Burning Down the Spouse (7 page)

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Authors: Dakota Cassidy

Tags: #Separated Women, #Greek Americans, #Humorous, #Contemporary, #Women Cooks, #General, #Romance, #Humorous Fiction, #Fiction, #Cultural Heritage, #Love Stories

BOOK: Burning Down the Spouse
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“You really don’t know who I am?”
Nikos shook his dark head back and forth, the light catching the deep gleam of his thick hair. “Nope. Not a clue. You wanna tell me who you’re supposed to be so I can behave accordingly? If you’re royalty or something, I want to be sure I bow appropriately,” he said with a teasing tone.
“I’m Mitch in the Kitchen’s wi . . . um, ex-wife.” There. The elephant could leave the room.
“Mitch in the where?”
Wow. Not only super-fantastical looking, but gracious and kind. “Kitchen.”
Yet, his eyes read thoroughly perplexed. “And why would I pretend I didn’t know you were Mitch in the Kitchen’s ex-wife when I don’t even know Mitch? In fact, I don’t know anyone named Mitch. Unless we’re talking Miller, and he defines the word ‘dead.’ God rest his soul.”
Frankie sighed. His denials made her head swim. “Because Maxine told you to be nice to the pathetic, broke ex-trophy wife who, by the way, wants a job like she needs another useless ovary.”
His thick eyebrow arched. “You were a trophy wife?”
Frankie flapped her hands in concession, not at all offended by his surprise. “I know. Hard to believe, looking the way I do, right? But as Valentino is my witness, I was a trophy wife with all the bells and whistles. Maxine said so. Clothes, hair, makeup, personal massage therapist. The only boat I missed was the plastic surgeon’s, and I just know Mitch would have talked me into double Ds before long. So yes, I was a trophy wife. For eighteen years. Now I’m not. I’ve been replaced. Hardcore replaced. But you knew that because Maxine told you.” She fought not to make it sound like an accusation, but he wasn’t making this easy.
Nikos frowned, delicious lines marring his smooth forehead. “Maxine didn’t tell me anything other than she had an applicant for an opening I have here at the diner for a prep chef. There was never any talk of a Mitch or a kitchen or for that matter, a display.”
She rolled her eyes, brushing an impatient hand over her bangs. “Oh, she did, too.
Please.
You don’t really think you’re fooling me, do you? I mean, it’s very nice that you’re going out of your way to be so kind, but your performance isn’t exactly red carpet worthy.”
“What exactly is a Mitch in the Kitchen anyway? Is that like the ShamWow guy?”
Okay. She’d play along. “It’s a television show on the Bon Appetit Channel.”
“The one with all those fancy chefs? Nuh-uh . . .”
“Uh-huh. The one with all those fancy chefs.” And fancy women with names like Bamby.
“Your husband had a show? Like a real television show?” His disbelief was growing more convincing by the second.
Frankie’s head cocked to the right. “Yes. You really don’t know who Mitch Bennett is?”
Nikos leaned forward on his desk and propped his hands on either side of his jaw, his mouth slack for a moment before he recovered and answered, “Nuh-uh. But I’m still in awe that you were married to a guy who had a television show. In fact, color me a little starstruck.”
She was used to this kind of reaction when people realized she was married to a celebrity.
You’re not married to a celebrity anymore, Frankie
. She fidgeted with the tie at the waist of her sweater.
“Do you have any idea the kind of customers the diner’d get if they knew a celebrity’s wife from the whatever channel worked here?”
This wasn’t going according to plan. He wasn’t supposed to be excited. He was supposed to tell her she lacked experience, not to mention enthusiasm, and then politely respond by telling her he’d get back to her. “Are you kidding me?”
Nikos slapped a large hand on his desk, sending papers scattering. “Not even a little. You’re rockin’ my socks off right now. That kind of experience alone is all golden and shiny as far as I’m concerned.” His words were followed by a hearty laugh, straight from his not as hearty hard-planed belly.
Hello. What about her pain and suffering was rocking-your-socks worthy? Sudden anger tweaked her already raw nerves. “Did you hear me the first time, or did you miss the part about me being an
ex-
trophy wife? I’m no longer married to Mitch. So no celebrity.”
Flapping his tanned hands, Nikos waved at her dismissively. His grin was wide and effusive. “That’s neither here nor there. You have infamy on your side, and you worked at the Bon Appetit Channel. Bet you have a bunch of secret recipes running around in your head. That’s all I need to know.” He shook his head and shot her a wry grin. “Damn, this is some awesome turn of events,” he stated with obvious glee, hopping up from behind his desk to head to the door in two strong strides.
So cute and dense went hand in hand with Nikos Anta . . . Anta . . . Chakalakaboomboom. Whatever.
“Max, c’mon back in here!” Nikos shouted out into the diner, his voice a cheerful bellow.
Frankie shrunk farther down in her chair as she listened to the muffled words exchanged between Maxine and her employer-whoalmost-was.
“Frankie Bennett?” he crowed back into the room.
She rose to turn and take him in, pushing down the baggy folds her jeans created when she stood. Her face held a question she was too tired to ask.
Nikos stuck out his hand to her while Maxine gave her the big thumbs-up sign behind his broad shoulder. “I don’t care if you can’t boil water. You’re hired.”
Shut. Up.
CHAPTER THREE
 
From the reluctant (very, very reluctant) journal of ex-trophy wife Frankie Bennett: The first rule of the Princess Club? Suck it up. Please. This is by far the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done. I don’t want nor do I care to document my postdivorce road to recovery so I can look back one day and smile at how far I’ve come. Seeing my pain in black and white isn’t therapeutic at all. And PS, Maxine Barker’s a flake. I’m only doing this to appease my Aunt Gail because she’s looking over my shoulder right now and making me feel like I purposely didn’t go to confession. So in the interest of keeping her happy, here’s my first entry. And Maxine Barker’s still a flake.
 
“You do so know who she is, Nikos. That was a crappy thing to do,” his brother Cosmos chided with a slap to his back as they watched Maxine and Frankie cross the parking lot. Nikos mentally noted the drag in Frankie’s step, the slump of her shoulders that were too damned skinny, and the sag of her jeans on what he’d bet his left lung had once been a sweet ass.
He fought a grin. “Giving her a job was crappy how, Cos?”
“You know what I mean, you shithead. I heard everything while you pretended not to know who she was, then went about making like she was the second coming.”
Nikos winced. Yeah, he was a shitty improviser. “That just sort of happened. My bad. But she was working pretty hard to avoid getting herself hired. Max told me she would because she’s post something or other traumatized.”
“Postdivorce.”
“Yeah. That was it. She said she’d be sullen and disinterested. So I just went with it. Steamrolled her, so to speak.”
“How do you suppose it made her feel, knowing you plan to use her infamous freak on television as a promotional tool?”
“I would never do that. You know it and I know it. I just didn’t want her to run away, so I did a little off the cuff. Max’ll tell her I was just kidding. Besides, I owe Maxine. She was really good to Kelly. I wanted to return the favor,” Nikos said, reminding his brother of the help Maxine had given their cousin after her ugly divorce.
Cosmos nodded his sleek, dark head. Only an inch shorter than his older brother, he gazed up at him with narrowed eyes. “Yes, Max was great to Kelly. If she hadn’t stepped in when she did, I’d bet Aunt Dora’d be in the crazy house after that jackass and Kelly broke up. But if Frankie didn’t already feel uncomfortable—and judging by the way she won’t look anyone in the eye, she’s a wreck—you only made things worse by telling her she’d bring the diner business with her supposed celebrity.”
“Okay, so it wasn’t the best plan.”
“So what
is
the plan?”
“The plan,” their mother, Voula, said, poking her head out from the kitchen doorway, “is to fatten her up! Ack! Did you see, Nikos? She is so skeeny. I will make lamb. You think she like lamb?”
Nikos smiled at his mother, short, big-haired, and boisterous. “Who wouldn’t like your lamb, Mama? I agree, Frankie needs to eat.”
Voula nodded, tightening the knot of her apron around her thick waist. “Good. I make baklava, too. Maybe even spanakopita.” She headed back into the kitchen, determined to fatten up the poor, unsuspecting Frankie.
Cosmos took in Nikos once more. “So the plan? She says she hates to cook. I heard it right through those paper-thin walls. How does that help you and me in the kitchen with the prep work?”
“The plan is to give her a paycheck she probably wouldn’t get anywhere else due to her limited skills. Besides, what’s Kelly always telling us Maxine taught her? To suck it?”
“Suck it up, princess,” he corrected.
“Right. Max said Frankie needs to stop indulging in self-pity and get back on the horse. She told me she has to take it like a man, and she needs a paycheck to do it. Frankie’s Aunt Gail was so worried about that woman, she cried. You know how much I love the ladies from Leisure Village. They bring us a ton of business for the early bird special, and I really like Gail and Mona. One hand washes the other, bro. Plus, if I remember reading correctly, Frankie got custody of that little deaf dog, Kiki. Kiki’s cute. She needs to eat.”
Cosmos pursed his lips. “Does she have
any
idea what she’s in for? She looks like you could scare the skin right off her bones just by bumping into her. We’re not exactly known for the use of our indoor voices, Nik.”
Nikos sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I agree we’re probably not like spending a day chanting with Tibetan monks, but if what Max says is true, she’s had all the quiet time she can handle without spiraling into therapy and meds. Maybe chaos will keep her so busy she’ll forget she was dumped by a limp dick like Mitch Bennett. Either way, take it easy on her, would you?”
“Easy-shmeasy. I need someone to
help
me, not hinder.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Did you really say ‘rockin’ my socks off ’?”
“I did.”
“That was ridiculously lame.”
Nikos chuckled. “Maybe so, but she’s had a hard time of it, and she does know how to prep food. Max told me she did it for that asshole of an ex-husband of hers. On
TV
, pal. She’s very organized, something you and Mama could definitely use back there, and she knows her way around a knife.”
Cosmos barked a laugh. “Oh, don’t I know it. I saw the way she was wielding that Mitch’s spoon like it was a samurai sword. I plan to tread very lightly around her.”
“Look, if worse comes to worst, I’ll put her on cashier duty. Adara’d love to have some time off to see her friends and shop, okay? Now, don’t you have a slew of chickens to marinate?”
Cosmos threw a white kitchen towel over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. I’m out, but just remember this. I have my reservations about this woman, and if she takes a kitchen knife to
my
cubes, I’m comin’ for you, brother.”
Nikos slapped him on the back with a grin. “I take full responsibility for any and all cube dicing.”
Cosmos visibly shuddered, sweeping past the long row of stools at the counter before disappearing into the kitchen.
A glance out the window revealed Maxine and Frankie still in the car, heads bobbing, hands waving. Nikos smiled. Frankie was probably giving her shit about the new boss who wanted to exploit her, and Maxine wasn’t taking any. It was clear Frankie didn’t want a job. Not just this job, but any job.
Couldn’t say as he blamed her. She was right. Her television debut had been some “display” as she’d called it, and he definitely didn’t need some food snob criticizing his diner’s food. Yet, there was something about her he couldn’t pinpoint that made him want to help her, whether she wanted it or not.
Nikos knew exactly who Frankie Bennett was. He, like a million and two other people, had seen the constant replay of her infamous fit all over the place. He’d also cheered the kind of gutsy fortitude she’d shown when she’d threatened to whip Mitch’s dick to a stiff meringue-y peak with his souped-up mixer.
Unlike most of America who’d fallen for the bullshit about his wife’s mental instability, Nikos saw Mitch Bennett for what he was—an overblown ego with a penchant for beautiful young women less than half his age.
Unfortunately, he’d seen that firsthand.
Right here in his own diner.
With his best friend’s wife.
Prick.

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