How to love

sixteen: More than enough

Frankie's point of view:

Jason.                                                                                                                                                                                  Just touched down, see you soon.

There was no swarm of butterflies, no warmth surging through my chest or igniting a fire in the pits of my stomach. Instead, just a restriction of air as my lungs were squeezed from all sense of breath. I could feel the sting of bile shooting up my oesophagus with every clenching knot that formed.

Pull yourself together, Frankie, I though as I straighten the picture that hung on the freshly painted walls. He is your very single, very off-limits boss, you have no right to have these feelings - I continued to scold myself but I just couldn't shake the heaviness that weight on my shoulders as the picture of Jason and Natasha remained engraved every time I blinked.

Stop it.

The airport was less than twenty minutes away, meaning I had a short period of time to somehow gather myself from the overbearing mess that I was and become professional. I walked around Jason's office, tweaking every last item to busy myself before he returns.

Then, my breathing in strangled. My entire body stiffens, my crying muscles asking to be relaxed as my eyes focus on the jingling doorknob. He was back, and looking even more delightful than before he went. He wasn't wearing a tie and his shirt was missing the top two buttons - did Natasha do that?

Stop.

"Wow." He breathes out with raised eyebrows and suddenly the feelings and thought of betrayal had been overshadowed by the spring of anxiousness. His eyes were scanning everything - the new wooden floors and the new oak desk, the new floor to ceiling bookshelves and hidden storage units right down to the splashes of colourful pictures that were now hung on the walls. It was a far cry from the monochrome shell he tucked himself away in.

I clear my throat quietly, pulling my shoulders back in hope that the tough exterior would keep up. "If there's anything you don't like, I'll change it."

His head whips from studying the new seating area and he frowns at my stone tone. "Are you okay? Did something happen while I was gone? Did Jillian give you a hard time?"

"No." I replied monotone. The glimpse of concern that pools his eyes makes my heart flutter involuntarily. "If your happy, I'll be going now."

As I turn swiftly on the balls of my feet prepared to make a quick exit and avoid the rising tension and string of curious questions, my wrist burned with his touch as he grabbed me. Fingers tingling my skin, pressing into my pulse to steady me on the spot. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as it went drier than the Sahara, my eyes enlarging in double their size as he tug me towards him.

"Frankie, what's going on?" He asks, intrigued to know why the sudden cold demeanour. "There's something you're not telling me and I want to know wha-"

"Why was Natasha with you in Hong Kong?"

The words fly from my tongue without a second though, burning like liquid metal and tasting just as horrible. I could see by the wrinkles drifting across his forehead that he was shocked, and his reaction just tightened the knots that curled in my tummy. The seconds of silence felt longer, his tongue pokes out to wet his dried lips which were parted to speak but no words spilled.

"I'm sorry." I quickly blurt, snatching my arm back from his embrace. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

I turn to escape once again, but find myself being gripped back into his vice grip. This time, instead of tugging on my wrist, his hand slips and curl around my fingertips. I wanted to jolt back, running straight out of the door and not looking back to his ridiculously handsome and worried stricken face. But I couldn't. I was bolted to the floor.