CHAPTER 46: CHAPTER 46

Olivia’s POV

Alex’s office - the same place I’d been avoiding - suddenly felt like a sanctuary after the nightmare I’d just experienced with Maxwell this morning.

*Is like the man is intentionally trying to give me a heart attack.*

I collapsed into the chair across from Alex’s desk, my legs still shaking slightly.

"Coffee?" Alex asked, already pouring two cups from his personal coffee machine. "You look like you need it."

"Please," I managed, my voice sounding drained.

He handed me a cup and a plate of chocolate biscuits, settling into his own chair across from me.

We sat in silence for exactly thirty seconds.

Then we both burst out laughing.

"Oh my God!" Alex gasped, "Did you see his face? I have never - and I mean *never* - seen Maxwell look that disoriented in my entire life!"

I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. "He looked like he’d been struck by lightning!"

"I wish I could have taken a picture!" Alex wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. "Gabriel would never believe this if I told him. Maxwell Wellington, the man who is always flawless at all times, standing there with his belt undone looking like he’d been through hell!"

We burst out laughing again, and the only thing going through my mind at that moment was, *Laugh all you want now, Olivia, because you’re dead meat.*

"So you have a twin brother huh?" I asked between giggles, "Have you both always been close to Maxwell?"

"Yes." Alex nodded, his eyes still sparkling with laughter. "Maxwell and I were roommates, but he also hit it off with Gabriel at first sight. We’ve been tight ever since."

I nodded, finally understanding the bond between them. But then I was strangely curious to know more about Maxwell.

"How was he like in college?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Alex chuckled, "Maxwell has always been the perfect one. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect everything. He’s the guy who would show up to frat parties in a pressed shirt while the rest of us looked like we’d been dragged through a hedge backwards."

I found myself leaning forward, genuinely fascinated. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. Gabriel and I used to joke that Maxwell was manufactured in some kind of CEO factory because no real human could be that composed all the time." Alex took a sip of his coffee, grinning. "He’s spent years making fun of Gabriel and me whenever we made fools of ourselves with women or work or anything really. And now..." He gestured dramatically toward the door. "Now he’s the one standing there looking like a deer in headlights because his assistant accidentally grabbed his..."

"DON’T SAY IT!" I interrupted, my face turning crimson again.

Alex dissolved into laughter again. "This is the best day of my life. I’m never letting him live this down."

Suddenly, I wanted to know more. I wanted to know why Maxwell was always so controlled? What he was hiding behind all that arrogance? Did his best friends know of his double life as a love doctor? And most importantly, why did he seem to have such a personal vendetta against both Olivia and Oliver?

"Is he always so..." I searched for the right word. "Intense?"

"Intense is one word for it," Alex said thoughtfully. "Maxwell’s always been driven, but lately he’s been more wound up than usual. I think it has something to do with his personal life."

My ears perked up. Personal life? Maybe it was about his girlfriend?

"What’s with his personal life?"

"He’s been dealing with some complicated relationship stuff. Won’t talk about it, of course, because Maxwell never talks about his feelings. But I can tell it’s eating at him."

*Complicated relationship stuff.* Did his girlfriend break up with him? Are they facing major relationship issues? Did she cancel her trip again? And why the fuck do you care so much, Olivia?

Twenty minutes of more gossips and laughter, I finally worked up the courage to face my fate. I couldn’t hide in Alex’s office forever, no matter how tempting it was.

"I should probably go back," I said reluctantly, standing up from my chair.

Alex’s expression turned sympathetic. "Good luck, Oliver. And remember - if he asks you to help with his pants again, just call Patricia immediately."

"Noted," I said grimly.

I walked back to Maxwell’s office like I was walking towards a firing squad. My palms were sweaty, my heart was racing, and I half expected to find him waiting with a weapon or at least a termination letter.

But when I slowly pushed open his office door, Maxwell was simply sitting at his desk, facing his computer screen as if he didn’t see me come in. His belt had been rebuckled, his shirt straightened, and he looked like his usual perfect self.

Except for the slight tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tightly.

I cleared my throat softly. "Mr. Wellington?"

Nothing. He continued typing as if I was invisible.

I tried again. "Sir, I wanted to apologize for..."

Still nothing. Not even a glance in my direction.

*Okay. The silent treatment. I can handle the silent treatment.*

Except I couldn’t. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on me like a heavy load. Every keystroke from his computer sounded like gunshots in the quiet office. Every breath I took seemed too loud.

I tried to focus on performing my assistant duties with his files and schedules but I couldn’t concentrate properly. At a point I started wishing he’d shout or rage... anything asides the deafening silence.

Hours crawled by. Maxwell took calls without acknowledging my presence. He reviewed documents as if I was furniture. When I brought him fresh coffee, he accepted it without even looking up.

By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was ready to scream just to break the oppressive silence.

I gathered my things as quietly as possible, slipping my bag onto my shoulder and heading for the door. Maybe I could escape and we could pretend this whole day had never happened.

"Where are you going?"

Maxwell’s cold voice stopped me dead in my tracks, my hand frozen on the door handle.

"Um..." I turned slowly to face him. "Home, sir. It’s five o’clock."

He finally looked up from his computer, his green eyes fixing on me with such cold intensity.

"Sit your ass down, Mr. Hopton," he said calmly. "You’re driving me home."

I blinked at him. "I’m... I’m what?"

"Driving. Me. Home." He spoke slowly, as if I was a dummy. "My arm is in a sling, in case you’d forgotten. I can’t drive myself."

My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "But sir, I..."

"You what, Mr. Hopton?"

*Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I’m doomed.*

In my fake Oliver resume, I had listed "excellent driving skills" as one of my qualifications. It had seemed harmless at the time - just extra skills to make Oliver seem more competent and masculine.

But the problem was, I actually couldn’tdrive.

And I had no idea what to say to the man sitting across from me with eyes that could kill.