Lunch Surprise
The office hummed with the usual Friday morning energy, but the air around the coffee machine felt heavier than usual. Marc stood between Josh and Emily, nursing a fresh cup as the three of them kept their voices low. Josh had been cracking a light joke about the latest client email chain, trying to coax a smile out of Marc after the rough week. Emily listened with her usual sharp focus, nodding along while stirring sugar into her own mug.
Marc had kept his distance from Frank all morning, burying himself in the final tweaks to the pitch numbers. The hurt from the previous days still sat heavy in his chest, a dull ache that no amount of professional focus could fully dull.
Frank appeared at the edge of the small kitchenette without warning. His suit was impeccable as always, neat beard trimmed, short brown hair styled perfectly. He stopped a few feet away, hazel eyes locking onto Marc with clear intent.
"Marc," he said quietly, using the first name in front of the others for the first time. "Can we talk? Privately. Just for a minute."
Marc set his coffee down with deliberate calm. His expression stayed neutral, professional, the same mask he had worn since the sharp comments in the meetings. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Klink, but I think I will pass. I just fueled up on coffee to deliver better results for the pitch. Obviously I could not satisfy you enough in the last couple of days, so I need to focus on making sure the numbers are flawless this time."
The words landed with surgical precision. Emily's eyes widened, her spoon freezing mid-stir. Josh's easy grin vanished, replaced by stunned silence. Both of them stood there, waiting for the inevitable explosion. Frank had never taken anything resembling criticism well, especially not in front of the team.
But Frank did not explode.
He stood completely still, the professional mask cracking right there in the open. His jaw tightened, then loosened. His hazel eyes glistened suddenly, growing watery as he blinked hard once, twice. The big, untouchable alpha boss looked small for the first time any of them had ever seen. Speechless.
Josh recovered first. He cleared his throat and turned to Emily with a quick, forced smile. "Emily, could you do me a huge favor and pull the latest supplier data from the shared drive for the afternoon review? I think I need it updated before the meeting."
Emily hesitated, glancing between the three men, but she caught the serious look in Josh's eyes. "Sure. On it." She slipped away, leaving the kitchenette quiet except for the soft hum of the coffee machine.
Josh stepped closer to Frank and placed a firm hand on his broad shoulder. His voice dropped low but carried weight. "Actions and behavior have consequences, Frank. Fix it. He is probably more hurt than you right now."
Frank swallowed hard, the watery shine in his eyes not quite spilling over. He nodded once, short and stiff, then turned and walked back toward his glass-walled office without another word.
At exactly eleven fifty-five Frank's voice came over the internal messaging system. "Team meeting at noon in the main conference room. Mandatory. No exceptions."
The division exchanged nervous glances. Chris muttered something about another temper tantrum. Emily shot Josh a worried look. Marc stayed silent, jaw set, expecting the worst. They filed in at noon with the kind of tension usually reserved for bad quarterly results.
What they found instead surprised everyone.
The long conference table had been set with catering, platters of fresh sandwiches, salads, warm pastries, and bottles of sparkling water. Frank stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, no jacket. He gestured for them all to sit.
"Eat first," he said, voice quieter than usual. "Please."
They settled in, plates filled, but the room remained thick with uncertainty. Frank took a breath, looked around at each face, and began.
"I owe every one of you an apology. Not just for the last couple of days, but for all the time I have been your boss. I have been mean. Snobbish. Sometimes outright bullying. I put myself above the team, pushed too hard, and kept everyone at arm's length because I thought that was strength. I cannot understand why you all stayed as long as you did. The achievements we have pulled off together over the last couple of years, the big projects for the car manufacturers, the way you have delivered under pressure, I am so proud of that. Proud of you. I am embarrassed it took me this long to see what my behavior has done to people. To all of you."
He paused, eyes moving over the table again. Marc sat perfectly still, fork hovering over his plate, face unreadable.
Frank continued, voice steady but raw. "The only thing I ask now is that you stand up. Be open. Be transparent. Tell me when I slip back into the old me. I want to be better. I know my weakness now. It is this need to be strong and untouchable all the time. I sincerely want to change that. Starting today."
The room stayed quiet for a long beat. Emily shifted in her seat, hesitant. Chris looked down at his sandwich, clearly unsure about this sudden new Frank. Marc remained silent, arms crossed now, the hurt still fresh. He had opened Frank up, had seen the tender man underneath, only to be let down hard when the stress hit. People did not change that fast. He did not want to go through it again.
Josh broke the silence with a grin that carried both humor and edge. "Well, damn, Frank. If I had known all it took was one blond runner calling you out on your bullshit to turn you into a decent human being, I would have hired a personal coach years ago. Or at least bought you better running shorts."
The comment hung there, funny and harsh at the same time. Frank stared at Josh for half a second, then burst out laughing. A real, deep, genuine laugh that filled the room and made everyone jump. The team had never heard it before. Frank's shoulders shook, the sound warm and surprised, like he had forgotten he could make it. The tension cracked wide open. Emily smiled. Chris let out a nervous chuckle. Even Marc's mouth twitched, though the skepticism stayed in his eyes.
The rest of lunch passed with lighter conversation, Frank listening more than speaking, asking questions about their workloads and actually hearing the answers. When the plates were cleared and people started filing out, Frank caught Marc's eye.
"Marc, stay a minute. Please. I need to talk to you."
The others left, the door clicking shut behind them. Frank stepped around the table until he stood in front of Marc, close enough for Marc to catch the faint trace of his cologne.
"I am sorry," Frank said, voice low and sincere. "Deeply. I hurt you. I let the stress turn me back into the dickhead I have always been, and you did not deserve any of it. You sparked something good in me. Something I was afraid of. I need your help exploring it. And spending time with you makes me happy. Really happy. Come to my place tonight for dinner. No running beforehand. Just me cooking, and us talking. Please."
Marc looked at him for a long moment, the hurt still there, raw and protective. "I will think about it." He turned toward the door.
Frank reached out and caught his arm, the grip tender, almost pleading. "Please, Marc. I know I hurt you. I have been a complete dickhead. You sparked the good in me. You sparked something I was afraid of, and I guess I need your help exploring it. And spending time with you makes me happy."
Marc hesitated, eyes searching Frank's face. The watery vulnerability from earlier was still there, honest and unguarded. "I will be there around eight," he said finally, voice dry. "Still have to fix the numbers for the big pitch next week."
He left without another word.
At eight o'clock sharp Marc knocked on Frank's door. He had come straight from the office after a long evening of work, dressed completely casual, gray sweatpants, a simple black hoodie, and white sneakers. Comfort over everything.
Frank opened the door and Marc stopped short. The older man looked stunning. Expensive dark trousers and a fitted charcoal button-down that hugged his muscular frame perfectly. Fresh haircut and trim from the barber, neat beard shaped with precision, a hint of expensive cologne in the air. He looked like he had prepared for a perfect date.
Marc glanced down at his own outfit, then back up. "Wow. I am underdressed."
Frank's mouth curved into a soft smile. "You look perfect as ever. Authentic. Not like me."
Marc felt a reluctant warmth creep in despite himself. "You look perfect. And hot. You can change after dinner, but please stay like this for now."
Dinner was incredible. Frank had cooked with obvious care: perfectly seared steak, roasted vegetables, a rich red wine reduction, fresh bread still warm from the oven. He served it at the dining table with quiet focus, pouring wine, making sure Marc's plate was full. They ate slowly, conversation careful at first, then opening up as Frank spoke about his fears, the loneliness he had carried for years, how Marc had walked into his life and made him want more than the untouchable shell he had built.
At the end of the meal Frank stood, stepped around the table, and pressed a very tender kiss to Marc's forehead. "Thank you for coming. I am going to change into something more comfortable."
He returned a few minutes later in soft pajama pants and a loose tank top that showed the dark hair across his chest and the strong lines of his shoulders. Marc had moved to the large sofa, legs stretched out, the hoodie unzipped now.
Frank sat beside him and opened his arms. "Cuddles," he said simply. "No sex. Just holding you. Being near somebody I trust. Feeling the warmth I have not felt in years."
Marc blinked, surprised. He had expected the dinner, the sharp clothes, the apology to lead straight to the bedroom, to hot, possessive sex as makeup. Instead Frank wanted this. Closeness. Tenderness.
Marc shifted closer. Frank pulled him in gently until Marc's head rested against the broad, hairy chest. Strong arms wrapped around him, one hand stroking slowly up and down his back under the hoodie. Their legs tangled on the sofa, Frank's thigh pressed warmly against Marc's. The older man's heartbeat thumped steady and calm beneath Marc's ear. Frank's fingers traced light patterns along Marc's spine, then slipped under the hem of the hoodie to rest on bare skin, warm and reassuring. Marc let out a long breath he had not realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time in days.
They stayed like that for a long while, the city lights twinkling through the windows. Frank pressed occasional soft kisses to the top of Marc's head, his neat beard brushing blond hair. No words at first, just the quiet rise and fall of breathing, the solid warmth of Frank's body, the way his muscular arm held Marc close without any demand.
Eventually they moved to the bedroom. Frank guided Marc under the covers, then slid in behind him, pulling the younger man back against his chest. They spooned, Frank's arm draped over Marc's waist, hand resting flat over his heart. Marc turned his head and their lips met in slow, tender kisses, nothing rushed, just soft presses and gentle explorations. Frank's free hand cupped Marc's cheek, thumb brushing along his jawline with aching care.
"I mean it," Frank whispered against Marc's mouth between kisses. "I want this relationship to evolve. Slowly. Honestly. I want to be the man you see when the walls are down."
Marc's eyes stung with unexpected emotion. The hurt was still there, but it felt smaller now, softened by the genuine warmth radiating from the man holding him. "It is hard for me to believe people change this fast," he admitted quietly. "I thought I had opened you up, and then you let me down. I do not want to go through that again."
Frank held him tighter, forehead resting against Marc's. "I know. And I will prove it every day if I have to. No more hiding behind the grumpy boss. You make me want to be better. For the team. For you. For me."
They kissed again, deeper this time but still tender, mouths moving with quiet emotion. No hands wandered lower. No urgency built toward sex. Just closeness, warmth, the steady comfort of two bodies trusting each other in the dark. Marc felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes and let them come, silent and cathartic. Frank brushed them away with gentle fingers, then pulled him even closer until there was no space left between them.
They fell asleep like that, tangled together, the slow burn of their connection deepening into something steadier and more real than either had expected. For the first time in years, Frank's apartment and heart did not feel empty. And for the first time since the hurt had settled in, Marc allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, this time the change would last.
... To be continued
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