Burning Down the Spouse Part 7

Woefully single.

Something she hadn't been in a very long time-if ever.

Tonight, she felt more alone than she had in six months.

Uncomfortable with this new rush of emotions dredged up by hearing these women spill their intestines, Frankie remained in her seat within the circle as everyone broke off into smaller groups.

The gorgeous, near flawless blonde to her left leaned into her. "Tissue?" She held out a pink Kleenex.

Frankie blinked, dragging a finger over her eyes to find them wet. Her breath shuddered in and out, taking the tissue from probably the most beautiful blonde Amazon on the face of the planet. "Thank you."

Her smile, perfect and warm, acknowledged Frankie. "I'm Jasmine Archway."

Of the famous Archway Tires?

Her smile, red and glossed, was knowing, too. "Yep, that's the one. Performance tires, truck tires, radials. Tires, tires, tires. Isn't it funny when the last name Archway is mentioned, Archway Tires is the first place people's minds go? Especially here at Trophy Jobs where everyone's jacked up. I bet the name wouldn't raise an eyebrow at the Stop & Shop. Anyway, I'm Ashton Archway's ex-plaything. Ex and now broke plaything, that is."

An ex-plaything named Jasmine . . . poles, showers of dollar bills, and thong-tha-thong-thong-thongs came to mind.

She chuckled, reading Frankie's thoughts again. "And no. I wasn't a stripper. My mother was a botanist. Jasmine was her favorite flower."

Frankie dropped her head to her chest, swiping at errant tears while hiding her shame for judging Jasmine.

She gave Frankie a nudge with her equally perfect round shoulder. "Don't feel bad. Looking the way I do, the stripper-slash-escort thing comes with the territory. I own it. All the labels a blonde like me conjures up-I own every one of 'em. I know I'm hot. I worked hard to maintain the gifts G.o.d gave me. Look where that got me, huh?" She looked down at the front of her tight ruby red sweater, catching Frankie staring with a question in her eyes. "And yes, this is my rack. Not the job of some fancy plastic surgeon. Though," she said on a wistful sigh, "I wish I'd reconsidered when Ashton said I could have a lift if I wanted it. These days, they're finding it harder and harder to breathe through all this underwire and steel."

Frankie burst out laughing, putting a hand over her mouth. "It's obvious I don't have the same problem. But on the upside-no b.o.o.b sweat."

"Ah, but we have many other things in common. You're Mitch in the Kitchen's ex-wife, Francis."

There was just no hiding-even looking like a mere shadow of her former self didn't help. Frankie averted her eyes, fighting the rising swell of panic in her chest. She fought an uncomfortable fidget, forcing herself to stay seated instead of running out of the room as though it were on fire.

Jasmine placed a hand on her arm, her frosted white nails flicking at Frankie's wrist. "It's not like everyone doesn't know, Francis."

"Frankie." She cleared her throat. "It's Frankie."

"Okay, it's not like everyone doesn't know, Frankie. You did lose your mind on national TV."

There really was something to be said for phrases like "not in polite company" and "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Her words were bitter in response. "Yep. That was me."

Jasmine shrugged her slender shoulders. "So own it. Your husband's off s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g a chick named after a deer in a Disney movie. He did something s.h.i.+tty, and you let him have it for most of the world to see. Is there any shame in calling someone on their c.r.a.ptacular behavior?"

"I think it's frowned upon in national television settings."

She let her blonde head fall back on her shoulders with a chuckle, throaty and rich and so open, Frankie envied her freedom. "Tough s.h.i.+t for Mitch. Maybe he should have been smarter and banged the maid instead. It certainly would've been less global and far more discreet."

Somehow, Jasmine, with her outspoken acceptance and brash observations, made Frankie feel a little less like a social pariah. "And maybe not quite as painful."

"Maybe. But here's how I look at it. You got out in the nick of time. Mitch isn't getting any younger. In fact, he's getting wrinklier by the day. Not that you're getting any younger either, but you're still a ways behind old Mitch. On the bright side, you're still young and pretty, though you've let yourself go these days because you figure why get your gorgeous on when you won't ever have Mitch's seal of approval again. You'll learn that was all bulls.h.i.+t when you find yourself again."

All wise words, except for one little problem. "Where exactly do I go to find myself anyway? I keep hearing that phrase bandied about like a tennis ball. Is there a place of business for it? Like the Find Yourself store?"

"If only it were that easy. We'd all be lined up. It takes time to figure out who you are when you're a scorned trained seal."

Frankie's smile was ironic. What a spot-on way to describe their former lives. She spread her arms wide. "Has any of this helped you? I mean Maxine's guides and pep talks and support meetings?"

Jasmine's head bobbed with enthusiasm. "I know it sounds hokey-guru-ish, all the crazy euphemisms she's got and pamphlets on how to adjust to being poor-which in and of itself is just pathetic, isn't it? n.o.body forced me to become candy for some rich man's sweet tooth. I let that happen and, in the process, I became complacent. I didn't have to end up poor. That's on me. So yes, I've learned a lot since I found Maxine and Trophy Jobs. If it weren't for her, I'd be in the nearest homeless shelter. Instead, I have my own little studio apartment and a cat named Gary."

Nothing said enticing like a cat and a studio apartment.

Jasmine gazed at her, her hazel eyes, deep and alluringly seductive, capturing Frankie's. "I know it doesn't sound like much, but to me it's everything. I have more pride than I ever did as Ashton's wife, and I'm content. I can't say I was ever really content when I was married to him. My life is a whole lot simpler now, but I don't miss the privileges much. Okay, maybe I miss the weekly manicures and my ma.s.seuse, but there's something to be said for knowing you can take care of yourself, learning how to budget, making a living that's all yours."

Who knew Maxine Barker was such a G.o.ddess? "And Maxine did all of that for you?"

"Nope. She was just my port in the storm. She taught me to suck it up, but I did all the sucking," Jasmine said on a throaty giggle.

Suddenly, this was all too much information for her. It was a bit like attending an Amway convention with tips and advice for pitiful divorcees.

Jasmine patted her arm in consolation. "You're not there yet. You're still too resentful Maxine interfered, and sometimes these meetings can be overwhelming. All those sad stories of one-time rich women dumped on their saggy a.s.ses for younger, hotter babes. I wonder sometimes what someone on the outside would say about all this vapidness in just one room."

Frankie's eyebrow rose. "You mean the dreaded middle cla.s.s?"

Jasmine barked a husky laugh. "Yeah. Looking back now, hearing some of the new girls and their stories, I have to remind myself I was once like them."

"You make this adventure sound like you're Cinderella, only in reverse."

"Trust me when I tell you that once Cindy was done running off with the prince, I'd bet my still perky a.s.s she was bored to tears living in that castle with nothing to do but wait for Prince Whatever to come home on his white steed."

Frankie laughed again. Huh. For the second time tonight. Like real, honest to G.o.d laughter.

Jasmine rose, leaving Frankie strangely regretful she was planning to make her exit. "Some of us are going to Greek Meets Eat for coffee. You wanna come with?"

Oh, h.e.l.l to the no. She'd had enough of the diner and hot-pants Nikos and his a.s.sumptions for one day. Frankie glanced at her watch. "I can't. I have an early day tomorrow. Maybe another time?" She found she meant that, too. Jasmine's approach to her very public divorce was to live out loud, and it piqued Frankie's curiosity.

Jasmine wrapped her equally red scarf around her neck and b.u.t.toned her jacket. "I'll hold you to that. It's good to get out, and coffee's cheap. Plus, the refills are free. Now give me your phone. I'll put my number in it. Call me if you ever need to talk, okay? Otherwise, I'll see you next week."

Frankie obliged by handing Jasmine her aunt's cell phone. "It's my Aunt Gail's phone. I don't . . . well, I can't . . ."

"Afford one of your own yet." Jasmine clucked her tongue between pearly white teeth. "You will. Soon enough. When you can, I'll show you how to bargain hunt for the cheapest, yet most efficient cell plan." She punched in her number and smiled when she handed it back. "Oh, and while you're hunting for a hobby," Jasmine said, looking down at the woodworking magazine she'd grabbed after deciding crocheting just wasn't for her, "try decoupage. It's cheap and you can use fun, inexpensive things like holiday napkins on sale for half off to do it. You should see the fabulous President's Day mirror I have in my bathroom. Anyway, see you next week, Frankie."

Decoupage. "Next week," she mumbled, watching the sa.s.sy sway of Jasmine's confident a.s.s leave the conference room.

"I see you met Jasmine?" Maxine asked her from behind.

"In all her outspokenness."

Maxine's laughter filled her ear. "She's really something, and just an FYI, she's come a long way since I first met her."

"Because of you."

Maxine shook her head, the soft curls of her hair brus.h.i.+ng her shoulders. "Nope. I had nothing to do with it. Okay, I had a little to do with it, but very little. I only helped her maximize skills she didn't know she had and use them in the workplace. She did the rest."

Curious, Frankie asked, "What does she do?"

"She's a bookkeeper."

"Where?"

"Fluffy's House of Ill Repute."

Frankie's snort escaped before she could stop it. "You mean the strip joint in the next town over?"

Maxine's grin was wide when she thrust her hands into the pockets of her black linen trousers. "Even strippers need to be paid. Jasmine's a whiz with numbers-we put that to good use while she takes accounting courses at night. For now, it's an honest living, if unconventional."

Again, Frankie smiled, her facial muscles sore from overuse.

"That looks good on you."

"What?"

"A smile. It really is okay to smile. Nothing bad will happen when you do."

"Nothing bad was happening to me when I was in bed. In fact, it was a whole lot less tiresome."

Maxine laughed again, tucking her hair behind her ear to reveal modest diamond studs. "How was your first day, anyway?"

"In a word?"

"One would be fine. An entire sentence wouldn't go ignored or unappreciated." She followed her wish with a grin.

"Overwhelming."

"The Antonakases will do that to you. They're a noisy bunch, but they have hearts the size of Texas."

Yeah. One in particular had something the size of Texas. Something that had littered her thoughts all day long since she'd taken sensitive to astronomic proportions. "They were very nice."

"You have no idea how nice. You met Hector?"

Frankie nodded. He was so quiet in his corner of the kitchen he'd almost freaked even her out. "I met him today."

"Then here's a little something you should know about your boss Nikos. He's a really great guy, a decent one. It's no secret Hector was a gambler and an alcoholic, but because he was some friend of a friend of the Antonakases, Nikos hauled him into a state-run rehab and then hired him at the diner. He's been clean ever since."

Frankie had little time to chew on the fact that Nikos was all things beyond supreme hotness before they were interrupted.

"Max, honey? We really have to get going if we're going to make the airport in time for Connor," said a tall, rugged-looking man in jeans and a down jacket who'd just entered the room.

Maxine's eyes lit up the moment she caught sight of him. She gave him a quick peck on his lips and smiled with so much affection, Frankie winced. "Frankie, this is my husband Campbell."

He held out a lean hand, tan and large, toward Frankie. "Pleasure," he said with a genuine smile, one that radiated warmth. Maxine leaned into him when he tucked her close to his side. Their obvious love for one another left Frankie with another pang of yearning, so sharp and biting, it stole her breath.

"Nice to meet you," she murmured.

"I've got to go, Frankie. My son's coming in for the holidays from college. But I'll check in with you later in the week, okay?" Maxine took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze. Pulling Frankie's ear to her lips, she whispered, "Oh, and look. No rich, old man in sight either."

Frankie let her eyes fall to the floor in shame. Okay. She'd judged. So sue her.

"It's okay, Frankie," Maxine rea.s.sured. "There's a lesson to be learned from your a.s.sumptions about me."

"That I'm judgmental and bitter?"

Her deliberate smile was a sly tease. "No. That all men who are rich have to be old."

For the third time that night, Frankie laughed.

Out loud.

With gusto.

CHAPTER FIVE.

From the "still, but maybe a little less, reluctant" journal of ex-trophy wife Frankie Bennett: Okay, so Maxine was right. Sort of. Earning a paycheck is good for the soul. I do feel productive and useful. She was right when she said idle hands are the devil's tools and all that encompa.s.ses as an idiom, yadda, yadda, yadda. Score one for Maxine. But I've come to believe Nikos's hands are the devil's instruments, and I wouldn't mind them being idle on me. Sweet. Jesus.

"You're beautiful."

"You're blind."

"Sight impaired, thank you."

"So it makes perfect sense you'd be in a strip joint where there's nothing but a visual Utopia of thong-covered a.s.ses and naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

The man at the bar chuckled. "I see with my other senses."

Jasmine raised a skeptical eyebrow at this handsome man's cane and leaned her forearms on the s.h.i.+ny mahogany of the bar top, nodding a thank-you to Bert the bartender when he set a club soda and lime in front of her. "I'll bet you do."

His sandy blond head nodded in appreciation of her tone. "For instance, my sharply honed other senses tell me you're skeptical."

"Me and cynical are old friends," she only half teased, brus.h.i.+ng her hair from her eyes. She wasn't in the mood to cavort with customers today, paying or not. Most especially with a blind man . . . correction, sight-impaired man in a strip bar. No matter how attractive. And indeed, he was attractive. Lean, with a healthy glow to his cheeks and a body bunched with hard muscle.

His smile was ultrawhite in the dimly lit corner of the bar where they sat. "I'll prove it to you."

Jasmine sighed, making her irritation at his intrusion clear. Men-young, old, and in between-had been hitting on her since she was thirteen, and since her divorce from Ashton, she'd decided she was fed up. If and when she wanted another man's attention, she'd make the moves-all of them-in her own d.a.m.ned time. For now, she was enjoying life in all its simplicity from her studio apartment with Gary. A man would only complicate her new path with silly romantic debris.

"I'm hurt you don't want to play with me," he chided good-naturedly, his deep green eyes looking at her as though they actually saw her. "I am blind."