Page 5 of Tempting Frankie
Kat waggles her eyebrows. “Maybe that's exactly what it is. 'Naughty server seduces wealthy patron.' I'd watch that, well if it wasn’t you because there are lines I will cross and that is not one of them.”
“I literally am concerned about your mental health,” I groan, but I can't quite keep the smile off my face.
I dodge the pile of laundry I've been meaning to fold for days taking up residence in the middle of our living room.
Alexander's face flashes in my mind—that knowing smirk, the way his eyes lingered. I shake my head, trying to dislodgethe image. “It's insane, right? I mean, he's Cameron's dad. That's like…fifty shades of fucked up.”
Kat sprawls on the couch, watching me with that infuriating know-it-all grin. “Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that, sis.” She twirls a strand of her dark hair, looking way too pleased with herself. “But I see those wheels turning. You're actually considering it, aren't you?”
I snort, aiming for nonchalant and probably missing by a mile. “In your dreams, maybe.” But even as I say it, I can feel a flush creeping up my neck. Damn my traitorous body.
“Look,” Kat says, her tone softening. “I know Crusty Cam did a number on you. The guy wouldn't know a good thing if it bit him in his pasty ass.” She sits up, fixing me with an intense stare. “But you can't let his bullshit keep you from living your life. Or getting spectacularly laid by a hot man who actually sees how amazing you are.”
I pause my pacing, gnawing on my lower lip. “It's not that simple,” I mutter, but the words sound weak even to my own ears.
“It could be,” Kat insists. She leans forward, her eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness I both love and hate. “Trust yourself, Frankie. You deserve good things. Stop letting that asshole's voice in your head tell you otherwise.”
I collapse back onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. “Fuck,” I groan. “You wise little shit.”
Kat laughs, nudging me with her foot. “I've always been the smart one. You were just too busy being stubborn to notice.”
I peek at her through my fingers, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “So, what now, oh wise one? You want me to just...call him up? 'Hey Alexander, wanna grab coffee and maybe bang your son's ex?'”
Kat's grin turns wicked. “Now you're talking. But maybe save the banging proposition for the second date. We're classy bitches, after all.”
“Because nothing screams class like hooking up with your ex’s dad.”
Kat laughs, her hazel eyes alight with mischief. “Hey, it’s not just a hookup,” she argues, still grinning. “It’s…strategic social climbing. Networking through orgasms.”
“God, why do you make everything sound so marketable?”
“Because I’m good at it, duh. I love you but you smell, so please go take a shower. I’ll grab another bottle of wine and when you’re done, we can watch RHONY!” I roll my eyes but she’s right, I do need to shower and reset.
I salute her before getting up and walking toward the small, cramped bathroom we share.
As I peel off my sweaty uniform, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror propped against the wall. My curves spill out of my bra, soft and round in all the places Cameron used to criticize. Fucking Cameron. That douchebag's voice still echoes in my head sometimes.“Maybe lay off the pasta, babe. No one wants to fuck a fatty.”
I flip off my reflection. A petty ‘fuck you’ to Cameron and every other asshole who's made me feel less than.
Alexander fucking Steele. What kind of game was he playing, looking at me like that? Like I was something worth savoring.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge thoughts of piercing green eyes and strong hands. He's double my age, for fuck's sake, even if he did look like sex on legs in a tailored tux that probably cost more than my yearly rent.
But as I step into the shower, letting the hot water soothe my aching muscles, I can't help but wonder what those hands would feel like on my skin. What that deep voice would sound like whispering filthy promises in my ear.
I am so fucking screwed.
Chapter 3
Alexander
The phone rings, interrupting my thoughts as I sit in my penthouse office. I recognize the number instantly—it's the catering company I slipped a hefty donation to last week. My pulse thrums as I answer.
“Mr. Steele? It's John from Elite Crown Catering. You asked us to keep you informed about a certain employee's schedule?”
I sit up straighter, my cock already twitching with anticipation. “Go on.”
“We had a last-minute cancellation for tonight's charity gala at the Rosewood Hotel. Francesca just agreed to fill in. I thought you'd want to know right away.”
