Frankie's point of view:
I hiss as the cold water splashes against the throbbing red mark that now tainted my wrist in a ugly fashion, my eyes frantically searching for the time on the clock above my refrigerator. Mr Hayes would be pulling up in the next few minutes and here I was, biting back tears in hope not to ruin my mascara by crying over the mark my curling iron had made. Holding a wet rag on the mark, I rush to my bedroom in hope to find a bracelet big enough to cover it but I had nothing. Not even a big chunky bracelet from my hoarding college days.
I had no time to scramble deeper in my box of jewellery as my phone dings loudly from the living room. Checking my hair quickly in the hall mirror and narrowing my eyes at the sinful curlers that lay on the floor, I grab my cross-body bag and rush downstairs.
I wasn't a car fanatic, but when my eyes rested upon the sleek black Aston Martin DB11 parked out front of my apartment block, I couldn't help but gape in awe. The sight of the casually dressed driver was also a eye-watering sight.
He wore a white button down shirt and dark jeans, a camel coloured pea coat hugging his upper half and matching Chelsea boots on his feet. Leaning against the hood of his car, he looked like something from a magazine.
"Sorry, I hope you weren't waiting long." I apologised, thanking him quietly as he very kindly opened the door. He hurries to the drivers side and doesn't hesitate too turn the heating up to warm our frosty fingers.
"For you? Never." He cheekily grins. "Now, do you want to tell me where we're going?"
I bite back a giggle and give him the street name, watching his forehead wrinkle in confusion but doesn't take a moment to question. Although my stomach was tightening like a boy scout was practising his knots, I knew that to make him understand that he didn't need to use his wealth to win a woman, we needed to go here.
"So tell me about yourself, Miss Fields."
I jut out my bottom lip and my inner conscious crossed her arms and stomped her foot at the oh-so-formal address.
"First off, please can you call me Frankie?" I plea with him, watching as he cautiously removes his eyes from the road for a split second to look at me quickly. A small and timid smile graces his lips and he nods. "Thank you - Jason."
Even the use of his first name made the hairs right across my body stand to attention and by the cough that erupts from the pit of his throat. He shifts almost uncomfortably in his seat, his hand tightening and untightening around the steering wheel.
"What do you want to know? There's not exactly much to tell."
He shrugs. "Everything. Your family, your friends. What makes you, you."
The sense of vulnerability crept up within me and although the warm air leaving the cars air vents made me cosy, I couldn't help but feel a cold chill run down my spine. I tug on the sleeves of my leather jacket and bite at my inner cheek.
"Well, uh, my real name is Francesca Marilyn Fields. Marilyn after Monroe, Francesca after my dad - Frank." I pause and shrug my shoulders slightly, diverting my gaze to the passing city that zoomed by. "My mom passed away when I was nineteen from a long battle with stage four pancreatic cancer. I have a sister, Flo or Florence although if you called her that now I'm pretty sure you would lose a limb."
He chuckles and I smile down at my fiddling fingers that rested in my lap.
"Flo is older, she's twenty-nine and happily married to her childhood.sweetheart and they have my beautiful little niece, Vivian. She's four. Uh, my best friend from middle school is still my best friend even though she lives in California to attend ULC."
"Did you go to college?"
I nod, "I studied interior design for three years at Princeton."
"So you're a New Jersey girl."
I nod again. "Through and through."
He dips his head to get a better view outside the windscreen and I watch as his face becomes masked with complete confusion. I beam. He pulls into the nearest parking space, knocking off the sat-nav that repeatedly echoed that we were at our destination.
"We're here?" His statement sounded more like a question. "Where exactly is this?"
I unbuckle my seat belt like a excited child and motion him to follow me. He does but the lost puppy look is still prominent on his extremely defined features. My directions led us just down the street of where we actually going, knowing too well that if he programmed in the exact location, it would completely give it away.
"Miss Fiel- Frankie." He says, his steps falling in line with mine. "Where are you taking me?"
"Why did you want to take me to the most expensive restaurant in all of New York?"
The question clearly took him off guard, judging by the look on his face. His breath turns into a mist in the blustery cold air and my body was suddenly craving the warmth of Jason's car again. He digs his hands deep into his pockets, something he must do when he's feeling nervous.
"I thought that's what woman liked - to be wined and dined." He says so innocently my heart melt. "I never had anyone complain before, or deny my invitation to be honest. You're the first."
I laugh softly. Our steps were slow and suddenly I didn't care about the freezing temperature.
"Dinner out is a lovely gesture, but only ever so often - and not to a place that costs more than a month's rent on one dish." I tell him and he laughs. Before yesterday I hadn't seen Mr Hayes apart from magazine covers and now here we were, wandering down the streets I had so often walked alone, like old friends.
Was this weird? He was my boss.
"You have a tendency of spacing out, Frankie." He mutters with a hidden smile lifting his tone. "Did I not already say that I took offence at being ignored?"
"Sorry." I murmur quietly. I flick my eyes up to the neon lights and beam, the pit of my stomach flaring with excitement. "We're here!"
He furrows his brows, looking at the tall structured building in front of him. I was like a child about to enter a candy store whilst he stood just as bewildered as the moment I gave him a fake address.
"Dave and busters?" He says and I nod, my flushed cheeks aching with a grin. "You realise I'm twenty-eight, don't you?"
"So?" I scoff, the temptation to reach for his hand and drag him inside rising within me. "You can't tell me that arcade games don't get you excited."
His nose wrinkles and I roll my eyes, reaching for the door to be startled with the suddenly presence of a hand darting before me. These chivalry gestures made me swoon, and I'm sure the blush that crept up my neck gave it away. But he didn't say anything.
Gentleman.
The neon lights and loudness released my inner child, and even at twenty-five, I still became excited at the sight of the hundreds of games surrounding me. We were ushered to a booth, secluded enough to ignore the elated squeals of excited kids, but still in eye view of the air hockey machines that I was itching to get at.
"Why here? Out of all the places in the city, and outside it in fact, why here?" He asks, folding his coat and setting it beside him. His half-rolled sleeves clench around his prominent biceps and they revealed his broken watch. For a man who was worth millions, the curiosity of why he wouldn't by a new watch burned me.
I clear my throat, the embarrassment smothering me already. I kept my gaze to the folded menu in front of me, blanking his curious looks.
"I thought you could use some fun." I quietly grumble under my breath. He leans forward, his arms crossing over the table. "How many times have you dined in a overly expensive restaurant and had fun?"
He didn't respond.
"You spend so much money on dates when realistically - this is enough."
"This is enough?"
I wanted to cradle his innocence. He was so tainted from past relationships and from such a young age too. His money and wealth was everything to him, it was a power and he thought he needed to use that to find some kind of security.
He thought he needed to use it to find love.
"Jason." His name tickles my tongue. The feeling of calling my boss by first name was still strange. "When your significant other half depends on your financial support to somehow lead their dream life of luxury, then they are materialistic. It shouldn't matter if you have one dollar, or one million, if a person loves you for you - then money doesn't matter. Expensive restaurant don't matter."
My words seem to cut deep. He sat motionless, letting them sink in deep but his silence made me uncomfortable.
"For me, I would rather be stood in my kitchen cooking with my partner. Or sitting on the sofa arguing over a takeaway, not worrying about if I looked presentable enough to dine in a restaurant that earns more money in one night than I did it six months."
He again, was silent. I hated when he didn't speak - which he seemed to do a lot.
And he had the audacity to speak about me being ignorant when I blank out and he basically was doing the same thing.
I clear my throat. "I hope you're good at air hockey. I'm a reigning champion."
He smiled.
| | |
"No way!" I shriek, my eyes widened at the congratulating sirens that blared from the basketball machine. The previous top score was wiped clean and was newly replaced by Jason's.
His smile stretched from ear to ear, the wrinkles forming at the side of his eyes and a small yet evident dimple creasing in the corner of the left side of his mouth. His eyes gleamed in exhilaration as he receives thrilled congratulations from the group of young boys who watched on with wide eyes.
"You had to have played before!"
I was still in shock and he laughs at my reaction, thanking me as he takes back his coat from my hands. We move our way through the arcade, already tackling the car racing game - in which he won - and now we drifted towards the claw machines. I frown, I was never good at these.
"Which one?" He asks, pushing money inside the slot.
I hum. "That one - the red one with the black bow."
While I would have failed miserably, his effortless winning streak continued as the claw clamps around the red stuffed dog and brings it to the drop box. He retrieves it and nudges my opened jaw closed with my knuckle.
"Right that's it - what's your secret?"
He laughs, loudly and effortlessly, making my heart swell twice it's size. The greatest amount of pride crawls into my chest. He was having fun - actual, belly-laughing fun.
"I've just got the touch." He winks and my knees feel weak. "C'mon, let's see if you can keep your title."
The air hockey machine.
Me and my best friend, Zoe, have been regulars since we were in middle school and slowly we became experts at air hockey - but I always won. Zoe was too soft and too scared when I hit the puck too hard, she always complained that I would break her finger or put a eye out if I hit it any harder.
He looks at me from across the table, brows risen and a cheeky smirk lingering on his lips. The previous scores were cleared and the double zero's appeared, the air beginning to blow out as I put the bright orange puck onto the table.
"Game on." He smirks.
I couldn't let him win. I just couldn't. I wasn't competitive - actually, I was and now I found out, Jason was too. He twirls the puck between his fingers, the smirk still shadowing his lips. He still looked effortless, not breathless, not even breaking a bead of sweat whereas I could feel the curls drop with my spike of temperature and a sudden perspiration pricking the back of my neck.
"Five-five." He says ever-so-confidently. I huff a breath, and shove of the leather jacket that was sticking to my sweaty skin. Suddenly my competitive trait was out in full force.
"Game on."
The hard hitting puck crashes against all sides of the table, our hand-held defences whacking the puck against the smooth surface and creating loud pings against the plastic edges. I was not giving up.
With one hard and final crack, the roar blares through the speaker.
"Player one, winner."
I shriek, my arms shooting into the air in utter elation. Too busy jumping at my victory, I hadn't noticed that he stood smiling at me and chuckling in amusement. My cheeks flushed.
"I wouldn't have took you for a competitive type, Frankie." he says as we leave my winning table. "Dare I say, you may be almost as competitive as me."
"It's always healthy to have friendly competition." I say. "I hate how the world thinks a man should always let a woman have her way. Like - no. If i suck at something, don't let me win. If I want something, don't get me it. Let me be strong and independent."
We grab two drinks from the snack bar and sit on the high bar stools, my jacket falling across my knees.
"Is that still your attitude if you're in a relationship?" he questions. "You don't want your man getting you want you want? You don't want him showering you with gifts, being at your beckon call for anything your heart desired?"
My nose wrinkles. Showered with gifts?
"I would never ask someone for anything, especially not gifts. My mom always called me stubborn and I guess she was right. I can be. But I guess what I mean is that, I don't want to feel like I'm dependent on my significant other because then it looks fake. It looks like I'm using them, or that I'm a spoilt child who hates when they don't get their way. Also gifts? Being in mere touching distance from somehow who I love with every inch of my soul would be the biggest gift ever given."
He hums and again resorts to being quiet but this time I don't interrupt him. I get lost in my own thoughts, wondering what he was thinking. Wondering what his intentions were. Wondering what my own where.
My heart screamed at me, telling me that Mr Hayes needed a good and honest woman to open his eyes to the women who swooned him. To show him they weren't right for him. To show him that what he thought was love, isn't.
But my head screamed louder that i had.no idea what i was doing.
And for some reason, my head was winning.
"Thank you." He suddenly speaks. I raise my brow, sipping from my straw as I wait for him to continue. "I know that this was a lot to ask - teaching me how to love, or how to find it. I appreciate it, truly I do and even though it's barely been twenty-four hours, I feel like I'm understanding what I've been missing."
I sit in silence, watching as a small smile sneak across his lips. I wasn't sure if he smiled a lot, considering I had never met him before yesterday.
"With Natasha, everything had to suit her." He begins again as I lean my chin on my hand. "If it wasn't involving me buying her something or treating her to a meal of some sort. I couldn't honestly be able to tell you when I last properly laughed with a girl, relationship or not."
"I'm glad I'm so humorous."
He laughs and it makes me smile wide with pride. "I've barely even spent fifty dollars tonight and I've easily had the best night in a long time."
"Well you would have spent less if you let me pay for dinner, or any of those games in fact."
"Then I wouldn't be a gentleman and my mom would quite literally kick me into the next city if she ever found that out." His deadpan expression tells me he was serious, but my bursting giggle makes him laugh. "I'm not even kidding, the woman is like a fire breathing dragon."
"You can't tell me you're scared of your mom at twenty-eight."
"I'll still be afraid of her when I'm eighty-eight." He jokes. The silence surrounds us again and for some unexplained reason, it felt normal. It was weird but it didn't last too long before he spoke again. "Can I ask you something, and please feel free to tell me to mind my own business."
I was confused. "Go on."
"The mark on your wrist - it looks pretty new, and sore."
I groan, pushing the palm of my hand into the centre of my forehead. My body, which had only cooled down from my intense air hockey skills, flared back up again ashamed of my clumsiness.
"It is new, and it was sore now it's just.. tender." I mumbled, rolling my thumb over the imprinted mark. "It was my curling iron. Before you can say anything, it's easier to burn yourself with those things than you think."
He laughs and hums suspiciously.
"I didn't think you noticed."
"Of course I noticed." He says. "Why do you think I let you win at air hockey?"
| | |
I just want too clear something up! While it may seem that this story could be possibly moving too fast (like the whole, falling in long within the first 5 chapters.) but I promise that's not going to happen! Right now they are just becoming friends and it's nothing more than her helping him open his eyes!
Also, I'm from Ireland and I've never been to New York so if I get things wrong please forgive me!
I can't beg enough for you too vote and comment! xoxo