Chapter 143

Chapter 143: Chapter 143

Olivia’s POV

Shit. Could today get any worse?

It had been one disaster after another - my period arriving a week early, the bloodstain, Ken’s horrifying blackmail proposal, and now this!

It’s only Monday, for crying out loud!

I frantically tried to clean the stain off Maxwell’s shirt, my hands moving in useless circles that only seemed to spread the stain further across his shirt. The cold tea was seeping through, probably staining his undershirt too. Oh God. I wonder how much this suit costs!

"I’m so sorry, sir! I’m so, so sorry!" The words tumbled out. "I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I didn’t expect you to open the door right then, and..."

He must be furious. First I was late by over thirty minutes, and now I’ve destroyed his suit.

I was making it worse. I knew I was making it worse, but I couldn’t stop my hands from frantically rubbing at the stain, trying desperately to fix this unfixable situation.

Please don’t strangle me. Please don’t strangle me. Please don’t...

He grabbed my wrist immediately, stopping my terrible cleaning attempts.

I froze, my heart hammering loudly. Slowly, I raised my eyes to look at his face.

His expression was hard as granite - his jaw clenched, eyes blazing with something intense and dangerous. Anger. He was definitely angry. How could he not be?

"I’m so sorry," I whispered again, my voice small. "I’ll go back right now and get you a new tea. I’ll be quick this time, I promise. I’ll run..."

But Maxwell was already moving, his grip on my wrist firm as he pulled me into the office and closed the door behind us with his free hand, clicking it shut.

He was standing so close now. Too close. Close enough that I could see the way his wet shirt clung to his chest, could smell the tea mixed with his cologne, could feel the heat radiating from his body.

Why is he still standing this close? Why isn’t he moving?

My breathing became shallow, my chest rising and falling rapidly beneath my binding. The binding that suddenly felt far too tight, restricting my lungs, making each breath difficult.

We stood like that for what felt like an eternity - him staring down at me with those intense eyes, me trying desperately not to hyperventilate or pass out or do something else embarrassing.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped my gaze, staring at his soaked shirt instead of his face.

That turned out to be a mistake, because now I was eye-level with his chest, watching the way the wet cloth clung to his muscles, and that wasn’t helping my breathing situation at all.

He took a step back - finally - and I gulped in air like a drowning person reaching the surface.

"Where have you been?" His voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge to it that made me nervous.

"Taylor’s," I said quickly, the lie I’d prepared during my run back to the office tumbling out. "They ran out of iced green tea, so I had to go all the way downtown to find a place that had it."

Maxwell looked at me like he could see straight through the lie to the truth underneath. But after a long moment, he just nodded.

"I see." He moved away, half-sitting on the edge of his desk in a casually powerful pose that shouldn’t have been attractive but absolutely was. "Go to my wardrobe and bring out another suit."

I blinked. "Wardrobe? There’s a wardrobe in this office?"

I looked around the space I’d been working in for weeks now, trying to spot where a wardrobe could possibly be hidden. The office was large but I thought I’d memorized every inch of it by now.

Maxwell let out a long-suffering sigh, like he was dealing with a slow child. Then he pointed to the decorative shelf unit in the corner - the one I’d assumed was just for displaying law books and art pieces.

"Press the button behind it."

"Behind the shelf?" I moved toward it, reaching around the edge until my fingers found a small, concealed button. I pressed it.

With a soft whir, the entire shelf unit swung inward, revealing a hidden door.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I stepped through and my jaw nearly hit the floor. It wasn’t just a wardrobe - it was an entire walk-in closet. Rows of clean organized suits, shirts, ties, shoes. Everything perfectly pressed and arranged by color and style.

Of course he has a secret luxury closet in his office. Of course he does.

I tried not to gasp like some impressed peasant and quickly selected what I needed - a white dress shirt, a gray suit, and a tie. Then I carried them back out.

I handed the clothes to him, expecting him to take them and head to his private executive bathroom to change.

Instead, he set them on his desk and immediately started unbuttoning his wet shirt.

Right there. Right in front of me.

I immediately averted my eyes, staring very intently at a spot on the wall to my left. "Um, sir, I should... I’ll just..."

"Why are you still standing there?" He asked. "Go get yourself a suit. You can’t walk around in that stained shirt all day."

Right. Of course. I needed to change too. I’d just been so focused on his disaster that I’d forgotten about my own wet clothes.

I nodded quickly and hurried back to the closet, grabbing the first suit that looked like it might fit me.

When I emerged with my borrowed clothes, I headed straight for the office door.

"Where are you going?" Maxwell’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

"To... to change?" I said, my hand on the doorknob. "I’ll use the men’s room down the hall."

"So you’d spend eternity in there?" He said it like it was the most ridiculous suggestion he’d ever heard. "No. You’ll change here."

My heart stopped. Then started racing again at triple speed.

Oh no.

"Um, actually, I could use your bathroom?" I suggested, pointing toward his private bathroom. "That would be quick and..."

The look he gave me could have frozen lava. It was the kind of look that said don’t test me

How do I get out of this now?

"Sir," I tried again, "where exactly do you want me to change?"

"Right there," he said, gesturing to the space in front of his desk. "It’s not complicated, Oliver. Take off your wet clothes and put on the dry ones."

I stared at him in shock, my mouth opening and closing.

By now, Maxwell had fully removed his wet shirt and undershirt, leaving him completely bare from the waist up.

Jesus Christ.

I tried - I really, genuinely tried - not to stare. But it was like trying not to look at the sun. My eyes were drawn there against my will, taking in the sight of Maxwell Wellington shirtless.

And oh God, what a sight it was.

His chest was broad and defined, his muscles looking like it was carved by a refined sculptor. His skin was smooth and tanned - not too pale like someone who spent all their time indoors, but not overly bronzed either. Just... perfect.

My eyes traced the lines of his pectorals, following down to his abs - and yes, he had abs. Six of them. Possibly eight. I lost count because my brain had stopped functioning properly.

There was a light dusting of dark hair across his chest, trailing down in a line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants, and I found myself wondering where that trail led...

Stop it. Stop staring. Stop thinking about...

But I couldn’t stop. My gaze traveled up to his shoulders - broad and strong, the kind that looked like they could carry the weight of the world. Or pin someone against a wall. Not that I was thinking about that. I absolutely was not thinking about that.

His arms were corded with muscle, not bulky like a bodybuilder but lean and powerful. I could see veins running beneath the skin of his forearms, and for some reason, that detail made my mouth go dry.

At the end, God gave him everything except a heart, I thought bitterly, trying to remind myself that this beautiful exterior housed a cold, manipulative man who enjoyed tormenting me.

But even that thought couldn’t stop my eyes from drinking in every detail - the dip of his collarbone, the way his muscles shifted when he moved, the flat plane of his stomach...

"See something interesting, Oliver?"

Maxwell’s voice snapped me back to reality. My eyes flew up to his face, and I found him watching me with a knowing expression. He’d caught me staring. He’d definitely caught me staring at his naked chest like some kind of desperate, hormonal gay man.

"I wasn’t... I was just..." My face was burning so hot I was probably glowing. "I should really change in the bathroom!"

Before he could respond, before he could say anything else that would increase my humiliation, I practically ran toward his private bathroom, holding the borrowed clothes tightly.

"Oliver..."

I didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. Just fled into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, pressing my back against it as I tried to catch my breath.