Work Text:
One.
The gala had been a match-making paradise. Low lighting, drinks flowing, music playing, rich guys in suits… What more could a girl ask for? It had been going so well, in fact, that Fran had spent most of the night chatting with a handsome man in a charcoal grey suit and beautiful brown hair named Tom. Sure, he was no doctor, but she could settle for an investment banker. He liked her hair, he liked her dress, he liked her jokes. A casual touch of her arm here, a casual pat on his chest there. All that, and she wasn’t even wearing her best dress. Sure, she knew she still looked drop-dead gorgeous in the glittery gold number she had on (if Mr. Sheffield’s reaction when she had walked down the stairs earlier that evening was anything to go by), but it wouldn’t have been her first choice had she known how plentiful the dating pool was going to be.
While Fran busied herself in conversation with investment banker Tom, somewhere across the room lurked a moody, maudlin Broadway producer in a black tuxedo nursing his third helping of whiskey. His face twisted into a scowl at the shrill peal of laughter the man drew out of her that she then accompanied with a flirtatious swat to his chest.
“Maxwellll! There you are!”
He nearly winced at the volume of her voice as her blonde hair and blue dress came into his field of vision. C.C. Babcock bore down on him, wine glass in hand, tugging some hapless investor along with her.
“Maxwell, this is Ian Lennox, he’s a huge fan of the theatre and I was just speaking to him about our next project!” C.C. glared at Maxwell, her almost sing-song words cutting through the fake smile she had plastered tightly across her face.
Ian Lennox reached out a hand. “Mr. Sheffield, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’d be thrilled to hear about your newest play,” the man said, oblivious to the tension in both halves of Sheffield-Babcock Productions.
Maxwell shook the man’s hand out of sheer instinct, muttering a half-hearted, “Yes, right,” his eyes scanning the room again.
Lennox glanced back at C.C., his hand still trapped in Maxwell’s, who continued to shake it limply. C.C. cleared her throat loudly. Somehow, it kickstarted Maxwell’s brain just enough that he hurriedly dropped the man’s hand, flashing him an apologetic smile.
“I’m so sorry, I have an urgent matter to attend to, but I’m sure C.C. will happily fill you in on all the details!” Maxwell pretended not to see (or, let’s face it, feel) the rage radiating off of his business partner as he excused himself, downing the rest of his whiskey as he went and setting the empty glass on a nearby table.
Leaving a fuming C.C. and flummoxed potential investor behind, Maxwell weaved his way through the crowd towards the sound of nasal laughter as if it was a siren call and he was a man lost at sea. He found them across the room, standing far too close for his liking, Fran’s hand on the man’s arm as they laughed together. A hot spike of something he refused to call jealousy shot through him as his eyes narrowed at the contact. Straightening his tie, he slowed his pace and aimed for casual as he swooped in behind Fran, one hand alighting gently on her lower back. Maxwell watched with satisfaction as the man’s eyes caught the movement. Fran jumped, turning her head to face him.
“Oy, Mr. Sheffield, whatsa matter with you!”
Before Maxwell could open his mouth to reply, the man interjected.
“Ah, so you’re the famous Mr. Sheffield, huh?”
Maxwell looked away from Fran to make eye contact with the man. There was something about the way he had said it that made Max’s jaw clench even tighter. He leaned slightly to the side so that he could turn his head to look at Fran while still standing behind her. He lowered his voice to something he hoped was bordering on either sultry or over-the-top good-naturedness.
“Ah, you’ve been discussing me, have you?” Straightening up, he turned his attention back to the man. “All good things, I hope?” Maxwell asked, fixing him with a hard stare. The man chuckled nervously, his eyes flicking down quickly again to Max’s hand on Fran’s back.
Fran, turning back to face Tom, rolled her eyes, though there was amusement playing across her features. And, she hadn’t moved away. “Oh, sure…” she replied drily.
“You know, I didn’t catch your name,” Maxwell said, tilting his head at the man. He was being a bit condescending, but he couldn’t be bothered to care.
The man gave a tight smile. “Tom,” he replied, reaching out to shake Max’s hand.
Maxwell only turned to look at Fran again. In the corner of his eye, he saw Tom hesitate before lowering his hand and stuffing it into a pocket. At just that moment, the music changed, and when Maxwell registered the tune, he smiled.
“I was just coming to steal you for a dance,” he said, turning Fran towards him and gently taking one of her hands in his.
Fran blushed, then glanced back at Tom, who was very determinedly trying to look anywhere but at them.
“Oh, Mr. Sheffield, I-”
“Wonderful!” Maxwell interrupted, tugging her gently towards the dance floor, leaving a confused Tom behind. Fran narrowed her eyes at him and pursed her lips, but allowed him to guide them into the dance. Her arms looped around his neck loosely, his hands soft on her waist as they swayed to the music.
Treated me kind, sweet destiny.
Carried me through desperation,
To the one that was waiting for me.
It took so long, still I believed,
Somehow the one that I needed,
Would find me eventually.
Fran snorted as the lyrics began. “Really, Mr. Sheffield?” She asked, pulling her head back slightly to look at him. He looked down at her, eyebrows raised in mock confusion.
“What?” He asked innocently.
Rather than answer, she shifted one of her hands slightly and flicked him in the ear. He winced, shoulders rising in defence.
“What was that for?!” He asked incredulously.
They weren’t unreasonably close to each other, yet not so far as to feel awkward in the dance, but Fran moved her body in tighter with his until his cheek brushed her temple. She turned her head slightly to bring her lips to his ear.
“For interrupting,” she whispered. Her voice was soft, though he could hear the irritation in it.
“Oh, were you courting that man?” He asked, feigning shock. “I had no idea, Miss Fine, my apologies.”
Fran snorted into his shoulder. “Yeah, right,” she muttered, shaking her head even though a smile tugged at her lips and a blush crept up the back of her neck. “Also, ‘courted’? Really? What is this, the 1700s?”
Maxwell exhaled a soft chuckle. They swayed together, her head on his chest, his hands spread at her waist, thumbs tracing idle circles into her dress. She tried not to think about the warmth of him pressed against her.
I had a vision of love,
And it was all that you’ve given to me.
They stayed like that until the song faded out and Fran pulled back slightly. She smiled at him briefly before her expression snapped back into something angrier. Maxwell’s eyes widened a fraction. He recognized that look. She pointed a finger at him accusingly.
“What do you have to say for yourself, hmm? Stealing me away from a very charming man who’s an investment banker, by the way, because, what, you’re jealous?”
Maxwell looked affronted, but she glimpsed heat rising above his suit collar. “Jealous?! Me?! About what?!” He spluttered, and she couldn’t tell if he was that good of an actor or if he was really just delusional.
Fran narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head. “You stay out of my dating life, mister,” she warned, punctuating her point with a flick to his other ear. He ducked away, flinching. He had let go of her and was rubbing at his ear with one hand, and Fran stepped back fully, tilting her head in contemplation. Maxwell braced himself for whatever onslaught he was about to incur. To his pleasant surprise, he saw her eyes soften slightly. She closed the gap between them again, brushing her lips against his ear, breath hot.
“Thank you for the dance, Mr. Sheffield,” she whispered, lingering for a beat before she stood back and strutted past him, her hair grazing his shoulder as she went. Maxwell stood frozen to the spot, brain short-circuiting. He managed to get his body to turn around, hands limp at his sides, and watched her walk away. Fran felt his eyes on her and smiled to herself before putting a little extra sway in her hips until she was out of his line of sight. That’ll teach him, she thought. If he was going to get in her way while also refusing to admit his feelings for her, she sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
Two.
“Miss Fine…” Her name crossed his lips softly like a reverent prayer as he watched her descend the stairs. “You look… beautiful.” Somehow, he felt the word wasn’t strong enough.
Fran slowly made her way to the bottom of the stairs, one hand trailing along the banister, the other clutching her purse. Her hair was down, curls falling along her back and shoulders. She was wearing a black dress that should’ve been illegal, paired with deep red high heels and a bag to match. Maxwell’s eyes travelled from the gold necklace that sat just below the dip in her collar bone up to the deep red lips that curved into a smile. He must have been staring for too long, because his daze was interrupted by a pointed ‘ahem’ from Niles, standing next to him.
Fran sashayed closer, eyes fixed on Maxwell like a cat that had found its prey.
“You like, Mr. Sheffield?” She asked, turning in a circle for emphasis.
Maxwell couldn’t get his brain or mouth or vocal chords to work.
“I believe this is when you’re supposed to speak, sir,” Niles chimed in, (un)helpfully. Maxwell cut a look at the butler.
“Yes, you look fantastic,” he finally replied, forcing his gaze to stay on her face instead of travelling back down her body. Looking her in the eyes was only marginally easier. Niles went and opened the closet to retrieve Fran’s coat, holding it out as she stepped into it. It was barely a jacket, but it gave Maxwell some measure of comfort when he watched her collarbone disappear behind the black fur.
“Something wrong, Mr. Sheffield?” Fran asked, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes innocently. Niles choked on a laugh and, feeling the glare from Maxwell, turned hurriedly to close the closet door.
“Er, no, I’m just, uh, worried you’ll, er, freeze out there!” He stammered, offering the first explanation his sorry excuse of a brain could come up with.
“Oh, but I won’t be outside very long,” she replied, moving closer to him. “You know, we probably won’t even make it out of the car…” She added, voice low, looking up at him with an unreadable expression in her eyes. She saw the moment it clicked in his head, his eyes widening a fraction.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Niles opened it, stepping aside to let the man in. Fran walked over and practically threw herself into her date’s arms, turning her face up to kiss him. Maxwell’s jaw tightened when he saw the man’s hands travel to the very lowest part of her back. When the two lovebirds broke apart, Fran stepped to the side, turning to face Maxwell and Niles again. She was still pressed into her date’s side, and she looked at Max with an expression that seemed to be offering him a challenge. An opportunity. He swallowed. She noticed the bob of his adam's apple. Niles looked back and forth between the two of them, hoping that if he yelled loud enough in his head that his boss would somehow hear it and finally do something. When Maxwell opened his mouth, Niles thought it might actually have worked.
“So, where are you two headed?”
Niles visibly slouched.
A look that Maxwell couldn’t quite describe flashed across Fran’s eyes. He could have sworn it looked almost like disappointment.
“This little Italian place my ma owns, ‘s called Maria’s,” her date replied. Fran smiled, but something in it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“How lovely,” Maxwell replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Well, have a nice time.”
“Thanks, man,” her date replied. As he turned them to go, Fran looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes locked with Maxwell’s and held them for one second, two. Then she turned back around and was out the door, Niles shutting it behind her. The butler turned slowly to look at Max, arms crossed, face unimpressed.
“Well done, sir,” he said drily.
“Oh, shut up, Niles,” Maxwell replied, turning and storming off to his office.
Niles rolled his eyes. This was taking forever.
******
“Excuse me, miss?” The waiter appeared at their table, looking hesitant and a bit confused.
Fran turned to him. “Yeah?”
The waiter scratched at his head. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a guy on the phone for you? Says it’s important?”
Fran raised her eyebrows. Flashing an apologetic smile at her date, she followed the waiter to the phone, lifting it to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Ah, there you are, Miss Fine!”
Fran’s brows knit together. “Mr. Sheffield? Whatsa matter? Why are you calling? How’d you even find the number?”
Dodging most of her questions, Maxwell replied, “I’m so sorry to bother you while you’re on your date,” he said, emphasizing the ‘date’ with an almost audible eye roll. “But Gracie seems to be having some sort of… girl crisis… and Maggie isn’t home, and I tried to help but she’s insisting that she’ll only talk to you, and…”
Fran sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She glanced across the restaurant at her table. Her date was tipping back his chair, balancing it on the back two legs, picking at his teeth. She wrinkled her nose.
“Alright, tell her I’ll be home soon, I just need to ask him to take me back-”
“Oh no need, Miss Fine, I’ve already sent the town car. It should be outside now.”
Fran glanced back across the restaurant and watched through the windows as the shiny black car pulled up to the curb.
“Right…” She said, eyes narrowing. She hung up before he could say anything else and went back to the table, explaining to her date that one of the kids needed her and she just had to go home and she was so sorry but she would call him later and thanks for a lovely meal. Grabbing her jacket, she was out the door and in the car before he could even reply. Sitting in the back seat as the driver began to pull away, Fran crossed her arms. If Gracie wasn’t having a crisis, she was going to kill him.
******
Fran blew into his office like a tornado, throwing her jacket and purse onto the couch as she all but kicked the door shut behind her. Across from her, Max looked up from his desk, glasses perched on his nose. The top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone and there was a script and an almost empty tumbler of whiskey in front of him. How handsome he looked only made her angrier. Maxwell opened his mouth but she began stalking forwards with an eerie calmness. He wisely shut up.
“Ya wanna know what I realized as we pulled back up to the house?” She asked as she wandered closer, stopping just before his desk, her hip bones grazing the wooden surface. “I just so happened to remember this funny thing, what was it…” She looked up at the ceiling and tapped her finger on her chin as if deep in thought. She snapped her fingers and looked back down at him with a fire in her eyes that made him either scared or turned-on, he couldn’t decide. Maybe both. “Oh, right, it was that GRACIE ISN’T EVEN HOME!” She shouted the last part, bracing her hands on the desk as she leaned forward. Maxwell fought to stop his eyes dropping to the front of her dress. He opened his mouth again but she cut him off. “Is that what you’ve resorted to? Huh? Coming up with fake excuses to get me out of dates?!” She shook her head at him in disbelief.
“Like you were having a good time with him anyways,” he retorted, scoffing.
Fran reared her head back, disbelieving. “Did you seriously just say that to me?”
Rather than slamming the breaks, Maxwell hit the gas. “Am I wrong?! He was probably awful, I mean, honestly, I don’t know what you saw in him.”
Fran visibly reeled. “I cannot believe this,” she replied, blinking rapidly. She stood up from where she had been leaning against the desk, hands planted on her hips in indignation. “You have absolutely no right to act like… like a jealous teenage boy when there is one simple solution to all of this and you just refuse to see it.”
It was Maxwell’s turn to look stunned. “I-”
“No, I don’t even wanna hear it,” Fran interjected. She glared at him, and he saw the hurt in her eyes. He looked away then back at her.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Miss Fine,” he said, lamely.
Fran squinted at him, running her tongue along her teeth. After a moment, she seemed to come to a decision. Her posture deflated a little, some of her anger replaced by a happiness to be home. Maxwell wasn’t wrong, she hadn’t been having the best time on her date. She didn’t entirely mind it had come to an early end. Not that she would tell him that, though. She walked around to the side of his desk, perching herself just slightly on the corner so that she was hovering over top of him. She leaned down slowly, close enough so that her lips were almost touching his ear. She was fully aware that it was giving him a straight shot down the top of her dress, but she didn’t care. It would just help her make her point.
“You know, Mr. Sheffield, if you wanted me to come home, there were other ways you coulda asked,” she said, voice low and dangerous. She let her words sink in for a moment before pulling away and sliding off the desk. Heading for the door, she paused with her hand on the knob.
“Goodnight, Mr. Sheffield,” she said before she slipped out of his office, not even bothering to look back at him.
Fran was already upstairs, wrapping herself in a robe and on her way to remove her makeup before Maxwell managed to get his brain working again.
Three.
After a successful opening night of the newest Sheffield-Babcock production, everyone was celebrating and mingling at the after party at the hotel down the street. Maxwell had done a quick interview with a journalist after the show, Fran watching from the sidelines with barely-contained glee. When Maxwell caught her eye he gave her a wink before turning his attention back to the reporter. Afterward, once everyone had gathered inside, there was a toast to the show’s success, followed by applause and shout-outs and praise. Now, later in the night, Fran was busy talking to one of the actors. The man had a bit of an arrogant quality about him, in that way that some actors do, but she didn’t totally hate it.
“Oh, you are too funny!” She exclaimed, giggling.
Maxwell watched from the bar as the man leaned in and whispered something in her ear, causing Fran to blush and giggle again. Max felt his grip tighten on his glass. He wasn’t jealous, of course. He was just… annoyed. At the actor. The man wasn’t even a lead, barely good enough for the ensemble, and yet he had the gall to act so full of himself. Maxwell rolled his eyes. He had to go rescue Fran from the man’s exhausting ego. He pushed himself back from the bar and made his way over, clutching his drink so hard the glass could have shattered.
“Ah, Steven, I see you’ve met Miss Fine!” Maxwell exclaimed as he approached, giving Fran a suave smile before turning his gaze back to the actor.
“Why yes, Maxwell, I have,” Steven said, flashing a conspiratorial grin at Fran.
“How lovely,” Maxwell replied, though his tone was almost icy. He turned to Fran. “You know, Miss Fine, when Steven here was passed up for the lead, I was sure we were going to lose his talents, but as it turned out, there was an opening with the ensemble and we were able to squeeze him in!” Maxwell tilted his head back in Steven’s direction. Some of the haughtiness had left the actor’s expression, replaced with more than a hint of annoyance. Max placed a hand gently on Fran’s arm. “Oh, Miss Fine, I forgot, C.C. is looking for you in the bathrooms, something about a… makeup… emergency?”
Fran raised her eyebrows. “Really?” When Maxwell nodded emphatically, she shrugged. “Okay…” She turned briefly to Steven, flashing him an apologetic grin. “If you’ll excuse me…” She said before walking away, leaving the men in a cloud of Chanel and something sultry.
When she was gone, Maxwell turned back to the actor. “So, having a nice night, Steve?” He asked, shortening the man’s name in condescension.
“Well, it was better when I was talking to Miss Fine,” Steven replied, parroting Maxwell with the formality, sarcasm laced through his voice.
“I’m sure it was, she’s a lovely woman.”
“Mm, indeed,” Steven agreed, taking a sip of his drink before drumming his fingers against the glass. “Say, Maxwell, there’s… nothing going on between you two, is there?”
Maxwell blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
Steven gestured vaguely with his hand, ice clinking against the glass as his drink swirled around. “You know, you’re not… romantically involved?”
As Maxwell opened his mouth to confirm Steven’s assumption, he hesitated. Images of Fran and the actor standing together flashed quickly through his mind. “Actually, we are somewhat of an… item,” he said instead, only realizing what he had done after the words were already out of his mouth.
Steven raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Maxwell straightened his posture. “Well, we have been living together for just about four years now, and, you know, the kids just adore her…”
Steven swallowed and pursed his lips. “Oh… well, that’s… lovely,” he replied, confusion written across his face as he glanced in the direction Fran had disappeared. “Only, she never mentioned-”
“I hardly think you even gave her the chance to get a word in edgewise, so I’m not sure how she would have been able to mention it,” Maxwell interrupted, shrugging nonchalantly. Steven narrowed his eyes.
“Right…” he replied, slowly.
“Oh, Steve, I forgot to mention, there’s a talent scout in the lobby. I overheard him saying something about monologues-”
“The lobby you say?” Steven said, before he knocked back the rest of his drink and took off. He practically ran into Fran on his way, muttering some sort of apology about how he didn’t know she was taken before all but running out of the room.
Maxwell, oblivious to their exchange, smirked, taking a sip of his whiskey. A moment later, Fran reappeared, smacking Maxwell lightly upside the back of the head as she approached. He jumped, rubbing his head. “Miss Fine! What was that for?!”
“You know damn well what that was for, mister!” She shook her head, tapping her foot impatiently as she shifted her weight to one hip, arms crossing at her chest.
The movement dragged Maxwell’s eyes to her glossy black heels, then up her floor-length red gown to her gorgeous face that was… currently glaring at him in a way that made him want to follow after Steven.
“Ms. Babcock wasn’t in the bathroom! In fact, she wasn’t anywhere near the bathroom!”
Maxwell raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “No?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, how odd…”
“Oh please, you just made that up to get me away from Steven!”
“I beg your pardon?! I would never-”
Fran cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You’d never what? Get in the way of my love life? Really? ‘Cause you certainly have before!”
Maxwell pressed his lips together before sighing. “Miss Fine, I-”
“Oh save it, Mr. Sheffield,” Fran replied, rolling her eyes. “Where’d he go, anyway?”
“Where did who go?”
“Steven!”
“Oh, the ensemble guy? He ran out of here looking for a talent agent just after you left,” Maxwell replied, shrugging.
“Oh…” Fran said, shoulders falling a little. Suddenly, she straightened up again. “Wait a second, you told me there weren’t gonna be any talent scouts at the party!”
Shit. “Uh, I did say that, yes, but er-”
“But telling him we were together wasn’t enough to scare him away so you had to come up with another excuse?!”
Maxwell froze. “Wh-”
“Did you seriously tell him that you and I are dating?!” She asked, incredulous.
“I did not tell him we were dating!”
“Oh, what was it then? Courting?” She asked, repeating his own words from the last award show gala.
“... item,” Maxwell mumbled, looking at his shoes.
“I didn’t quite catch that, Mr. Sheffield,” Fran said impatiently.
Maxwell sighed. “I told him we were something of an item,” he admitted, bracing himself for another attack. When none came, he looked up. Fran was simply staring at him, eyes flashing with hurt.
“I- I’m sorry, Miss Fine, I shouldn’t have said that,” Maxwell said after a moment, reaching out to place a hand gently on her shoulder. “But, I mean, did you really want to get involved with a man who couldn’t even get a supporting role, let alone the lead?” Maxwell scoffed.
“Since when does it matter to you who I ‘get involved’ with?” Fran replied, making air quotes with her fingers and shrugging out of his touch.
“Since you started flirting with a man who is far beneath you!”
“I wish he was beneath me…” she muttered under her breath. To Maxwell, she replied, “Far beneath me?!” The nerve of this man, she thought.
Maxwell visibly balked. “Er, what I mean is that, um, you could do better. Much better, in fact.”
“Oh, can I?” Fran replied, raising an eyebrow.
“Y-yes, certainly.”
“How much better?” Fran asked, taking a small step towards him, a plan forming in her mind. “A supporting role?” Another step. “The lead?” Another step, and she was fully in his personal space now. She tilted her head back to look at him, made sure he was looking her in the eyes before she spoke again, her voice lower this time. “The director?” She placed a hand on his chest. “The producer?” She whispered her final words, feeling his heart racing beneath her palm. When Maxwell opened his mouth, she stepped back, letting her hand trail off his chest.
“Well, that’d be great, but the only producer I know can’t get his feelings straight,” she said, looking at him pointedly.
“Miss Fine, wait, I-”
She cut him off with a shake of her head as she turned away, leaving him to wallow in his own mistakes. As she walked away, she clutched her purse tightly in her hands. She was getting sick and tired of his meddling.
Four.
“I’m so glad we finally got to do this!” Fran slid her hand across the white table cloth, and he took it gently in his own.
“Me too,” he replied, smiling.
“You know, Mike, this place is so lovely,” Fran said, glancing around the restaurant. Mike, a man she had met at the grocery store the previous week, had taken her to a fancy French restaurant with fancy table cloths and fancy waiters and fancy menus where everything was in French. They were splitting a bottle of fancy French wine and had just enjoyed some sort of fancy French hors d'oeuvres she couldn’t remember the name of. She had worn a delicate, long-sleeved black dress that fell almost to the floor. It had a high neckline and an open back, and she had styled her hair into an updo, letting a few curls fall around her face. Mike was a handsome man, with steely eyes and close cropped brown hair that paired nicely with his tan suit jacket.
“I’m so glad you like it,” he said, squeezing her hand before letting go to take a sip of his wine. “Usually, you have to make reservations months in advance for this place, but I just so happen to know the manager, and he owes me, so I was able to get him to find us a table.”
“Oh wow,” Fran said, hiding her blush behind her glass as she took a sip of the wine. She glanced at the bottle where it sat on their table, and vaguely recognized the label as one that Mr. Sheffield had in his wine cellar. She blinked to clear the thought from her head. She needed to stop thinking about him tonight.
Their main course soon arrived, another fancy French dish that had something to do with eggplant. Just as she dipped her fork into the vegetables in front of her, the hostess appeared in the corner of her eye as she sat a group of people at the table next to them. She was about to ignore it when she heard a very familiar, “Oh, hey Fran!”
Slowly, she turned her head, fork still clutched in her hand, and made direct eye contact with Brighton. He waved at her innocently, eyes bright. Maggie leaned around him, waggling her fingers in greeting. Opposite her sat Gracie, face split into a toothy grin as she smiled at Fran. And next to Grace was Maxwell himself, looking simultaneously proud of himself and slightly abashed. All of the Sheffield’s were dressed nicely, but Fran felt her breath catch as she took in what Maxwell was wearing. His biceps flexed under a deep green blazer with a white dress shirt underneath, a matching tie around his neck.
“Mr. Sheffield?!” Fran squeaked in surprise.
Mike’s gaze turned toward the Sheffield table, an eyebrow raising. “So, you’re the famous Maxwell Sheffield, eh?”
Max looked over at him in surprise. “Famous?” He dimly recalled having a similar conversation with a different man that Fran had been “friendly” with at a gala a few weeks prior.
Mike chuckled. “I’ve heard lots about you tonight,” he replied, tipping his head towards Fran.
Maxwell practically glowed. “Oh really?” He asked, looking at Fran in self-satisfied amusement. She rolled her eyes.
“What are you even doing here?” She hissed, narrowing her eyes.
“Well, Niles asked for the night off, so I figured I would take the children to a nice dinner out on the town,” Maxwell replied, throwing a loving smile at the three kids. He turned back to Fran and laid one hand flat on his table, pressing the other into his chest, a picture of earnest sincerity. “I had no idea you would be here, Miss Fine, truly.”
“Right, because when I said I was going to a fancy French restaurant on Fifth Avenue, you decided to bring the kids to a fancy French restaurant on Fifth Avenue.”
“Well, I hardly expected you two to have gotten in here,” Maxwell replied. “No offence, of course,” he added, turning to Mike, who fought back a grimace. “It’s just that it’s quite popular.”
Fran watched Mike’s fingers twitch around the stem of his wine glass. “Well, you got in, didn’t ya?” Fran replied, shaking her head at Maxwell as if he was clueless. She was starting to believe he really might be.
“Well, I’m a distinguished Broadway producer, Miss Fine, I do have connections, you know,” Maxwell said, puffing out his chest as his own boast. “Plus, I’ve been promising to take the children, and they simply insisted we go,” he added.
Brighton furrowed his eyebrows. “What? Dad, we wanted to go to that Greek place, you’re the one who-”
“That’s enough, Brighton,” Maxwell interjected sharply. Brighton just rolled his eyes. Fran saw Maggie covering a giggle behind him.
“Trust me, Miss Fine, you won’t even notice we’re here,” Maxwell said, tilting his head and offering her a charming smile.
******
Holding hands on the table, Fran and Mike were deep in conversation, gazing into each other's eyes. Maxwell watched from his table, feeling ill (he blamed it on eating too much creme brulee). The children glanced between themselves and their father, amused and slightly concerned. When Fran and Mike’s faces began to drift closer together, Maxwell averted his gaze and coughed loudly, the sound startling them away from each other. Fran looked over at him accusingly. Maxwell patted himself on the chest, clearing his throat.
“Sorry, something in my throat,” he said, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.
Fran just shook her head and rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to her date. Mike huffed a deep breath and squinted his eyes at her in a tired smile. A few minutes later, Grace piped up.
“Fran, can you help me with my homework when we get home?”
Fran looked over from where she was in the middle of being fed a bite of dessert by Mike. She leaned back, smoothing the napkin in her lap.
“Gracie, honey, I-” She was cut off by the girl giving her puppy dog eyes. Fran sighed. “Sure, honey, of course I can.”
Gracie’s face immediately brightened. “Thanks, Fran!”
“Mmhmm…” Fran grumbled, shooting Max a dark look before turning back to her date and dessert. She’d help Gracie when she got home. But she was going to kill Maxwell first.
******
Fran sat in the limo with her arms crossed, one ankle hooked over the other, staring out the window and leaning as far away from Maxwell as she could. The silence was sharp and loud. Brighton, Grace, and Maggie glanced at each other. Maxwell fidgeted with his hands in his lap. He had suggested Fran just ride home with them, rather than making her date take her all the way back to the house. It was just more convenient, he had said, easier, made more sense. Fran had tried to protest, sure, but it was of no use. She said a rushed goodbye to Mike and thanked him for the dinner before she was ushered into the awaiting limo.
When they arrived back at the house, the children fled the car like it was on fire. When Maxwell reached for the door, Fran shot out a hand, slamming it closed, shutting the two of them inside.
“Miss Fine?” Maxwell asked, uncertain.
Fran turned to face him, sitting sideways on the bench seat. “What’s your problem, Mr. Sheffield?!” She cried, throwing her hands into the air in frustration. “I flirt with a guy, you get in my way. I go on a date, you get in my way. You come up with excuses, you show up at the restaurant! What’s next? Ya gonna send me to a convent?”
Maxwell slumped back against the seat, casting his gaze to the roof. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, quiet, defeated.
“You’re sorry?! That’s it?!” Fran exclaimed, shaking her head in disgust. She sighed. “You know, I really thought one of these days you’d pull your head out of your uptight tuchus and realize-” She cut herself off, chest heaving. She shook her head again. “Know what, forget it,” she said, reaching for the door.
Maxwell’s hand closed around her wrist. “Fran…”
That stopped her.
Wrist still caught in his grip, Fran froze, turning to look at him in shock. Maxwell shifted his grip, fingers twining through hers instead, letting their joined hands rest on the seat between them.
“Fran, I’m sorry,” he repeated, looking her in the eyes. Fran, I’m sorry. She thought she might be having auditory hallucinations. “I’m sorry that I’ve been so…” He paused, his brain fighting for the right words to encapsulate his behaviour. “That I’ve been such an ass.”
Fran snorted. “Yeah. You have.” She gave him a small smile and felt his posture relax slightly. She tilted her head, considering him. “You’re gonna have to make up your mind one of these days, Max,” she said, watching as his eyes widened at the use of his first name. Two can play at that game, she thought. Slowly, she pulled her hand away from his, giving it a squeeze before she let go. She looked at him sadly. Please make up your mind soon. She frowned. “A girl can only wait around so long,” she added.
Fran reached past him and opened the door, her dress brushing against his legs as she stepped into the cool night air. He turned his head, following her movements. Standing outside, she looked down at him with a sad half-smile. “Goodnight, Mr. Sheffield.” She walked into the house, leaving him sitting in the limo, mind reeling. The sadness on her face kept replaying in his mind, and he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. Too far, he had pushed it too far. He had to fix it. And soon.
Five.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Sheffield?” Fran asked, poking her head around the doorway of his office.
Maxwell looked up from his desk, lifting his glasses off his nose. “Ah, Miss Fine! Yes, come in, come in!”
Slowly, she made her way over to him, stopping on the opposite side of his desk. Her arms were crossed and she looked at him with suspicion.
“I have a proposition for you, Miss Fine,” Maxwell said, leaning forward eagerly, propping his elbows on the desk as he looked up at her.
“Oh, Mr. Sheffield…”
“How would you like to go on a date, hm?”
Fran was pretty sure her heart stopped beating. She stared at him wide-eyed. “What?!” She screeched.
“There’s this charming new restaurant that’s just opened up, it’s classy and very nice but not too fancy, I’m sure you’d love it!”
“Are you kidding?! Of course I’d like to go on a date with y-”
“Wonderful! I’ll tell John you said yes!”
That brought everything to a screeching halt.
“What?” Fran asked, the roaring rush of excitement she had been feeling only moments prior suddenly evaporating into thin air. “John?”
Maxwell smiled. “Oh, yes, John! A colleague of mine that saw you at the last award show! I was meeting him for drinks the other night and he asked about you, so I told him I would see if you would be interested in going for dinner with him.” He smiled at her innocently.
“Wha- But- I- I don’t even know what this guy looks like!” She cried, her brain backpedalling to try to get the whole situation to make sense.
Maxwell waved a hand like he was brushing away her protests. “Oh, trust me, you’ll like him! He’s very handsome, if I do say so myself.”
Fran’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she scrunched up her face and sighed. “You’re insane, you know that?”
Maxwell just smiled at her. “So you’ll go?”
“Yeah, fine, I’ll go,” she conceded, folding her arms across her chest. “When?”
“Tomorrow night,” Maxwell replied, placing his glasses back on and adjusting the papers on his desk as if the conversation was already over.
“Fine. What am I supposed to wear?”
Without looking up from his papers, Maxwell said, “Oh, whatever you’d like. It’s fancy, but not as fancy as that French place.”
“Fine.” Fran turned on her heel and stormed out of his office, only stopping when she was in her bedroom with the door shut behind her. Since when did Maxwell set her up on blind dates? And since when did she agree to them? She knew she had told him to make up his mind, but this wasn’t exactly the outcome she had been hoping for.
******
She tried not to think about it, but for the rest of the night and all the following day, it was the only thing on her mind. It wasn’t the date itself she was obsessing over, it was the date’s origins. And to make matters worse, Maxwell had vanished just after breakfast and said he would be gone until late that night, so she hadn’t even been able to ask him any further questions. All he had given her was a note on her bedroom door that read:
‘7pm. The driver will be out front with the limo. He knows where to go. Have fun!
- Maxwell’
When seven o’clock did finally roll around, Fran was pacing the foyer, heels clicking on the marble floor. Niles appeared out of the hallway and smiled at her.
“You look fabulous, Miss Fine,” he said encouragingly. She certainly hoped she did.
She had left her bedroom looking like a tornado had blown through it as she vacillated between nearly every dress in her closet. The hell does fancy but not too fancy mean? She had thought. Eventually, she settled on a long, sparkly leopard-print dress with a halter neckline that fit the curves of her body like a glove. She piled her hair on top of her head, letting a bunch of pieces fall down around her face. “It’s gotta work with the high neckline,” she had muttered to herself in the mirror as she stuck more bobby pins than she could count into her curls. She had painted her lips a dark mauve and slipped into black heels while she fastened dangling gold earrings to her ears.
“Thanks, Niles,” she said, smoothing her hands down the dress. “I hope it’s okay for this place…”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be perfectly fine,” Niles reassured, walking over to her. “This John fellow is one lucky man!”
Fran blushed. “Oh, stop it!” She said playfully, swatting at him with her hand. She walked over to the little table, rummaging through her purse. “Oh, Niles, maybe I shouldn’t go…”
“What, why not?” Niles asked, looking at her kindly. “Nice dinner with a nice man at a nice restaurant, what’s not to like?”
“I just… I don’t know anything about this guy!” Fran exclaimed, snapping her purse shut. “What if he’s… weird? Or boring? Or-”
Niles placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Orrr, what if he’s wonderful? Or charming? Or richhh….?”
Fran rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Oi, Niles, you sure are motivational,” she replied, squeezing his hand where it rested on her shoulder. She took a deep breath. “Alright, alright, I’m going, but if it’s bad… Ooh Mr. Sheffield is gonna get it.”
Niles chuckled. “Somehow, I think he’s only gonna get it if it’s good,” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that?” Fran asked, turning around and narrowing her eyes at him.
“Oh, I just said that somehow I think it’s going to be good!” He replied hurriedly. Looking at his watch, he ushered her to the door. “Look at the time, don’t want you to be late! The driver is out there now! Have fun, Miss Fine!” He rambled, waving as she squinted at him suspiciously before stepping into the limo. Niles shut the door, sighing. “He better not screw this one up,” he muttered to himself.
******
It was a 25 minute drive, and Fran was restless the entire time. She checked her makeup in her pocket mirror about a thousand times, almost knocked on the privacy glass to tell the driver to turn around about a hundred times, and seriously debated throwing herself out of the moving limo once. Too soon, the car came to a stop in front of the restaurant. Fran looked out the window apprehensively, as if she was expecting someone to jump out and yell “gotcha!” at her. Instead, she found herself blinking up at a charming awning adorned with twinkling lights. The windows along the front of the restaurant were curtained, but a warm glow peeked out at the edges. Oh. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Fran pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Stepping into the restaurant, she found herself standing in a small alcove, dim with candles and lamps. A heavy dark curtain covered where the alcove opened into the rest of the restaurant, parted slightly to the side. A hostess stand was positioned in the centre, a young woman waiting behind it. As the door swung shut behind her, Fran took a small step farther in, and the hostess turned around, smiling at her warmly.
“Miss Fine?” She asked. The words were stilted with an accent that Fran couldn’t place but that sounded melodic and expensive.
“Um, yes?” Fran replied, suddenly self conscious about her choice of dress.
“Right this way,” the hostess added, turning and walking through the gap in the curtain, holding it open so Fran could follow.
Fran emerged into a beautiful, stylish dining area that was neither too spacious or too cramped, decorated in warm coloured linens and golden light. The lights were low, and candles flickered and glowed around the room. Soft music played from an unseen speaker, jazzy and smooth and romantic. The tables were small, intimate, each draped in a different coloured table cloth and adorned with a candle and a small vase of flowers. Each table was also… empty?
Fran blinked, opening her mouth to say something, when her roving eyes caught on something else in the centre of the room. She was wrong. Not all the tables were empty. There was someone sitting at one of them, someone standing up from one of them, someone…
“Maxwell?!” Fran gasped.
There he was, looking at her nervously from across the dining room. He was wearing a deep maroon suit on top of a white dress shirt, and had opted for a silver tie that accentuated the handsome silver streak in his hair. Even with the low lighting, she could see the blush creeping across his cheeks.
“Hi, Fran,” he replied, and the hope and uncertainty in his voice almost broke her.
Fran walked towards him slowly, her gaze locked on his. When she was close enough, he reached out and took her hand gently, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss into her skin. Fran exhaled a soft “oh.” Maxwell smiled again, then pulled out her chair, gesturing for her to sit down. She did, and he tucked her chair back in before rounding the table and returning to his own seat.
“So, about your date with John…” Maxwell began, smiling sheepishly.
Fran practically melted. “Lemme guess, there is no John, is there?”
Maxwell chuckled. “I certainly hope not.” He reached across the table then, grasping Fran’s hand in his own, rubbing his thumb softly across the back. “Miss Fine- I- I mean, Fran,” he said, stuttering.
Fran just smiled warmly at him. “Mr Sheffield- I mean, Maxwell,” she replied teasingly.
Maxwell gave her a look and squeezed her hand. He tried again. “Fran, I- I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.” When Fran opened her mouth to interrupt him he held up a finger. “I’m sorry that it took me so long to get my head out of my, what did you call it? My uptight tuchus?”
Fran giggled. “Yeah, well it was pretty far up there,” she replied, smirking.
“It was, yes,” Maxwell agreed. “And you were right. I was… jealous… all those other times. And… I may not have handled it the best.”
Fran snorted. “Ya think?”
A waiter materialized at their table, a bottle of Dom Perignon propped on his arm. Maxwell gave an approving nod, and the waiter filled their glasses before vanishing again. Maxwell picked up his glass and held it out to Fran. She lifted hers and they clinked them together. Taking a sip, Fran felt a warmth spread throughout her body, and she knew it wasn’t just from the alcohol. She swirled her glass, looking thoughtfully across the table at Max.
“So… is all of this just your way of telling me you’re sorry?” She asked.
“Well, somewhat, yes,” Maxwell replied, looking away and fiddling with the cloth napkin on the table in front of him. “It is an apology, but it’s also…”
Fran felt a bubble of hope rising in her chest. She discreetly pinched her thigh as if to ensure she wasn’t dreaming.
“It’s also my way of saying… Of telling you that I…” Maxwell took a deep breath before finally looking up again. He wanted her to see it, see what he hoped was written across his face. “That I care so deeply about you, Fran, and… When you blew into our lives in your high heels and your lipstick and your… vivacity…” His lips tugged into a small, kind smirk. Fran blushed. “I never could have expected you would work your way so deeply into our lives, into… into my life.” He reached across the table again, caressing her hand in his once more. “And I… I know that I’m not very good at expressing my… my feelings,” he continued, suddenly wishing to himself that he had written this down first. “But I realize that it’s important that you know how I feel. About you.”
“Oh, you feel about me, do ya?” Fran replied, gently teasing. She didn’t want to push too hard, joke too much, but she could see how hard he was trying, and if she could lighten the mood for him, she would.
Maxwell huffed a laugh. “More than I thought possible,” he replied, and that knocked the jokes right out of her. “Fran, I… I might not be ready to… to say… The Thing… yet, but…” He sighed, squeezing her hand. Looking into his eyes, she could see the emotions behind them, could see the cracks forming in the walls he had spent so long building around his heart. She squeezed his hand back, giving a small nod.
“I know, it’s okay,” she said, her voice delicate and fragile.
Maxwell let out a small breath in relief. “I don’t know when I’ll- I’ll be ready, but… I don’t want to lose you, Fran. I can’t… I can’t lose you.”
“Oh, Maxwell, you won’t lose me,” Fran replied, reaching across the table to cup his jaw with her free hand. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
Maxwell leaned into her touch, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, a new sense of assurance and fire blazed out from under his lashes. “You have no idea how grateful I am for you,” he said as she drew her hand away from his face. “For what you’ve done for the children, for our family… for me. After Sara… I felt like we would never be happy again. But you brought joy and warmth back into our lives, and for that alone I could lo-” His voice caught around the last word, and he took a shaky breath. Fran looked at him with such a kind, caring, loving expression, and he knew then that he would do whatever it took to have her keep looking at him like that. “She would have loved you,” he said after a moment. “Sara, she… she would have loved you.”
“Oh, Maxwell…” Fran whispered, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She blinked quickly. “I would have loved to meet her.”
Maxwell smiled sadly. “You would have loved her.”
They were quiet for a few moments, their eyes never leaving each other, hands still intertwined on the table. The waiter reappeared with the first course, and Fran’s eyes widened as the plate was set down in front of her. She didn’t know what it was, but it looked delicious. The atmosphere lightened as they began eating, conversation shifting to the children, to her family, to Niles and C.C., to his work, and everything in between. Their glances at each other were heavy with unspoken feelings and the hope of a future. When they set their forks down after polishing off dessert, Fran leaned back in her chair and moaned.
“So. Full.” She mumbled, eyes closing as she tipped her head back. Maxwell smiled adoringly at her. She peeked one eye open, catching him staring at her. “What?” She asked, wrinkling her nose.
“You are magnificent,” he replied, and she opened both eyes, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
“Even when I’m stuffed like a turkey on thanksgiving? Honestly, I don’t think I could’ve picked a tighter dress, oi…” She replied, groaning.
“I think your dress is perfect,” Maxwell said, smirking as his eyes travelled as far down her body as they could before she was obscured by the table.
“Oh, Mr. Sheffield!” She said, making a flirtatious “stop it” gesture in the air with her hand. She looked at him looking at her. A pleased expression settled onto her face and she bit her lip. “You know, I’m glad there’s no John. I’d much rather be doing this with you.”
Maxwell chuckled. “Well, I’m happy to hear it,” he replied. Pulling the napkin off his lap, he set it on the table. As if it was a rehearsed cue (and honestly, she wouldn’t have been surprised if it was), the music changed, becoming slightly louder as the opening chords of a new song started up. Maxwell rose from his chair, coming to the side of the table and offering out his hand. “May I have this dance, Fran?” He asked, eyes twinkling.
Fran didn’t trust herself to speak, and simply nodded, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. He guided them to a larger gap between some nearby tables, and they settled into each other as the song began in earnest.
The whispers in the morning,
Of lovers sleeping tight,
Are rolling by like thunder now,
As I look in your eyes.
One of his hands held hers, the other settled on her lower back. Her free hand came to rest on his shoulder as they began to sway. Maxwell led their steps, slowly turning around the makeshift dance floor as Celine Dion’s voice flowed from the speakers. Fran looked up at him as they danced, her heart feeling like it was about to burst from her chest. Maxwell looked down at her and smiled, softly, tentatively, and she felt her breath hitch.
Whenever you reach for me,
I’ll do all that I can.
We’re heading for something,
Somewhere I’ve never been.
Sometimes I am frightened,
But I’m ready to learn,
Of the power of love.
His gaze landed on her lips, and she leaned closer, closer, and she was tilting her head and-
The kiss was better than any kiss they had shared before. It hid behind no pretense, no jokes, no jealousy. It was soft yet intense, claiming yet not possessive. Fran slid her hands around to the back of his neck, holding him to her. Maxwell’s grip shifted to her waist, his palms warm through the fabric of her dress. When eventually they broke apart, they separated only enough to breathe, their noses brushing.
“Oh, wow,” Fran whispered, breathless. Maxwell just swallowed deeply, blinking slowly as her whispers ghosted across his lips. Fran smiled. “Do that again.”
And he did.
******
When they were finally back in the limo, hands clasped on the seat between them, Maxwell looked over at Fran, who was staring dreamily out the window.
“So, did you have a good blind date?” He asked.
Fran drew her gaze away from the window and smiled at him. “Eh, it was alright,” she replied, shrugging. Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “I’m kidding,” she said, sliding closer to him and placing a hand on his cheek. “It was the best date I’ve ever had.”
She kissed him then, and, even though he danced with her to a love song instead of saying the words aloud, she knew. She felt it in his kiss, in the way he looked at her, in the way it felt when he touched her. She tried to send all those things back to him with her kiss, her touch, her smile. Maxwell knew. He felt it. And he couldn’t help but laugh when she broke their kiss and asked, “So, are you done sabotaging my dates now?”
“Well, are you done going on dates now?” He asked, smirking.
“Hmm,” she replied, pretending to consider it. “I think that depends on you, mister.”
Maxwell responded with a kiss, deeper and more urgent than the last, and Fran knew the answer. She kissed him back, and hoped he understood.
He did.
******
At home in bed, Niles shot upright. “It happened.” He clapped his hands once, letting out a “yahoo!” before grinning like a maniac. “Finally!” He settled back into bed, shaking his head with amusement. He mumbled a satisfied, “took long enough,” as he drifted back to sleep.