even looking up from her magazine.
I chuck my keys onto the cluttered kitchen counter, missing the little ceramic dish and sending them skittering across the chipped Formica. “Nothing,” I mutter, kicking off my shoes with more force than necessary. One smacks into the baseboard with a satisfying thunk. “Fucking rich fucks. More money than sense and not enough dick between the lot of 'em to make a decent vibrator.”
“Uh huh. And I'm the Virgin Mary,” Kat snorts, finally deigning to meet my eyes. She arches one perfectly plucked eyebrow, a smirk playing at her crimson lips. “Spill it, sis. Who pissed in your lavender latte today?”
Flopping onto the couch next to her, I groan dramatically before picking up the wine bottle she’s got on the coffee table. “You wouldn't fucking believe me if I told you.”
Kat tosses her magazine aside, turning to face me fully. Her eyes gleam with that predatory look she gets when there's juicy gossip to be had. “Try me, bitch. I live for this shit.”
I scrub a hand over my face, debating how much to divulge. Kat means well, but her idea of ‘help’ usually involves tequila and bad decisions. Still, I need to vent to someone before I implode. I take a drink off the bottle before spilling.
“I ran into Alexander Steele today, tonight, whatever you want to call it,” I finally admit, staring resolutely at the ceiling.
Kat freezes for half a beat, then grins like a cat who just caught sight of a canary. “No fucking way. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Loaded? Your ex’s dad?”
I glare at her over the rim of the bottle. “Can you not call him that?”
“What?” she says, feigning innocence. “It’s accurate. He’s tall, dark-haired, loaded, and apparently still living rent-free in your head.”
“He’s not,” I snap, though the heat crawling up my neck betrays me. “It was just a coincidence. He happened to be there, that’s all.”
Kat smirks, perching on the edge of the couch. “Sure. So, what did Daddy Steele say? Did he offer to whisk you away in his Bentley?”
“Stop calling him that!” My voice is sharper than I intend, but Kat just laughs.
“Okay, fine. What didAlexandersay?” she amends, dragging his name out like she’s savoring it.
Sighing, I sink into the chair opposite her. “Not much. He complimented my snark after I put some asshole in his place, then…I don’t know. It was weird seeing him again. He hasn’t changed.”
Kat raises a brow. “Weird how? Weird as in awkward? Or weird as in, ‘I want to climb him like a tree’?”
“Katarina!”
“What? You’re the one blushing,” she says with a smug grin. “Come on, Frankie. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice how hot he is.”
I groan, pressing the cool bottle against my burning cheeks. “This isn’t happening.”
“So, you didn’t fuck him, then?” Kat cackles, clapping her hands together in delight.
“Jesus Christ. No!” I smack her with a throw pillow but can't help the traitorous heat that floods my cheeks. “You perv. It was just…unexpected. And weird. Did I mention weird?”
“Only about a dozen times,” Kat quips, leaning in closer. “But come on, Frankie. Spill the tea. Cause I think Daddy Warbucks wants to make you his sugar baby.”
I fidget with the ring on my middle finger, trying to downplay the event in my head. “You’ve been reading too much fanfiction.”
