CHAPTER 150: CHAPTER 150

Kira’s POV

When Maxwell backed away from me again, shaking his head like I was some kind of demon sent to torture him, I just stared at him, completely dumbfounded.

Is this man actually going crazy right now?

"Mr. Wellington," I said firmly, keeping my voice professional despite my confusion. "My boss ordered me to drive you home. That’s what I’m going to do."

"No," he said, still backing away. "I’ll find someone else. Anyone else. Just not..."

Enough of this nonsense.

I didn’t have time for whatever bizarre breakdown he was having. The man clearly needed help - he looked like death warmed over, all pale and sweaty and desperate - and I wasn’t about to stand here arguing with him.

So I did what any good security professional would do.

I closed the distance between us in three quick steps, grabbed him by the arm, and shoved him into the back seat of Damien’s car - which was next to his.

"Hey! What are you..."

"Relax," I said, slamming the door shut before he could escape. "I’m going to do my job. I’m Damien’s head of security, and my boss gave me an order. So sit back, shut up, and let me drive you home."

I jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine before Maxwell could protest further.

From the back seat, I could hear him muttering - half to himself, half to whatever deity he was currently cursing.

"This is it. I’m finished. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? Why..."

"Sir," I interrupted, adjusting the rearview mirror so I could see him. "Should I drive to your home address? Or should I just drive in circles until you feel better?"

"Drive to my damn address!" he snapped, then groaned and held his stomach. "Wait, do you know my address?"

"Yes, sir. I drove my boss there once."

"Then GO!" His voice was desperate now. "Drive as fast as you can. I promise - I swear - if you can get me home in the next twenty minutes, I’ll pay you whatever you want. Name your price."

I glanced at him in the mirror. "Sir, your house is a forty-minute drive. Minimum. Maybe longer with traffic."

"I KNOW!" He was practically shouting now, his face contorted in pain. "That’s why I said do your best! Twenty minutes! Just DRIVE!"

"Yes, sir."

I pulled out of the parking garage, headed toward the exit, and merged into traffic.

For about two minutes, everything was fine. I was driving at a decent speed, determined to get Maxwell home safe.

Then I saw an opportunity.

Maxwell have been really cruel to Olivia. Especially with the incident that happened on Saturday. He had invited my friend for lunch, only to have his ex girlfriend point a gun to her head. And how had he handled it? He’d rode off with the crazy woman into sunset.

From 45 mph, I slowed down to about 25.

"What are you doing?" Maxwell’s voice came from the back, filled with panic. "Why are we slowing down?"

"Just being cautious, sir," I said innocently. "There’s a lot of traffic ahead."

"THERE’S NO TRAFFIC! The road is completely clear! DRIVE!"

"I want to make sure we’re safe..."

"SAFE? I’M ABOUT TO SHIT MYSELF IN THE BACK OF MY BROTHER’S CAR! SAFETY IS NOT MY PRIMARY CONCERN RIGHT NOW!"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Oh, Olivia is going to love this story.

I sped up again - for about thirty seconds. Then I slowed down even more, this time pulling over to the side of the road completely.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Maxwell was leaning forward now, gripping the back of my seat. "Why are we stopping?"

"I heard a sound," I said, putting the car in park. "Something’s wrong with the engine."

"NOTHING IS WRONG WITH THE ENGINE!"

"I definitely heard something. Let me just check."

"NO! DON’T..."

But I was already out of the car, walking around to the front, making a big show of lifting the hood and peering inside like I had any idea what I was looking at.

Maxwell had rolled down his window and was practically hanging out of it, his face a mask of anguish. "Please. Please, I’m begging you. There’s nothing wrong with the car. Just get back in and DRIVE!"

I tilted my head, listening to absolutely nothing. "No, I definitely hear something. It’s like a... clicking sound? Or maybe a grinding?"

"THE ONLY THING GRINDING IS MY SANITY!" Maxwell roared. "GET BACK IN THE CAR!"

"Just give me one more minute..."

"I DON’T HAVE A MINUTE!"

I took my time, walking around the car slowly, occasionally crouching down to look underneath, nodding at imaginary problems.

Maxwell’s curses were creative and desperate. I heard at least three new combinations of curses I’d never heard before.

Finally, after what was probably five minutes but felt like an eternity to Maxwell, I got back in the car. "Okay, I think it’s fine. Must have been nothing."

"MUST HAVE BEEN..." He cut himself off with a groan. "Just drive. Please. I’ll double whatever I said I’d pay you. Triple it. Just GET ME HOME!"

I pulled back onto the road and started driving again.

For two whole minutes.

Then I slowed down again, this time stopping at a yellow light that I definitely could have made it through.

"THAT LIGHT WAS YELLOW!" Maxwell screamed from the back. "YELLOW MEANS GO FASTER, NOT STOP!"

"I thought it was safer to..."

"I’M GOING TO DIE BACK HERE! IS THAT SAFE?"

The light turned green. I started moving forward.

At exactly 15 mph. In a 45 mph zone.

"Oh my GOD," Maxwell moaned. "Are you doing this on purpose? Is this some kind of revenge? Did I fire your brother or something?"

"I’m just being a cautious driver, sir. Safety first."

"SAFETY FIRST? I’M ABOUT TO EVACUATE MY ENTIRE DIGESTIVE SYSTEM IN YOUR BOSS’S CAR! HOW IS THAT SAFE?"

I fought to keep my expression neutral. This was the most fun I’d had in weeks.

About twenty minutes into the drive, I pulled over again.

"NO!" Maxwell’s voice was hoarse now, destroyed from all the yelling. "No more stops! I don’t care if the engine is on fire! KEEP DRIVING!"

"But sir, I really think..."

"I WILL BUY YOU A NEW CAR! I WILL BUY YOU TEN NEW CARS! JUST PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, DO NOT STOP THIS VEHICLE!"

I pretended to listen for the mysterious sound again, my head tilted.

That’s when Maxwell spotted it.

A hotel. Just across the street. Nothing fancy - a mid-range chain hotel that was probably used by travelers and road-trippers.

"STOP!" Maxwell shouted suddenly. "Stop the car!"

"But sir, I thought you wanted me to..."

"STOP THE CAR RIGHT NOW!"

I pulled over immediately, confused. Was he going to... do it? Right here?

Maxwell was already fumbling with the door handle, his movements jerky and desperate. "I can’t - I can’t do this anymore. I can’t spend another second in this car with you."

"Sir, we’re only halfway..."

"I DON’T CARE!" He finally got the door open and basically fell out of the car, stumbling slightly before catching himself on the door frame. "You’re fired. Tell Damien you’re fired. I don’t ever want to see you again. You’re the worst driver in the history of transportation. You’re..."

Another cramp must have hit him because he doubled over, groaning.

"Sir, are you sure..."

"GO!" He waved one hand at me weakly while the other pressed against his stomach. "Just GO! Leave! Get out of my sight!"

I watched as he straightened up with huge effort and started making his way across the street toward the hotel. His walk was stiff, awkward, each step clearly causing him pain.

He made it to the hotel entrance, pushed through the doors, and I saw him nearly collapse against the front desk before disappearing deeper into the building.

Well. That was entertaining.

I sat in the car for another minute, making sure Maxwell wasn’t going to come stumbling back out. When I was certain he’d found whatever bathroom he desperately needed, I pulled out my phone and dialed Damien.

"Kyle," Damien answered. "Did you get Maxwell home?"

"Not exactly, sir," I said, making sure my voice was filled with concern. "I tried my best, but Mr. Maxwell... well, he wasn’t feeling well. Very sick, actually. I was driving him home as carefully as possible - didn’t want to hit any bumps or accelerate too quickly in case it made his stomach worse - but he became very agitated."

"Agitated how?"

"He started yelling at me, sir. Saying I was driving too slowly, too carefully. I tried to explain that I was just concerned for his wellbeing, but he got upset." I paused, letting my words sink in. "Eventually, he told me to stop the car and said he didn’t want my help anymore. He got out at a hotel - I think he needed to use the facilities urgently - and told me to leave."

There was a long silence. Then Damien sighed. "That sounds like Maxwell. He doesn’t handle being sick very well. Or accepting help from anyone."

"I’m sorry I couldn’t complete the task, sir. I really tried to make the drive as smooth and comfortable as possible."

"I’m sure you did your best, Kyle."

"Should I wait here in case he needs assistance? I could stand by..."

"No, no. Come back to the office. If Maxwell needs help, he’ll call one of his own people. You did what you could."

"Yes, sir. Returning now."

I hung up and smiled to myself.

Mission accomplished.

I had successfully tortured Maxwell Wellington for a solid twenty minutes, and I’d done it in a way that made me look like the considerate, concerned employee while he looked like the unreasonable, difficult boss.

Sorry, Maxwell. But you messed with the wrong best friend.