Chapter Seventeen
"Felt the sexual tension as soon as I stepped foot in here."

"What the fuck happened to you?" Michael asked, raising his eyebrows as Arabella traipsed through the office door late that night, slamming a bottle of whiskey down on his desk.

"Nick cheated on me," she responded, not a hint of emotion in her eyes as she began to pour them both a drink.

"He what?!" Michael asked, almost standing up. Nick had the nerve to come to their office threatening him, and asking if Arabella was cheating, when that was exactly what he had doing the whole time.

Arabella waved him off, noticing the anger glazing over Michael's eyes. He was fully ready to storm out that door, find Nick and knock him out. "Don't waste your time. John's already hunting him down," she told him, tilting her head as she knocked back her glass of whisky. "Think he might bloody kill him."

"Yeah, well," Michael paused to swallow his own drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That bastard deserves it." Arabella could only nod in agreement, pouring them both another drink. Michael eyed her for a moment, wondering if he should actually check that she was ok. He wasn't exactly sure what to do in that type of situation, let alone what to say. "You deserve better, you know."

Arabella glanced up at him. "Bloody well right I do," she mumbled, bringing the glass to her lips again. She swallowed thickly, the alcohol continuing to burn down her throat, but she couldn't care less about it, she just wanted to drink, and drink, and forget.

"You should go steady on that," Michael warned her, slight smile curling at the corners of his lips. "Don't want to have to carry you home."

Arabella rolled her eyes, though she was biting back a small smile. She was glad she came back to the office, she couldn't bear to sit alone in her house wallowing – and even if her and Michael weren't always each other's favourite person, he was still company.

Michael silently watched Arabella, long overdue paperwork now at the back of his mind. He couldn't care less about Tommy, his mother, or the numbers, or Nick, or even Charlotte. Not when he looked at her, the way her skin basked underneath the warm glow of the light, the way her green eyes shone when she looked up at him with that half-smile, the one that hid so much pain, but covered it with so much strength. She was well and truly, something else. And Michael was glad that she was sat there with him at that very moment. That, after the arguments, the disagreements, the amount of time they'd spent apart, he was the one she trusted enough to turn to.

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting."

Arabella glanced up at Michael, eyebrows pulling together in a frown. Then, she considered what he said for a moment, realising that, yes, he was right, he had in fact been a dick to her lately and he should be apologising. "Why?" She found herself asking him, genuinely curious to know. "What changed?"

He shook his head, tilting the glass in his hands, attention falling on that as the whisky swirled around at the bottom. "Nothing." He hesitated for a moment. "I guess I just thought you had."

Arabella's frown deepened. "Me?"

"You came back from America rich and with a man you wanted to marry," he said, placing his glass down on the table. He reached for the bottle of whisky. "I thought you– I don't know what I thought."

"Well, I'm still the same old, Arabella," she told him, pushing her empty glass over to him. Michael took the hint, pouring her another drink. "The same old fucked up Arabella," she muttered to herself, picking up the glass. "You could have just talked to me, you know. Rather than having all these arguments at work."

"I know."

Arabella released a heavy sigh, leaning back in her chair. Exhaustion had began to overcome her all of a sudden, the day's events beginning to wear her out. "Everything's such a fucking mess."

Michael glanced up at her, sensing the tone in her voice. Instinctively, he placed his glass back down on the table, searching her face for some sort of give away, but he found nothing. Arabella had always been difficult to read. "Yeah," he eventually agreed with her. "It is."

Arabella looked up at him in confusion, meeting his eyes. There was a sense of hurt behind them, liking he'd been holding something deep inside him for a while, and she wondered whether it was what he'd told her the other day about Father Hughes. "You've still got people who care about you, Michael," she told him. "You've got your family, your mom, Charlotte," she listed off, struggling to hold back the bitterness in her voice when she named his girlfriend – also known as the girl who was making Arabella's working life a living hell by constantly distracting Michael.

"You've got family," Michael reminded her. Arabella shook her head, unconvinced by his words. "My mum loves you. Tommy, he cares about you. I mean, John is currently hunting down your ex boyfriend. You think they don't care?"

Arabella sat silently for a moment, understanding what Michael was trying to convey to her, but she still wasn't convinced. "None of that matters. I'm not blood."

"You're close enough," he responded. "And if it's not, then you've still got me."

Arabella glanced down, trying to hide the smile forming across her lips. "That might be the nicest thing you've said to me in weeks."

Their gazes lingered on each other for a few moments, both of them taking each other in for what felt like the first time since Arabella had returned from America all those months ago. Michael had missed her, he'd really fucking missed her, and now she was sat right in front of him, she was there, the Arabella he really knew. And the thought shouldn't have crossed his mind, but there was nothing more he wanted in that instant than to reach over the desk, take her in his arms, and kiss her.

Arabella wasn't sure whether the alcohol was messing with her head, but she could have sworn that Michael was gazing at her intently; looking at her the way that every girl wanted to be looked at.

"Arabella!"

Both their gazes were torn away, the pair of them turning towards the door as John Shelby burst inside, completely interrupting the moment. He had a satisfied grin on his face, toothpick hanging loosely between his teeth, and as Arabella's eyes scanned down him she noticed the blood and bruises coating his knuckles. "Found the little bastard, gave him a good talkin' to," John said as he strode inside the office, ruffling her hair with his hands, much to her displeasure. "Nobody's messing with our girl," he said, reaching over the table for the bottle of whisky. "You getting shit faced to celebrate?"

"To celebrate being cheated on?" Michael couldn't help but question John's poor choice of words.

"Ah, yes, every girl's dream," Arabella added on sarcastically, exchanging a smile with Michael as John rolled his eyes at the two of them.

"I preferred it when you two were at each other's throats," John said, pointing between them both as he took a swig of whisky from the bottle. "You at each other's throats in a different way now?" He asked with a teasing grin, earning a slap on the arm from Arabella. God, did Michael wish. "Whatever, deny it all you want," he shrugged, placing the bottle back down on the table. "Felt the sexual tension as soon as I stepped foot in here."

"Are you done?" Arabella asked exasperatedly. Meanwhile, Michael struggled to hide the colour flushing to his cheeks. John was putting thoughts in his head, and Michael was beginning to feel guilty for wanting to act on them.

"Yeah, yeah," John rolled his eyes, slinging an arm around Arabella's shoulder. "I beat up your boyfriend and this is the thanks I get."

"I never told you to beat him up," Arabella reminded him.

"Well, you didn't try and stop me," He pointed out. Arabella had no comeback for that, since it was a fair point. "Anyway, best be off. Sorry for interrupting," he grinned at the two of them once more, earning another hard glare from Arabella as he headed towards the door. "And don't worry, Nick won't be bothering you again – told him to fuck off back to America. Have fun you two." John shot them both a wink, before quickly slipping through the door before Arabella could chastise him any more.

Arabella watched as he shut the door behind him, leaving her and Michael alone in the room again. The air had become riddled with tension, both their minds instantly wandering to what John had said about them.

Michael quickly shook the thought from his head, reminding himself that he was with Charlotte. Arabella set her eyes anywhere but him, realisation creeping up on her that perhaps she hadn't just been annoyed with Michael's relationship because it was becoming a distraction, perhaps she'd also been annoyed because she was jealous of Charlotte.

"Nope," Arabella muttered to herself, shaking her head dismissively. That wasn't true, she wouldn't let that be true. She didn't see Michael that way, and she never would. He was her work partner.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked, watching curiously as she stood up from the chair, looking slightly flustered.

"Yeah," Arabella responded, giving him an assuring smile "I should probably head home, it's getting late."

Michael rose to his feet. "I'll walk you."

"There's no need," Arabella told him, smiling gently as he reached for his coat. "Honestly."

"Arabella," Michael's hand latched lightly around her wrist before she could leave, prompting her to take a few steps back towards him. There was barely any space between them as they stood in front of each other, hearts racing, eyes searching for something, though neither of them knew what. Michael released his grip on her, realising he didn't know what he wanted to say – that he had no idea how to convey how he felt to Arabella...And maybe that was for the best. "Just, uh..." he trailed off, eventually settling on his words. "Just be careful."

Arabella smiled softly. "See you tomorrow."

A/N

Michael and Arabella finally starting to realise their feelings for each other

VS

Michael bottling it and not telling Arabella how he really feels whilst he has the choice