Never Underestimate Jamie Luther

5: Man enough

     The weeks blurred into a haze of late nights and whispered phone calls for Francesca. Fred Blackwood had crashed back into her world like a storm she hadn't seen coming, pulling her in with his endless stream of texts, calls, and those little gestures that made her heart race. 

   He had call her during lunch breaks just to say, "Hey, gorgeous, thought of you and that smile—it's killing me over here." Or he'd text in the middle of a meeting: 'Missed our coffee? Let's grab one. Got a lead that'll make your day.'

It wasn't the grand gestures; it was the constant buzz, the way he made her feel seen, like she was the center of his universe. Francesca found herself checking her phone every few minutes, her pulse quickening at the sight of his name on the screen.

Fred wasn't rolling in cash like Jamie—his "lavish" gifts were things like a bouquet of red roses delivered to her office with a note saying, *These don't hold a candle to you, but they're trying.* Or a box of artisanal chocolates from a local shop, paired with an invitation to a networking mixer where he'd introduce her to "the right people." But to Francesca, it felt like romance straight out of a movie.

 He helped her land a mini-deal—a $30,000 bridal shower package for a local influencer's sister—that would've taken her team months to chase down alone. 

  "You're a natural at this, Fran," he'd say over the phone, his voice low and admiring. "I told my contacts you're the best in the game. Watch how they come running."

Her company, Fems Luxury Eco-Tourism, started picking up steam. Not explosive growth, but a steady trickle of inquiries: a wellness retreat for a small corporate group, a destination vow renewal for a couple from the suburbs. It was exhilarating—finally, she was building something on her own terms, not just riding Jamie's coattails. Not just Jamie's perfection where he feels and act like everything would be the best or it might affect her new growing company.

She had come home buzzing, her green eyes sparkling as she recounted the day's wins to an empty kitchen, practicing how she'd tell Jamie later. But deep down, a knot twisted in her stomach whenever she deleted Fred's flirty texts, telling herself it was harmless. That they were just old lovers and good friends.

Jamie, on the other hand, felt like he was watching his life through a fogged window. 

  Francesca's laughter echoed less in their home now; instead, she would curl up on the couch or bed with her phone, a secretive smile playing on her lips as her thumbs flew across the screen. 

He would catch glimpses—her biting her lip, stifling a giggle—and his chest would tighten, a dull ache spreading like ink in water. She brushed off his questions with a wave. 

  "Oh, it's just work stuff," she would say, her tone light but edged with impatience. 

When he pressed, asking about this "Fred" who kept popping up, she'd roll her eyes. "God, Jamie, are you jealous? He's just an old friend helping me out. Not everyone sees enemies everywhere."

***********

One evening, the tension finally boiled over. Francesca stumbled through the front door well past midnight, the sharp scent of floral perfume and gin clinging to her like a second skin. Her steps wobbled on the marble foyer, heels clicking unevenly as she kicked them off, one skidding under the console table. The fiery orange lilies in the vases seemed to droop under the weight of the air, their petals curling at the edges. 

Jamie had been pacing the living room for hours, his long curly black hair disheveled from running his hands through it, brown eyes shadowed with worry. The grandfather clock ticked relentlessly, each second amplifying the knot in his gut.

"Francesca," he said, his voice steady but laced with strain as he stepped into the hall. He reached out a hand to steady her, but she breezed past, her brunette hair swinging like a curtain across his face.

"Must you stress me out the second I walk in, Jamie?" she snapped, her words slurring just enough to betray the drinks she had had. 

She tossed her purse onto the side table, knocking over a framed photo of them from their honeymoon—her in that fiery orange dress, him grinning like he'd won the lottery.

Jamie froze, his hand dropping to his side. His jaw clenched, veins pulsing in his neck as he fought the urge to grab her arm and make her look at him. "Stress you? I'm just asking if you're alright. You said you'd be home by nine."

She whirled around, her green eyes unfocused but flashing with defiance. A forced smile tugged at her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes—they darted away, landing on the lilies instead. "My head hurts, okay? I'm tired. Been a long day closing deals you wouldn't understand."

He studied her, his gaze unwavering, taking in the smudged lipstick, the way her blouse was untucked on one side. His stomach churned, a cold sweat prickling his skin. "Are you drunk?"

Francesca shrugged, crossing her arms like a shield. "So what if I am? I'm an adult, Jamie. I don't need a babysitter." Her voice rose, echoing off the high ceilings, and she let out a laugh that sounded more like a bark—harsh, brittle, cutting through the silence.

Jamie nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging as disappointment washed over him like a wave, pulling him under. He considered turning away, letting her stagger upstairs to sleep it off, saving the real talk for morning light. But as she brushed past him toward the stairs, that careless laugh escaped again, bubbling up like she'd forgotten he was there.

"Fred got me a deal," she announced, her words tumbling out with smug satisfaction, slurring at the edges.

Jamie's eyes narrowed, his breath catching. He turned sharply, his tanned hands balling into fists at his sides. "What?"

She leaned against the banister, grinning like she had won an argument he didn't know they were having. 

"Fred—my friend—hooked me up with a deal. Something that'd take 'you' four months to scrape together for me." Her tone dripped with triumph, her finger jabbing the air toward him.

Jamie let out a humorless chuckle, the sound hollow in his chest. His gaze dropped to her ear, where a dangling pearl earring caught the light—delicate, swaying like a pendulum. He racked his brain; had he given her that one? He'd showered her with jewelry over the years—diamonds for anniversaries, emeralds for her birthday—but this one felt off, unfamiliar.

And deals? Her Company was barely 7 months old. Fems Luxury Eco-Tourism Company. It too her other company 'Cesca and Co Apps and games development company' 1 year to establish their own direct customers base and that was from Jamie's constant referring and publicity. 

Francesca caught his stare at her ears, her hand flying up to touch it self-consciously. "Oh, this? Pearls. Gift for sealing the deal. Actually worth more than all that stuff you've ever tossed my way." She laughed again, the sound grating, her head tilting back as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

Jamie's forced smile cracked at the edges, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the back of a nearby chair. "Congratulations," he said, his voice hardening like steel cooling. "We'll talk more tomorrow when you are alright." He paused, his brown eyes locking onto hers, pleading silently for her to see the hurt. "But... be careful with this Fred guy, Fran. Something doesn't sit right."

Francesca's laughter died, her eyes flashing with raw anger. She stepped closer, her breath hot and gin-sweet on his face. "Are you insecure? Is that it? God, Jamie Luther, grow up."

He stared at her, the chasm between them widening with every heartbeat. This wasn't his Francesca—the woman who had laughed with him at Harvard galas, who had whispered promises in the dark. Her eyes were glazed, bitter, her posture defiant like a wall he couldn't scale.

 The lilies' scent thickened the air, suffocating, a reminder of the devotion he hadpoured into this home, now wilting around them. His throat tightened, unshed tears burning behind his eyes, but he swallowed them down, turning away before she could see.

***********

Jamie's unease had been festering like an open wound for weeks, raw and throbbing. The walk-in closet overflowed with Fred's "extravagant" tokens—scarves, trinkets, notes scribbled on cocktail napkins—that Francesca left scattered like trophies. She'd smile at her phone in the oddest moments, a secret, pleased curve to her lips that made his skin crawl. He'd pretend not to notice, but each time, his heart hammered harder, doubt coiling tighter in his chest.

One evening, after catching her mid-giggle at another text, Francesca headed to the shower, stripping off her clothes in a trail across the bedroom floor. Her phone slipped from her blazer pocket, landing face-up on the plush carpet with a soft thud. A message pinged through, the screen lighting up like a beacon in the dim room. Jamie hadn't meant to look—his eyes just flicked down instinctively—but there it was, bold and unmissable.

*Fred: You looked so cute sleeping earlier 😉. Can't stop thinking about that kiss...*

Jamie's blood ran cold, his breath hitching as if the air had been sucked from the room. His hands trembled, fingers itching to grab the phone and scroll, but he froze, staring at the words until they blurred. The rest was hidden behind the lock screen, but the suggestion hung there like smoke, thick and choking.

When Francesca emerged from the bathroom, steam billowing around her like a veil, her hair damp and skin flushed from the hot water, Jamie forced himself to stay calm. He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed to hide the shake in his limbs. "You still working that deal with Fred?" he asked, his voice casual, though it cracked just a fraction at the end.

She shrugged, towel-drying her hair with nonchalant flips. "Yeah, why? Jealous again?".

Jamie swallowed hard. He had his own news, something to pull her back to him. "I'm this close to sealing the Dubia family deal," he said, holding up two fingers an inch apart, trying to keep his voice steady. "It'll be the biggest of my career—could change everything for us." He paused, choosing his words like stepping on thin ice. "I'm not saying your business is small, Francesca, but... running birthday parties and bridal showers? It'll limit you. You should aim higher, set bigger standards for yourself."

Francesca laughed. She turned to him, a strange glint in her green eyes, her towel slipping slightly as she gestured. "Are you saying Fred isn't man enough? That his help is beneath me?"

The words slammed into Jamie like a physical blow. He wanted to lash out, to shout back something sharp that would cut her as deep, but the words stuck in his throat—he couldn't bring himself to disrespect her, not even now.

Instead, he snatched up his phone from the nightstand, his fingers gripping it so tight the case creaked. "I need some air," he muttered.

As he reached the doorway, her phone rang. He heard her pick it up, her voice shifting instantly to light and carefree. "...oh no, not really. You just fixed my mood. Tell me more about that idea you had..."

Jamie walked out, the words echoing in his ears.