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“Maxwell, you’re being totally ridiculous!”
Fran flung her hands in the air as she stalked away from his desk, aiming for the open office door. Max jumped to his feet, taking a few steps towards her.
“Am I?! Am I?!” He asked, voice cracking in what could only be described as jealous madness.
“That’s ENOUGH!” Fran spun around to face him, hands on her hips. Maxwell stopped in his tracks. He dropped his hands to his sides, face gone blank, blinking in surprise at the force in her words.
She stalked towards him slowly, jabbing a threatening index finger in his direction, her deep red nail polish acting like a warning light telling him he was in danger.
Maxwell swallowed.
Fran stopped mere inches from him, her small frame raised up in defiance as she (somehow) stared down at him.
“You have absolutely no right to come at me like this. You’ve lost it, buster. Totally lost it.”
She placed her hands on her hips again, squinting at him.
“Well, I-” Maxwell spluttered, trying and failing to get his brain and his mouth to work together.
“Well nothing! What right do you have to accuse me of… of seeing someone else?!” Fran cried, incredulous. “Do ya really think I’d do that? That, what, I’d just wait five years for you to make a damn move and then decide, ‘hmm, no thanks,’ and run off with the first guy to flirt with me?”
Maxwell blinked. He had to admit, she had a point.
“Well-”
“I’m not finished talking, mister!” Fran interjected. She moved forward again, causing Max to stumble backwards. He felt the back of his knees hit his office chair and he sank into it, Fran bearing down above him. Her hair puffed out around her face, her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes flashed. God, even when she was yelling at him, she was beautiful.
His face must have given it away, because she swatted at his chest. “Whatsa matter with you?!” She asked, glaring at him.
It came out of his mouth before he could stop himself. “You’re beautiful.”
Fran arched a perfect eyebrow. “Flattery won’t get you out of this one, buster!”
“I wasn’t- I just-”
“Ah! Hush!” Fran perched herself on the corner of his desk, crossing one leg over the other and folding her arms across her chest. She tapped one foot in the air, contemplative. Her glossy high heel reflected the light, flashing like a knife in his peripheral vision.
“Listen, darling, I-”
“No! It’s not your turn to speak yet,” Fran admonished, tutting at him.
Maxwell looked down, chastised. His gaze caught on the hem of her skirt. The red fabric had ridden up when she sat down, and he could see the tops of her sheer stockings underneath. He swallowed. His eyes lingered a second too long, and Fran noticed. She snapped her fingers under his nose.
“Hey! No peeking!”
Maxwell hurriedly found himself looking anywhere but her.
Fran watched him squirm and smirked. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with him, if she was honest. She wasn’t really all that hurt by his accusations. She understood where it came from. She would probably be threatened too if she found out that a hot, rich blonde hit on him at a club, bought him a drink, and tried to dance with him. She would be especially jealous if she found out he took that blonde’s phone number, even if it was out of trying to avoid a scene.
It’s not like she was actually going to keep the guy’s number. She had stuffed it in her purse and then promptly forgotten all about it until it fell out a few days later and Maxwell had picked it up and started jumping to conclusions, as per usual.
She sighed, looking down at him squirming in his desk chair, trying with what appeared to be all his might not to look up her skirt. Despite her irritation, she felt a flicker of heat run through her at that.
“Max,” she said, voice calmer now.
He looked up at her, and god, it nearly killed her. She laughed softly, endearingly, and reached out to cup his face with her hand, tilting it up so he was looking at her in the eyes.
“Honey, you look like a sad little puppy,” she observed, brushing his hair back from his face gently. “It’s cute,” she added, almost as an afterthought. Max blushed.
Fran sighed again, and shook her head. “I can’t stay mad at you when you look at me like thaaaaat,” she whined, pouting.
She shook herself, letting her hand fall back to her lap. She cleared her throat.
“Alright, listen,” she started, shifting slightly on the desk, trying to look more authoritative. “You have to let me explain this to you, okay?”
Max nodded, sinking back into his chair. Realistically, he knew she would never do something like that to him. But when he had found the phone number with ‘Call Me -Jack’ scrawled underneath, he hadn’t been able to think rationally.
“Yes, a man gave me his phone number at the club the other day,” she continued. Max almost flinched at the confirmation, but remained silent. “And yes, I took it and put it in my purse. But, do you want to know why?”
Max nodded sullenly. He looked so mopey. Fran rolled her eyes. Men, she thought.
“I took it because he was drunk, and a creep, and wouldn’t leave me alone,” Fran admitted, voice dropping a bit. Max looked up at her and noticed her expression had gone a bit vacant, the fire receding from them. In turn, he felt himself getting angry again, but this time, not at her.
“He didn’t- He didn’t… do… anything, did he?” Max asked haltingly, his hands curling into fists on the arms of his chair.
Fran shook her head quickly. “God, no,” she replied. “No, nothing happened.”
Max nodded, swallowing. He felt his hands start to unclench.
“But, when a drunk guy starts hitting on you and being… weird… sometimes it’s better to just take his number and pretend, rather than find out the hard way what kinda guy he is,” Fran added, shrugging, as if she was used to it. She was looking at her lap, fingers picking idly at the fabric of her blouse.
Max felt his stomach bottom out. He had gotten so angry at her, had accused her of…
And now he felt like an ass.
“I feel like an ass, I’m… I’m sorry,” he replied, reaching out and gently placing a hand on Fran’s knee.
Fran snorted, not looking up. “Well, yeah, you were being an ass…” she muttered, but she wasn’t really angry anymore.
“I know, darling, and I’m sorry, I… I just got… jealous, and I didn’t stop to think, and… I’m sorry,” Max replied, rubbing soothing circles into her knee with his thumb.
Fran shrugged. “Eh, it’s fine. Really.”
Max frowned. “Does… does that sort of thing happen… often?” He asked, uncertain whether he wanted to hear the answer.
Fran shrugged again. “I mean, not all the time. But, ya know, enough that I know how to deal with it by now.” She placed her hand softly atop his where it rested on her knee, and he turned his hand over to squeeze hers.
They met each other’s eyes then, both of them smiling softly. Suddenly, Fran pulled her hand away, eyes hardening, squinting threateningly at him.
Max’s eyes widened.
“What?!” He asked, thrown off by her sudden change in demeanor.
Fran put her hands on her hips. “I’ll forgive you this time, mister, but if you ever accuse me of something like that again…” she shook her head, tsk-ing at him. “Well, then we’re gonna have a problem.”
Max relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Yes, of course, darling, I’m sorry.”
Fran nodded. “Good.”
They were both silent for a few moments.
“I don’t mind you being jealous, ya know,” Fran said, trailing a finger up his arm with a coy smile on her face.
Maxwell sat up straighter. “Well, I… I always think about those times before… before us… when you went off on a date with some… some schmuck, and I just sat at home moping and hoping…” he trailed off, his hand finding Fran’s knee again. “Hoping that you’d come back to me,” he finished, blushing slightly at his admission.
“Awwww, Mistah Sheffield!” Fran cooed, sliding off the desk and onto his lap, one knee on either side of his body. She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned back to look him in the eyes. Max’s hands came to rest on her hips, holding her to him.
“Of course I came back to you,” Fran replied, voice soft.
“Really?” Max asked, and Fran nearly melted at the disbelief and hope in his voice.
“Really,” Fran replied, nodding. She smiled, and he leaned forward to kiss her. She pulled back slightly. He furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to question it, when she held up a finger.
“Just…” She paused, tilting her head, considering him. “Just… Just don’t freak out until you know the facts, okay? Relax, Max,” she said, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t be stupid, you know I love ya,” she continued, kissing his forehead. “Don’t be ridiculous, you know I need you.” A kiss to his nose. “Don’t be absurd, you know I want you.” One cheek, her lips brushing his stubble. “Don’t be impossible.” The other cheek now. “I’m mad about you and I can’t live without you. I’m crazy ‘bout you,” Fran continued, bringing her face close to his again, her breath ghosting across his mouth.
“So don’t be stupid, okay? You know I love you.”
She kissed him properly then, her lips pressing into his with fire as her hands moved to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. Maxwell’s hands tightened on her hips before moving to her lower back, pulling her to him tightly.
Her tongue brushed across his lips, and he groaned. He pulled back after another moment, breathless, and looked into her eyes.
“I love you, Fran,” he whispered.
She felt it in her bones. It wasn’t anywhere close to the first time he had said it, but it hit her just the same.
She smiled. “I know.”
Hands in his hair, she tugged him back towards her, and they were lost in each other once more.
Dimly, Maxwell was aware that the office door was open and someone could walk by at any moment. Then he realized he didn’t really care.
He, Maxwell Sheffield, loved Fran Fine.
And he didn’t care who knew it.