CHAPTER 43: CHAPTER 43

Olivia’s POV

After Alex left, I tried to focus on organizing Maxwell’s files, but my mind kept replaying the bombshell revelation I’d just heard. *Gabriel had been dating Vanessa. Alex had stolen his twin brother’s girlfriend. And now I’ve involved myself in this twisted family drama.*

*Kira would definitely scream when she hears this.*

I was still lost in deep thoughts when Maxwell voiced out.

"Mr. Hopton."

I looked up from behind my desk. "Yes, sir?"

"I’ll need you to get my lunch when you go down to the cafeteria." He gestured to his sling with his good hand. "Obviously, I can’t manage carrying a tray in my current condition."

*Of course you can’t,* I thought sarcastically. *God forbid you should suffer even the slightest inconvenience.*

"Of course, sir. What would you like?"

"Grilled salmon, steamed vegetables, and sparkling water. From the executive dining room, not the regular cafeteria."

"I’ll take care of it," I said, already dreading what was waiting for me in the cafeteria.

*******

When I entered the cafeteria, the only thing I had in mind was finding a single table and having my lunch alone. But I’d barely gotten my tray when I spotted Patricia making a beeline for me across the room. Her hair was styled in loose waves today, and she was wearing a blouse with a very low neckline.

*Oh no. Not today. Please, not today.*

But there was nowhere to run. She appeared at my side like a horse in heat, her perfume so strong it made my eyes water.

"Oliver!" she purred, sliding her tray next to mine. "What a lovely coincidence running into you here."

*Coincidence, my ass. You’ve been stalking me.*

"Hi, Patricia," I managed weakly, keeping my voice hard.

"I was hoping we could sit together again," she continued, following me as I tried to find a table. "I brought my homemade cookies today, and I thought a strong, hardworking man like you might enjoy something sweet."

She actually batted her eyelashes at me. I didn’t know people still did that outside of old movies.

"That’s very kind of you, but I can’t stay long," I said desperately. "Mr. Wellington needs his lunch, and with his injuries..."

"Oh, that poor man," Patricia said, though she didn’t sound really concerned. "Though I have to say, Oliver, you’re such a dedicated employee. So... masculine and responsible."

*Masculine. If only she knew.*

We ended up at a small table near the windows, where Patricia spent the next twenty minutes trying to seduce me. She kept finding excuses to touch my arm, leaning forward so I could see her cleavage clearly and eating her sandwich like she wanted to eat me instead.

"You know, Oliver," she said, biting into her cookie in a way that was purely sexual, "I was thinking we should grab drinks after work sometime. Just the two of us."

*Not again.*

"I... uh..." I fumbled for an excuse, any excuse. "I’m really focused on my career right now."

"You always say that, Oliver. I don’t bite, you know," she laughed, reaching over to brush an imaginary crumb from my tie. Her fingers lingered on my chest, and I had to resist the urge to leap out of my chair.

"Speaking of work," I said quickly, standing up so fast I nearly knocked over my water glass, "I really need to get Mr. Wellington’s lunch before he..."

"Before he what? Fires you again?" Patricia giggled. "Don’t worry, Oliver. I’m sure a man like you can handle Maxwell Wellington."

*If only you knew the truth about that.*

*****

Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the executive dining room, waiting for Maxwell’s order while trying to recover from Patricia’s assault on my fake masculinity. The executive chef handed me a covered tray that smelled incredible - definitely a step up from cafeteria food.

I made my way back to Maxwell’s office, balancing the tray carefully. When I entered his office, he was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, looking so exhausted.

"Your lunch, sir," I announced, setting the tray down on his desk.

Maxwell opened his eyes and glanced at the covered dishes. "Perfect. Thank you, Mr. Hopton."

I started to turn away, eager to escape back to my corner and eat my own sandwich in peace, when his voice stopped me.

"Wait."

I froze. "Sir?"

Maxwell looked down at his sling, then back at me, his expression almost... vulnerable? "I’m going to need some assistance."

I blinked. "I’m sorry, what?"

"I can’t exactly feed myself with one hand in a sling," he said, gesturing to his immobilized arm. "I’ll need you to help me."

*You’ve got to be kidding me.*

"Sir, couldn’t you use your left hand?" I suggested desperately.

Maxwell held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers awkwardly. "Mr. Hopton, I’m right-handed. I can barely hold a pen with my left hand, let alone cut salmon and raise a fork to my mouth without making a complete mess of myself."

I stared at him, hoping he was joking. He wasn’t.

"So you need me to... feed you?" I asked weakly.

"Unless you’d prefer I starve," Maxwell replied dryly. "Though I suppose that would solve a lot of your problems, wouldn’t it?"

*Actually, yes. Yes, it would.*

But I couldn’t say that, so instead I found myself reluctantly approaching his desk. "Where... where should I...?"

"Pull up a chair," he instructed, removing the covers from his dishes. "Right here, next to me."

I grabbed a chair from the sitting area and positioned it beside Maxwell’s desk, close enough that I could reach his food but hopefully far away that this wouldn’t be completely mortifying.

It wasn’t far enough.

I had to lean in close to cut his salmon into bite-sized pieces, and I was strongly aware of his presence beside me - his expensive cologne, the way he watched my every movement, the fact that asides sex, this was probably the most intimate thing I’d ever done with another human being and it was happening with the man who’d made my life hell.

"Here," I said awkwardly, spearing a piece of salmon with his fork and holding it toward him.

Maxwell leaned forward slightly, his lips brushing against the fork as he took the bite. I tried to look anywhere else - at the window, at the ceiling, at the stack of papers on his desk - anywhere except at his mouth, but I couldn’t. It looked so enticing, so succulent, that for a moment, I wondered what it’d be like to actually kiss him.

"Very good," he murmured, chewing slowly. "Though you might want to stop staring at my mouth and look at what you’re doing, Mr. Hopton. Unless you’re planning to feed me my napkin next."

Heat crept up my neck as I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. I cut another piece of salmon, added some vegetables, and held the fork out to him again.

This time, when he leaned forward to take the bite, I made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

Maxwell was staring at me so intently that my stomach flipped. Not with his usual cold disdain or cruelty, but with something else entirely. Something that reminded me of...

*No. Absolutely not. Do not go there.*

But I couldn’t shake the feeling. There was something in his gaze that took me back to that first day in Dr. Heart’s office, before he’d revealed his true colors. That moment when he’d looked at me like I was the most fascinating person he’d ever encountered.

I quickly looked away, focusing on cutting his vegetables into smaller pieces.

"Mr. Hopton," Maxwell called quietly.

"Yes, sir?" I answered, keeping my eyes on his plate, waiting for whatever he wanted to say, but nothing was forthcoming. I wanted to look up, to know why he called my name, but I was scared of being lost in his eyes.

"Why aren’t you in the hospital?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. "I mean, shouldn’t you be getting proper medical treatment for your injuries?"

Maxwell chuckled, "I hate hospitals. All those beeping machines, the smell of disinfectant, nurses poking and prodding every five minutes. I’ll be fine."

"But what if your shoulder needs surgery? Or physical therapy? What if..."

"Mr. Hopton," Maxwell interrupted, amusement creeping into his voice. "Are you worried about me?"

*No! I’m worried about having to feed you lunch every day for the next month!*

"I’m just concerned about your recovery, sir," I said, offering him another forkful.

"How thoughtful," Maxwell murmured, accepting the bite. But he didn’t stop staring at me.

The silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft sounds of chewing. I kept my eyes focused on his food, cutting and arranging and trying to pretend this was a perfectly normal part of my job description.

But I could feel him watching me. Studying me. And with each passing minute, I grew more uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

"Is there something on my face?" I asked abruptly, still not looking at him directly.

"No," Maxwell replied slowly. "But there is something familiar about you."

My blood turned to ice water. "Familiar?"

"Mmm." He accepted another bite. "You remind me of someone. I can’t quite place it, but..."

*Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.*

"I have one of those faces, I guess," I said weakly, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Perhaps." Maxwell tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve. "Though it’s odd. The resemblance is quite striking, actually."

My hands were starting to shake as I cut his vegetables. "Resemblance to who?"

"A woman my friend went on a date with last Saturday," he said casually, "Attractive young lady. Long dark hair, brown eyes, worked as a lawyer."

The fork slipped from my trembling fingers and clattered against his plate.

"And the strangest thing," Maxwell continued, "her name was Olivia Hopton."

The world stopped.