The Big Night

by SMBBOOKS

Fran helps Max out on a big night. Set after "The Thing".

Notes: No offense meant to any real person or business mentioned in this work of fiction.

"The Big Night"

Fran groaned in frustration, rolled over and hit her pillow a few times for good measure. It was 2:30 in the morning for God's sake. Why couldn't she sleep?

"You know why," said a small voice in her head. "Quit thinking about him already. He's just stressed because of that stupid dress rehearsal backer's thingy. "

Fran hushed the small voice and muttered to herself "Don't let him hear you call it stupid or he's liable to really fly off the handle. And thingy??"

Fran sighed and sat up in bed. Sleep was just not in the cards for her tonight. There had been too many nights like that lately. Tonight's argument with Mr. Sheffield had started innocently enough. It had begun during dinnertime with the kids. She had suggested they all take in a movie tomorrow afternoon. The kids had been all for it, but Mr. Sheffield nixed the idea quickly.

"Miss Fine, you know perfectly well I'm up to my eyeballs with the preparations for this damn dress rehearsal this weekend. I've got forty very wealthy, very busy people coming to this blasted event and we're three weeks behind schedule!"

"But we've hardly seen you at all for the past two weeks. Would 2 hours out of your busy schedule really be that much to ask?"

"Unfortunately, Miss Fine, this week it is."

Fran saw the disappointed looks on the children's faces and began "Oh, but Mr. Sheffield,"

"Enough Miss Fine, I said no."

Fran gave up. Too tired to argue, she focused instead on asking the children about their day and what the rest of the week held for them. She might not have achieved her objective, but by God, he could sit there and listen to his children during mealtime.

After the children had been excused, Fran had gotten up to help Niles with the dishes, but Mr. Sheffield stopped her.

"Miss Fine, a word please?"

"Yes, Mr. Sheffield?"

"I don't appreciate being set up in front of my children."

"Set up?"

"Yes. You know how busy things are for me right now. It was very unfair of you to make me play the bad guy in front of the children like that."

"Listen, Mr. Sheffield, I…"

"No, you listen", his voice rising. "For once just listen to what I'm telling you and heed my wishes."

Stung by his words and more than a little hurt by the tone in his voice, she replied, a bit angry herself, "Yes sir, of course sir. Will that be all sir?" and without waiting for a reply, left the dining room.

As Fran replayed the scene in her mind, she had to grudgingly admit her role in the argument had put Mr. Sheffield in an awkward position. But dammit, she hadn't deliberately set him up. Or had she? Was part of her still trying to hurt him in retaliation for the pain he'd caused her when he took back the "thing?" Oy, there she was, going on about the "thing" again. Enough already! It was weeks ago – get over it!

"It's not that easy," the small voice in her head said. "And neither is sleeping all alone in this damn bed!"

Fran sighed again and gave up. Maybe if she fixed herself a glass of warm milk, it would help. She threw back the covers, crawled out of bed and headed downstairs.

Maxwell Sheffield was not having a good night. Here it was, 2:30 in the morning, and he was still up, pouring over contracts, lists, scripts and God knows what else, trying to get this bloody backer's party to come together. It seemed like every new day this week brought another challenge. First it was the caterer telling him they'd double-booked and may not be able to handle his event after all. It had taken five different phone calls and over two hours of his time to fix that little problem.

The next day brought problems with his leading lady who had suddenly gone nutters over a slightly less than favorable article in one of the daily tabloids. Her emotional tirade had lasted the majority of the day, causing a very undesirable delay in last-minute rehearsals. How was he supposed to impress a room full of wealthy investors – potential investors – when his whole play seemed to be falling apart around him?

"And," a small voice in his head spoke up, "What about today? Today didn't turn out so good either, now did it?"

Max shoved the small voice aside roughly. Enough, he was done listening to that voice. It was the reason he couldn't get any work done and why he was still up at 2:30 in the morning. Sigh. She'd done it again. Dominated his thoughts for yet another evening. Why couldn't he just put her image aside and get his bloody work done?

"Because," the small voice said, "She's crawled into your heart and taken up residence. "And", the voice went on mercilessly, "if you weren't such an uptight, repressed, 'gentleman', you could be with her right now, putting all of your frustrated energy to good use!"

Now where had that last part come from? He'd spent the better part of the evening angry with her for the argument they'd had at dinner. Why did his brain have to switch gears all of a sudden and bring to mind thoughts of a distinctly more pleasurable nature?

"Well buddy boy, that last bit wasn't coming from your brain!" the small voice said.

Then another voice spoke up – this one from his conscience. Was he cracking up? "You know how badly you hurt her tonight. Didn't you see the look in her eyes; hear the pain in her voice? All she'd asked for was a little of your time, not even to be alone with you, but for you to spend some time with your children and how did you react?" His conscience actually paused, waiting for him to speak up. And, when he didn't, it chimed in with "like a stupid, arrogant, prat!"

"Enough," Maxwell growled, slamming his fist on his desk as he did so. He couldn't take the internal debate any longer. He'd had it. What little concentration he'd had was completely shot now. He might as well go upstairs, take a long, hot shower and try to get some sleep.

Fran was right in front of Mr. Sheffield's office door before she realized his light was still on. Her heart jumped into her throat. Was he still up, or had he just forgotten to turn the light off? Then she heard his voice – "Enough" and what sounded like him pounding the desk and shoving back his chair.

Crap! He was still up! And, from the sounds of it, still angry and about five seconds from opening the door not two feet from her. Fran froze, fear lodging in her chest. What was she going to do? Stay and try to talk to him? Try to explain her actions from earlier this evening? Apologize for the position she'd put him in with his kids?

"Or," said the tiny voice in her head, "you could take your tochus back upstairs before he makes it to the door!"

Ah, the old fight or flight response. Her normal mode of operation would be to dig in and fight. But, whether it was the sleep deprivation kicking in or her confused emotional state regarding all things Sheffield, she chose to run. She'd made it back in her bed before she heard him come up the stairs. Whew! All those mad dashes at Lohman's had paid off. When the stakes were high, Fran Fine could sprint with the best of them!

The next two days passed calmly enough. Mainly due to the fact that Mr. Sheffield left the house before breakfast for the theater and did not return home until late in the evening. Fran didn't even see him more than an hour both days and rarely, if at all, did he speak to her except on matters regarding the children. She'd tried to break the tension with a bit of flirting, but it hadn't gone well. She'd playfully hopped onto the corner of his desk, leaned in close and asked,

"So, Mr. Sheffield, any wardrobe requests for me for the big night?"

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, not even looking at her, concerned instead with the papers on his desk.

Fran faltered a moment and then went on – "Oh, you know, doncha have a request or two about the dress I'm going to wear to your backer's party? You know, something smashing in red or fake fur or something?" The fake fur thing was a joke, something she thought he couldn't possibly pass up making a remark at.

He remarked all right, but not at all the way she expected.

"Oh, Miss Fine, I'm sorry if you've gotten the wrong impression, but you won't be going to the backer's party tomorrow night" he replied calmly, again not even looking at her.

"What?" she exclaimed and then caught herself, quickly. "Oh, well I guess I just assumed you'd want me there. But, if you don't, I guess…well, I guess I understand."

"Good. I need Niles there to take care of any last minute catering disasters and of course CC has to be there to work the crowd for donations. I'll need you to stay here with the children as they won't be going either."

Fran was about to tell Mr. Sheffield watching the children tomorrow was not necessary as each of them had arranged to stay with a friend, but she didn't get her chance. The phone rang and when he answered it, he immediately launched into what sounded like an extremely serious phone call. He'd actually waved her off as if to say, "Run along now, I don't need you around when I'm making important business deals."

So here she was, now just hours away from Mr. Sheffield's big night. Not pouring herself into a skin-tight, knockout dress. Not doing a final "check everything out one last time" routine in the mirror. Not looking forward to the entrance she'd make, gliding down the stairs, watching him look up at her, seeing his appreciative glance, hearing him say "You look stunning, Miss Fine." Nope, instead she was sitting on her bed, in her sweats, getting ready to tear into a bag of cookies. And then that damn voice in her head spoke up. "Well, little Miss Fine, what a pretty mess you've gotten yourself into now. Stuck at home on a Saturday night and the closest thing to you is a stupid bag of cookies, when it could have been a rather tall, dark and handsome Englishman!"

Fran tried to ignore the voice. It just wasn't fair. She was so close to living her dream life. She had the rich, gorgeous man and three beautiful children. So what if the rich, gorgeous man was her boss and the children her job? "Hold on there a minute missy, you know perfectly well you don't think of those children as your job and as for Mr. Sheffield being just your 'boss', get over that already!" Fran had to admit the small voice had a point. She loved those children as if they were her own and well, as far as Mr. Sheffield was concerned, Fran had to stop kidding herself, she loved him too.

Fran thought back over the past week and realized, with a rush of shame, that she'd acted like a weak, scared rabbit a good share of the time. Her! She'd let that stupid argument and his anger at her completely stop her in her tracks. She'd tip-toed around him for days, avoiding confrontation, trying to keep him calm, all the while feeling that his mood and temper were all her fault, all because of her.

What a bunch of crap that was. Enough already. She knew deep down he wasn't mad at her. He was frustrated by the problems with his play and probably, just like she was, trying to figure out how to deal with their interactions since the "Thing" incident. She knew he had feelings for her, had literally felt them on the plane ride back from Paris and the kiss on the stoop. How could he not have feelings for her and kiss her like that? And maybe she was just flat out crazy, but something deep down told her it wasn't just physical attraction. She was a smart girl, despite what others thought. She just had to figure out a way, subtle perhaps, instead of her usual "over the top" approach to get him to realize, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had more than "friendly" feelings for her and that it was okay to act on them.

So, with her new resolve in place, Fran made a decision. Her first, clear-headed, rational decision of the week. She was going to pour herself into a skin-tight, knockout dress, call herself a cab and make her grand entrance. This time it wouldn't be down the staircase, but she was willing to bet a rather large amount of money, before the end of the night, she'd make him see reason. Or at least make him see her again, not as an object of frustration but one of desire.

Maxwell Sheffield was not a happy man. While it was true he didn't normally go through life skipping with glee, things weren't usually quite this horrendous. His potential backers were due to arrive any minute. He'd just found out the caterer had completely missed sending the dessert portion of his order and now Niles couldn't reach them on the phone. CC had just informed him the star of their play had locked herself in her dressing room again, this time bemoaning the latest downturn with her on-again, off-again boyfriend. And, to top it off, he was really starting to feel rather bad about not inviting Miss Fine to tonight's event. As frustrated as she made him (both emotionally and physically) he had to admit on nights like this, she usually brought him a strange sense of calmness. He had no idea why, only that she did. And tonight, when he needed to be calm the most, what had he done? Said she wasn't invited. He could be such a colossal idiot sometimes.

What was he going to do? Call her? Tell her to come at the last minute? Absolutely not. That would make him appear to be more of an idiot and he didn't think he needed any help in that department right now. No, he'd made his bed; he'd just have to lie in it. Alone. Again. With a resigned sigh, he headed backstage. Unbeknownst to him, at that very moment, a cab was screeching to a halt outside the theater doors and a very beautiful, very determined young lady was getting out.

When Fran walked in to the theater, prepared to make her grand entrance, she was slightly disappointed to find no one there to greet her. Where was everyone? Then she heard noises coming from backstage and headed that direction. From the sound of things, Maxwell was not having a sudden turn of good luck regarding this backer's shindig. When she walked backstage, he was in mid-tirade with Niles and CC who both looked ready to tell him to jump off the nearest bridge. They had to fight for space as a myriad of stagehands and actors milled through the area, obviously rushing to get last minute prep work done.

"Niles, what the hell do you mean you can't reach the caterer's? What the hell do I pay people for, if they can't be available when I need them?" Maxwell raged.

"But sir," Niles began, "I really don't think shouting at me…" but Maxwell didn't wait for him to explain and turned right on CC next.

"And CC just what exactly do I pay you to do? Coddle the stars and schmooze the backers. We have a starlet who's feeling a little 'down in the dumps' as you put it and doesn't want to go onstage tonight. The same starlet with whom we're supposed to have an ironclad contract. I suggest you march your happy butt back to her dressing room and remind her of that little fact!"

CC didn't dignify Maxwell's order with a response, she just turned to Niles, said "Come on houseboy" and they both left Maxwell standing there, still fuming.

"My, my, my – it certainly sounds like your big night is turning into a big headache, now doesn't it?"

Maxwell, who had his back to Fran, froze. What the hell was she doing here? And why did it sound like she was thoroughly amused at his predicament? Really, he ought to give her hell for showing up unannounced like this, but instead turned around and….

And, let his mouth fall open at the sight of her.

She was stunning. She had outdone herself this time. And, he had a sneaking suspicion, she'd done it on purpose, probably to drive home the point of what a big horse's ass he really was.

There she stood, in a midnight blue satin dress, which clung to every delicious curve she had. Strapless, it made her creamy white shoulders and neck seem to beckon him over to her. It ever so slightly trailed the floor hiding what he knew to be some sort of high-heeled marvel that simply could not be described with the meager word "shoe." Her hair was up off her neck with just the slightest tendrils escaping here and there as if the whole lot of it would just tumble down over her shoulders at the slightest caress. His breath caught in his throat, his pulse quickened and he was having a really hard time swallowing. Why was she here?

"So, are you just going to stare at me like some sort of silly school boy or are you going to tell me what all the fuss is about?" She still had that tiny little smirk on her face.

Angry that he had been reduced to a drooling moron at the mere sight of her, Maxwell wondered how long she'd be amused if he gave into his libido and strode over to her, took her into his arms and thoroughly kissed that idiotic smirk right off her beautiful face.

Instead, reining his emotions in tightly, he said "I don't really see why I need to get into all of this with you right now, I'm a little busy if you can't tell."

"Really, and here I thought you were just sitting here playing tiddlywinks when I showed up. Silly me!"

Okay, she was pissed at him. He deserved it, had it coming so to speak. But he really didn't have time to explain how sorry he was and how he'd like to make it up to her. From the sounds of it, the backers had started to arrive and CC still wasn't back from "encouraging" their star to come out of the dressing room.

"Listen, Miss Fine, I'm sorry I've been a little out of sorts this week, but it's just been a very trying time. I wish I had more time to explain, but as you can see,"

"Apology accepted" she interrupted. "I completely understand. Now, I seem to have overheard you're having catering problems. You got a phone around this joint?"

"What?" he replied, thoroughly confused and handing over his cell phone. "Why do you need a phone?"

"To make a phone call, silly. I've got a cousin who has the best catering business in Queens. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll have some extra stuff lying around."

"Whoa, wait a minute! You've got a cousin? Extra stuff lying around? Listen, Miss Fine, not to be rude or anything, but we haven't had the greatest luck hiring members of your family in the past you know."

"Listen Mister," she snapped as she punched in a number on his phone, "I'd say you aren't in a real good position to be picky right about now." And with that, she turned her back on him and waited for the call to go through.

"Benny! Hiya babe, it's cousin Frannie." Listen Benny, you remember that time I set you up with my friend Lola and you had such a great time that you told me if I ever needed a favor to just call you? Well guess what, I need a favor."

Maxwell stood there, in shock, as Fran explained their predicament to Benny. How did he get into situations like this? Why did it always come down to a last minute, fly by the seat of your pants miracle?

"Okay Benny that's great. Get here as fast as you can. I'll make sure you get paid for your efforts, Benny I promise."

Fran turned off the phone and gave it back to Max. "One problem down, now on to number two…"

At that moment, CC and Niles came rushing back into the room.

"Okay, that's it butler boy. You've really done it this time!"

"Oh shut up you bitter blonde heiress. Why don't you grab one of the brooms lying around backstage and just fly off somewhere?"

"People!" shouted Max "What the hell is going on? Oh, never mind. CC get out to the lobby and start entertaining the backers. Niles, head for the bar and start serving drinks – make 'em strong and make 'em frequent old man, I need all the help I can get!"

"We live to serve sir" Niles retorted and he and CC left, still throwing jabs at each other as they went.

"Okay, on to problem #2, the pouty starlet, right?" Fran chimed in.

"Listen Miss Fine, I can handle this. I appreciate your help with the food and all, but really," Max began.

"Mr. Sheffield, just shut up and let me help, okay?" "It will be far less painful if you just give in and let me do it, you know I'll do it anyway."

Maxwell sighed. She had him on that one.

"Okay, so as I understand it, your star is peeved because she's on the outs with her boyfriend, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, no problem" she replied, grabbing a rather large vase of fresh cut flowers the caterers had mistakenly left backstage instead of out in the lobby where the food and drink was set up. "Give me a pen and some paper, quick!"

At this point, Max gave up asking for an explanation, gave her the pen out of his pocket and helped her find some paper. She was right. It would be less painful if he just didn't know what she was planning.

"Okay, what's her name?"

"Who?"

"Your starlet, silly. Geesh, and you think I'm a little slow?"

"I never said," he began.

"Oh lighten up, I'm just teasing. What's her name?"

"Beth Chambers."

"And what's her boyfriend's name?"

"I have no bloody idea!" he yelled.

"It's Victor," said CC who had just come backstage, clearly looking for Maxwell.

"Maxwell, really – you need to come greet your guests. The natives are starting to get a little restless and I think your presence might buy us a bit more time" CC insisted.

Maxwell sighed. Time to go into the fray. He turned to Fran, but she had already disappeared around the corner, headed toward the dressing rooms. He sighed again, followed CC and said a small prayer that everything would work out okay.

Maxwell was elbow to elbow with Spencer Crawley, one of the wealthiest men in New York, when he felt a tug at his arm. Muttering a silent curse, he turned to find Miss Fine standing next to him, a triumphant look on her face. He tried to tell her, with just a look of his eyes that now was not the time for interruptions, but it didn't work.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sheffield. I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to let you know the flower delivery was a huge success and everything should be ready for curtain call in about 10 minutes."

"What?" he stammered, thrown by the fact Miss Fine had strung together two fairly coherent sentences right in front of someone who could very well make or break his play. Recovering quickly, he said "Oh, right. Thank you very much Miss Fine."

Fran smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling. His heart melted. He hadn't seen her genuinely smile at him like that in over two weeks.

"Oh and Larry, your stage manager, told me to let you know if you'd head backstage now, he'd get you all set up for the scene introduction you'll be making to your honored guests." At this last part she turned to Mr. Crawley and gave him a warm, welcoming smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Maxwell saw Crawley stand up a little straighter. He also saw the frank admiring look Crawley was aiming at Miss Fine and had to throttle the urge to elbow the guy hard in the ribs.

"Mr. Sheffield, I'd be more than happy to escort this fine gentleman to his seat if you'd like to go ahead and go backstage."

Reluctantly, Maxwell handed Crawley over to Miss Fine, who immediately took his arm and said "Hello, I'm Fran Fine. I work for Mr. Sheffield. And you are?"

Maxwell didn't stay to hear anymore. He had work to do.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. When the curtain came down, Maxwell, from backstage, heard genuine applause from the crowd (not that polite crap you get sometimes when your work doesn't quite cut it). As he knew CC would be ushering the crowd back out to the lobby for more drinks and dessert (which he desperately hoped had arrived via Bennie) he headed that direction, hoping he and CC would be able to charm some cold, hard cash out of his guests this evening.

When he got to the lobby, he was surprised and a little displeased to see Miss Fine still on the arm of Spencer Crawley. He saw Spencer lean down and whisper something in her ear and her throw her head back and laugh.

He saw the way Spencer was looking at Miss Fine and how he drew her in close as she laughed at whatever he'd said to her. For God's sake, the man had to be at least 20 years older than her. What was he thinking? And just what the bloody hell was Miss Fine doing cozying up to him anyway? Was she trying to make him jealous? Pay him back for how he'd treated her this week? "And would you blame her?" said the tiny voice in his head. Oh great. Now was a good time for the voice to show up again. Shoving aside the mutterings in his head, Maxwell Sheffield decided to get back down to business and work the room.

An hour later, the lobby was almost empty. CC and Maxwell were shepherding out the last of the backers. Spencer was the last to leave and before he left, pulled Maxwell aside and said, "You know Sheffield, I'm one of the wealthiest men in New York and I don't often invest in theater, but I'm interested in your production and want you to call me on Monday so we can work out the details."

"Spencer, I'm glad to hear that. Might I ask what changed your mind about investing in theater?" "I mean," Max added quickly, "I'm very proud of our production, but I must admit to being a bit surprised at your interest."

"Well Sheffield, it's like this." "You surround yourself with good people and I respect a smart businessman who knows the value of those who work for him."

"Thank you, I know CC is a great asset to our production," Maxwell began.

Crawley interrupted, "No man, I'm not talking about CC, although she is a gifted woman. I'm talking about Fran."

"Fran?" "I don't understand."

"Really Sheffield, maybe you aren't as smart as I thought." "That Fran Fine of yours is one smart lady."

"Oh, well of course" said Maxwell, although his tone didn't quite convey conviction.

"You're damn right, of course." "She's the main reason I'm investing in this little production of yours, so I'd suggest you give her a raise or a bonus or something, she's earned it!"

"I'll keep that in mind Spencer and thanks again for your interest, I'll call you on Monday."

As Maxwell shut the door on his last backer, he breathed a sigh of relief. CC had already walked over to join Niles and Miss Fine at the bar. The three of them were raising their glasses in a toast and laughing over the events of the evening.

"So, Miss Fine, I'm dying to know – how did you get Beth Chambers out of her dressing room?" Niles asked eagerly.

"Yes, do tell," CC jumped in quickly "She was entrenched in that room more than the dirt under Niles' fingernails." And with that CC shot Niles an ornery, evil grin.

"Listen Cruella, why don't you find some poor defenseless puppy to pick on and leave us decent folk alone. You know what they say, a dog is a man's best friend!" Niles shot back.

"Okay you two, back to your corners and I'll tell you how I did it," interjected Fran, eager to break the fight up before it really picked up steam. "It was simple really. I just showed up at her dressing room door with a big bunch of flowers and a mushy note from her boyfriend Victor. Or, I should say," the grin on her face was a tad impish now, "she thought were from her boyfriend Victor."

"Oh, that's good Nanny Fine, I'm impressed." CC said, clinking her glass with Fran's. "Nothing like a conniving female to get the job done, eh?"

"I prefer the word creative if you don't mind Miss Babcock. Conniving sounds so evil, so..well, so like you!" And before CC could fire back with a sarcastic retort, Fran added, "Just teasing, lighten up!"

Maxwell, tired and ready to put the whole night behind him, interrupted at this point and said "CC, would you be kind enough to take Niles with you and have your limo driver drop him off home on your way? Miss Fine and I have some business to finish up here and then we'll be on our way, but it's been a long day and I'd like for you two to go ahead and head out."

Muttering something about not used to being a chauffer service for domestics, CC finished the rest of her drink and said, "Well, you heard the man Belvedere, come on – maybe if you're lucky I won't make you ride up front with the other servant."

Niles, looking a little less than pleased with his travel arrangements followed her out mumbling "Oh goody, are you sure there's room enough for two on your broom, witch?"

Fran watched them leave, apprehensive about what "business" she and Maxwell had to finish up. He hadn't come near her after she had sent him backstage. In fact, it was almost as if he was avoiding getting too close to her the whole rest of the evening. She had cast quick glances his way all night as she endured the insufferable, boring company of that Spencer guy. What an uptight bore! But, Niles had told her he was one of the wealthiest men in New York and could be a real benefit to Maxwell if he would just throw a little money his way. So she had put on her best smile, batted her eyes a bit and hung on his every word, determined to make a good impression and hopeful it would pay off in the end. Had she said something wrong? Offended the guy in some way? She had seen Spencer pull Max aside before he left, saw them talking about something intently, even saw Max and Spencer glance over at her a couple of times during their brief conversation and that worried her. That worried her a lot.

Max broke the silence first. "Well, it seems Spencer Crawley was quite taken with you Miss Fine. Thought you were one of the best parts of the evening. Even suggested I give you a raise."

"What a smart man!"

"Yes and he's even offered to invest in the play."

"Oh, Mr. Sheffield, that's absolutely wonderful!" and with that, Fran put a hand on his arm encouragingly.

He shook her hand off and turned his back on her saying rather sternly, "What I'm trying to figure out is exactly what you did to impress him so much? Was it just the blatant flirting or did you promise to go out with him?"

"Whaaat?" Fran was confused. The boring wealthy guy was going to invest in Maxwell's play and from what he was saying it was due in large part to her efforts this evening and Maxwell was still mad at her? This didn't make sense.

"Oh, don't act so surprised Miss Fine. It was very obvious, even across a crowded room you two were practically all over each other all evening!" Maxwell knew he wasn't making sense, knew he wasn't being rational. He was letting his pent up frustration over the play and his unrequited passion for Miss Fine cloud his usual good judgment. It had just been so damn difficult to watch the two of them together, see her on Spencer's arm, hanging on his every word, smiling up at Spencer the way she should have been smiling up at him!

A light bulb suddenly turned on in Fran's mind. He was jealous! The man was actually jealous of her and that schmuck Spencer. Oh, this was priceless. A bit of fortune too good to be true. She chuckled to herself softly, but apparently not softly enough as Maxwell heard it and swung around.

"And what, might I ask, is so damn funny?"

His look and his tone snapped Fran out of her reverie. He was really angry. In fact, she hadn't seen him this angry in a long time. She could actually see his jaw clenched and that little vein in his forehead throbbing.

"Now wait just a minute Mister. How dare you turn on me after everything I've done for you tonight! I don't know what the hell has got your underwear all in a twist, but I for one, have had it!" Fran started to storm off, surprised at how quickly she'd gotten so angry, but Max grabbed her by the arm to stop her.

"Oh no you don't, we need to talk Miss Fine, right now!"

"Well, Mr. Sheffield, you might, but I don't! You know, you're amazing, abso-frickin-lutely amazing sometimes. You've been a complete pain for two weeks straight and tonight you've graduated right into full-blown horses' ass!"

"Excuse me? Did I just hear you call me, your employer I might add, a horses' ass?" Maxwell had leaned in closer to her, his grip on her arm turning painful.

Fran stood up straighter and met his glance without hesitation. "You're damn right I did! Now, if you'll let go of my arm before you leave a permanent mark, I'll just be going."

Maxwell came back to reality quickly. What the hell was he doing? He let go of her arm quickly and his stomach did a sickening flip when he saw the red marks his fingers had left there.

"Miss Fine, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me, but I had no right to grab your arm like that. Are you okay?"

Fran stopped her determined trek across the lobby and rounded on him, "No, Mr. Sheffield, I am not okay. I am sick and tired of riding the emotional roller coaster with you. You say you love me and you take it back. You say you want to be just friends, and then you spend the next few weeks treating me like I don't even exist. And then, on one of the most important nights of your life, you don't even want me there to share it! Call me crazy Mr. Sheffield, but that doesn't sound too 'friendly' to me."

Maxwell's head dropped in shame. She was right, as usual. Once again, by keeping his distance from her, he had made things between them horribly worse. What he thought had been the right thing to do had blown up in his face. He raised his head to apologize again and what met his gaze made the fist that was clenched around his heart grip even tighter. She had walked back over to him and stood quietly before him, in all her radiant beauty, this time with tears in her eyes instead of the defiant look that had met him only seconds before.

"You know" she said in a small voice, "I came here tonight to show my support for you. To try, in some small way, to help you through what was obviously a difficult time. I wanted to help. I wanted to show you I could be a benefit to you, not just a screw up all the time. And by my scorecard, I did just that, not only once, but three times. But, here we are again, at the end of the evening and little Miss Fine has obviously done something wrong again."

Every word she said drove a nail into his heart. He couldn't do anything but stare at her.

Realizing Maxwell had nothing to say to her, Fran gathered up what little dignity she had left and said quietly, "I assure you Mr. Sheffield, I made no promise to Spencer Crawley tonight that could possibly be misinterpreted. All I did was listen. Listen to his boring stories, act like I was interested, hang on his stupid arm and put up with his leering glances in the hopes he would think about what a great production he'd seen tonight and decide it was worth his money to invest in you. And you know, the funny thing is, I succeeded, but I sure as hell don't feel like it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm leaving." And with that, she turned and headed for the door.

Maxwell stood there for a moment, lost in his thoughts and then came to his senses, rushing after her. "Miss Fine, wait! Please wait."

Fran didn't stop. She got to the door, wrenched it open and headed out into the chilly night air, hoping to hail a cab before he caught up with her. If she didn't hurry, he was going to see the tears she'd held back while talking to him were now running freely down her face. Damn her emotions!

Maxwell got to her before she made it to the curb. His hand on her arm was gentle this time and he tipped her chin up so he could look her straight in the eye. When he saw her tears, he quickly pulled her toward him, took her face into his hands and began gently kissing them away; mumbling in-between kisses "Oh Fran, I am so sorry I hurt you. There's no excuse for my behavior. You were amazing tonight and I never would have made it through the evening without you. Can you ever forgive me?" He had stopped kissing her now and was simply holding her tightly against him, his chin resting on the top of her head.

Had he just called her Fran? He must be upset if he let that slip out! Fran looked up at him and said "Why were you so upset with me tonight? Why have you been so upset with me for the past two weeks?"

She knew the answer, but wanted to hear it in his words. Had to hear it from his lips.

She felt rather than heard his heavy sigh, sensed his internal struggle rather than felt it and for once in her life, she patiently waited until he spoke.

"Oh Miss Fine, my being upset these past few weeks had everything and nothing to do with you" he said finally.

"'Scuse me?"

"Tell you what, let's get the theater locked up, grab the limo and have this discussion somewhere other than a New York street corner, okay?" He looked at her with an unspoken plea in his eyes. She nodded and turned to head back to the theater.

They made quick work of closing down the theater. In short order, they were calling Clevis to meet them around front and were soon enveloped in the warmth of the limo, headed for home.

Fran leaned back into the comfort of the seat and sighed, closing her eyes. All of a sudden she was very tired. Maxwell watched her quietly, not wanting to disturb her, but certain if he didn't explain his actions of the last two weeks fairly soon, he would lose his nerve, just like he always did.

"Um, Miss Fine?" he asked hesitantly. "I'd like to finish that conversation now, if you don't mind?"

Fran, sitting up a little straighter in her seat, turned her body so she was facing him now, her hands in her lap, ready to listen. "Go ahead."

Maxwell, found the words slow in coming. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing, afraid of hurting her again. Fran, realizing his plight, slid across the seat until she was directly beside him, put her hand on his arm and said, "Listen, Mr. Sheffield, it's been a long day and you're probably completely exhausted. I know you didn't mean to be cross with me tonight, I know it was just the stress of the show talking. So, why don't you just lean back and get a little rest on the way home. You don't need to explain anything to me, I understand."

Fran didn't know why she was letting him off the hook, only that she was. For some reason, all she wanted to do was to comfort him, to let him know everything was okay and not to worry anymore.

The next thing she knew, Maxwell was pulling her onto his lap and thoroughly kissing her. Shock gave way quickly to enthusiasm and she began to kiss him back, tentatively at first and then with her usual abandon. His kisses had urgency to them, something she'd hadn't felt before. It was almost as if he felt this might be his one and only chance to kiss her and he couldn't get enough. One hand was cupping the back of her head, supporting her as he deepened the kiss and the other was slowly drifting down her arm, along her waist and even over her hip as he pulled her in even closer.

Maxwell knew he was playing with fire, knew he should stop, knew all this could lead to was further insanity. But, when she had slid over closer to him and was genuinely letting him out of telling her why he'd had his head squarely up his ass the past few weeks, he'd lost what little restraint he had left. All it took was her laying her hand on his arm and looking at him with those loving dark eyes and all rational thought flew right out the window. He had kissed her before he knew what he was doing.

And now, all he could think was how incredible she felt, how her lips tasted, the feel of her tongue in his mouth, how perfectly she fit in his lap and how he hadn't felt this alive in a long time. Oh, how he needed this, needed her.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard. Fran laid her head on Maxwell's chest and tried to catch her breath, listening to his heart pound beneath her ear. It seemed he was having a hard time breathing too. She smiled and looked up at him, desire still clouding her eyes.

He met her gaze and held it for a long time, lost in his own fog of desire. He leaned down to kiss her again and found her more than willing for an encore performance. This kiss was different though, slower, less frantic, but even more passionate if that were possible.

This time when they came up for air, Fran said "Honey, if you're going to kiss me like that, you can be pissed at me for an entire month and it would be worth it!"

Max chuckled and replied, "Now you know why I've had to keep my distance over the past few weeks, why I've had to be angry with you and not even allow myself to look at you."

"Oh really, and why's that? I'm afraid I don't understand. Sometimes I'm a little slow, Mr. Sheffield. I think this time, you're going to have to do some explaining."

"God help me Miss Fine, but if you're slow, I'm impetuous. If you want an explanation, I'll give it, you certainly deserve it after what I've put you through. However, I think you better get off my lap first or I'm not going to be able to concentrate enough to finish my sentences."

Now it was Fran's turn to chuckle and as gracefully as she could, slid off his lap and onto the seat next to him. Not an easy thing to do in a formal gown with heels, but she managed it.

Maxwell took a deep breath. "Ever since the 'thing' and our 'friendly' kiss on the stoop, I can't stop thinking about kissing you and holding you. Just being in the same room with you distracts me so much I can't get anything else done. I've had to distance myself from you these past few weeks or I'm quite afraid of what would have happened! I hated what I was doing to you, knew I was causing you pain, but I had no idea what else to do to control what I was feeling."

"And just what were you feeling, Mr. Sheffield?"

Maxwell hesitated and then said, "Feeling like I wanted to take you up to my room and show you right then and there that I was not some cold, unfeeling British gentleman." He looked out the window at this point, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

Fran chuckled again and turned his head back to her, leaned in and kissed him gently on the mouth. "Trust me, Mr. Sheffield, I do not think you are the least bit cold and unfeeling. If the last 10 minutes were any clue, I'd say more like hot and sexy, but definitely not cold and unfeeling."

He pulled her into a tight hug and said into her hair, "I am so sorry for how I treated you tonight. You're absolutely right, you saved my ass not once but three times tonight and I'm very grateful. How can I ever make it up to you?"

Fran, deciding to be a little wicked, said, "Gee, let me think about that, hmmmm." She ran a fingernail down his chest and stopped just short of his waistband. "Oh, I don't know, you got any ideas?" and tugged on his waistband a couple of times for good measure, letting her hint sink in fully.

Maxwell grabbed her hand and gently put it back on her lap. "Oh, I've got several ideas, none of which are probably legal in the back of a moving limousine."

As if on cue, the limousine rolled to a gentle stop in front of the mansion. Clevis wasted no time getting out and opening the door for them. With a shared sigh, they got out of the car, thanked Clevis and headed for the front door. Neither of them seemed to know what to say after their encounter in the limo.

In silence, they went inside, hung up their coats and headed up the stairs. Neither of them even realized they were hand in hand as they walked down the hall. Maxwell escorted Fran to her bedroom door, gave her another swift kiss and said quietly, "Just so you know, I think you look absolutely stunning tonight. Thank you being there for me. I won't forget it, I promise."

Fran smiled and said "Don't worry, I won't let you." And with that she leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, said "Goodnight" and went into her room, closing the door behind her.

Maxwell stood in front of her door for a long time before he headed off to his own room. He felt as if they'd made it past another hurdle in their relationship, but he still couldn't see the path clearly ahead. Something told him that nothing with that woman was ever going to be easy and as he smiled to himself, the small voice in his head piped up again and said "Yes, but isn't she worth all the effort?" He had to admit she most certainly was. As he got into his pajamas and laid down, he, for the first time in weeks, was able to relax and fall asleep almost instantly, knowing he was going to dream about that incredible brunette who was just feet from his door.

As Fran changed into her pajamas and got ready for bed, she smiled to herself. Maxwell may not have admitted his feelings to her in words tonight, but his actions sure spoke volumes. That man loved her, she knew without a doubt. Getting him to admit it to himself and then to her was going to be the challenge. It always had been. But, when you know something is 'bashert' (meant to be), it's just a matter of time before it comes to be. Fran knew in her heart she and Maxwell Sheffield were destined to be together. If she was careful and took her time, Maxwell would come to realize this all on his own. Drifting off to sleep, the tiny voice in her head spoke up "And if he doesn't, we'll just have to prod him along." With that comforting thought, Fran entered dreamland where a tall, dark and handsome Englishman waited for her.

The End