Fran made her way around the table, setting each place carefully. She smiled, thinking back to when she first started working for Maxwell.

She immediately set a place for herself at the dining room table, making herself apart of his family. Even then she couldn't imagine her life without Maxwell Sheffield being involved somehow.

She became aware of his presence before she physically felt his arms encompass her waist. Fran leaned into him, wrapping her arms over his.

"So, what's for dinner?" he whispered kissing her ear. "I know Robert's ill."

"Chinese. I felt like something spicy."

"I'm always in the mood for something spicy," he replied running his hands over her body.

"Max, the children can walk in at any moment.

"I told you before sweetheart, I can do it in two minutes."

Turning in his embrace, Fran slipped her arms around his neck and met his mouth in a gentle kiss. His hands slid slowly over her back, moving downward until he cupped her bottom. Her short flared skirt rose above her thighs as he lifted her onto the buffet.

"Fran," he growled nudging her legs further apart with his body.

She anchored her legs around his waist, drawing him into her body. Maxwell's hands held her waist firmly, thrusting him self against her center. He felt her moan rumble against his chest as his lips brushed over her jaw.

His fingers gathered the hem of her sweater when a warning of the children catching them flashed in her mind. She drew a deep breath and forced herself to stop him.

"You're wrong Max," Fran said answering his questioning gaze. Their labored breathing was pregnant with their passion. "That was two minutes and that was just a warm up."

Tracing her profile with his index finger, he said, "You do amazing things to me Francine."

She kissed the tips of his fingers as his hand passed over her lips and stroked the column of her throat. His hand continued to move downward until he reached the valley between her breasts. Following the path of his fingers, Maxwell pressed his mouth against her, licking and tasting her bare skin.

"Thank you, but I think we should continue this later in a more appropriate setting."

"Are you sure?"

He flattened her palm against his chest. She watched in curious fascination as he pushed her hand down his torso, passing over his belt buckle. Fran forced herself to stop when he moved her hand further down his body.

"You don't play fair Max."

Before he could respond, Jonah yelled, "Dinner's here!"

"I have to talk to my son about his timing," Maxwell said as he released her wrist. He closed his eyes, forcing the image of what he and Fran were about to do out of his mind. "We will finish this much later."

As Grace spooned a portion of Chow Mein onto her plate, she felt Eve nudge her leg underneath the table. She shook her head, silently telling her sister that this was not the place to bring up their mother's writing.

Eve nudged her again, shifting her eyes to their mother. Grace relented, putting her napkin down on the table. When did Eve become such a pain in the tuchas? A faint smile crossed her face. Now I remember. It was when she learned to talk.

"Mom, how are your writing classes coming?" Grace asked

"Yes sweetheart, you haven't mentioned it lately."

Fran looked at her expectant family. She was a little uneasy telling them the news but she remembered Joanna's insistence.

"You remember Joanna?"

"Your friend from writing class?" Grace asked.

Fran nodded. "She's read some of my work and she thinks I should submit it for publishing."

"That's wonderful darling!" Maxwell leaned over and kissed her cheek. Remembering what he read in Sacramento, he whispered, "Just out of curiosity, what are you planning to submit?"

Lowering her voice, Fran replied, "Is there any story in particular you don't want me to submit?"

Clearing his throat, Maxwell sat up and finished his dinner.

"So what are you going to submit mom?" Jonah asked.

"I think you should submit your poem," Eve said.

"What poem?"

Fran set her chopsticks down and stared at her youngest daughter. Eve's eyes dart nervously, her mind desperately searching for an answer.

"Mom, please don't be angry," Grace said. "We were in your office earlier and we read the poem on your desk."

"Grace, you and Eve both know you shouldn't have been in your mother's office without her permission."

"Somebody's in trouble," Jonah said in a singsong tone.

Maxwell pressed the napkin to his mouth before dropping the cloth on the table. "Jonah, you may be excused."

"But dad, - "

"Jonah, please do as your father asked."

"Can I, I mean may I at least finish dinner in the kitchen?"

Maxwell locked eyes with his son. "Jonah Samuel Sheffield, if you haven't left this room by the time I count to three, I promise you'll be extremely sorry."

Jonah rose from the table. He knew by the stillness in his father's voice that he had pushed him too far. When Jonah's footsteps faded on the stairs, Maxwell turned his attention back to his daughters.

"I'm surprised at both of you. Your mother's office is her private sanctuary."

"We're sorry," Eve said. "We really are but that poem – ma, it's beautiful."

Fran's anger softened. "You really liked it?"

"Mom, I loved it," said Grace. "Just when I think I know you, you do something awesome and amazing. Please don't be too angry with us. I promise it won't happen again. Right Eve?"

"Yes, we promise."

"Your apology is all so well and good," Maxwell said, "but you need to be disciplined. I can't punish you," he said looking at Grace, "but I can punish you," he told Eve. Fran rose to clear the table. "Put the dishes down Fran."

"But Max, - "

"Eve will be clearing the table and washing the dishes tonight. And there will be no television, stereo, computer, or telephone."

"Until when?"

"Until I say so."

"Daddy, isn't that a little harsh?" Eve whined.

"The longer you protest, the longer your punishment. Do you really want to run that risk?" Eve shook her head. "I didn't think so."