Olivia’s POV
"I’ll take the room," Maxwell said to the receptionist, after a mont of contemplating.
"NO!"
The word exploded from deep within before I could stop it. Several people turned to stare, and I felt my face burning with embarrassnt.
Maxwell’s head whipped around to face , his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Are you okay, Oliver?"
Am I okay? AM I OKAY? I was about as far from okay as a person could possibly be without requiring imdiate dical attention.
"We can’t share a room!" I blurted out, my voice sounding higher than I intended.
Maxwell’s expression shifted from surprise to annoyance. "And why exactly can’t we share a room?"
My brain went into full panic mode, scrambling for any excuse that might save from this disaster. "Because... because I snore!" I announced desperately. "Really badly. Like, chainsaw levels of snoring. You wouldn’t get a wink of sleep!"
Maxwell just stared at , clearly unimpressed by this revelation.
"And!" I continued, my voice getting more frantic by the second, "I talk in my sleep! Constantly! Full conversations with imaginary people. Sotis I argue with them. Loudly. It gets very heated."
The receptionist was now watching like I’d gone mad.
"Also," I pressed on, desperately grasping for more excuses, "I have restless leg syndro! My legs just kick all night long. Like I’m running in my sleep. And I sleepwalk! What if I sleepwalk right out onto the balcony? You’d be held responsible if I fall to my death!"
Maxwell’s lips twitched slightly, which I couldn’t tell if that was amusent or irritation.
"And I grind my teeth!" I added again. "It sounds like soone operating a cent mixer. Plus I have night terrors! I wake up screaming about... about... legal briefs gone wrong!"
Legal briefs gone wrong? Really, Olivia? That’s the best your panic-addled brain could co up with?
"Oh! And I have this condition where I have to do yoga at 3 AM," I babbled on, completely losing control of my mouth. "Naked yoga. For my... my chakras. It’s very important for my spiritual alignnt. You definitely wouldn’t want to witness that. Very unprofessional."
The receptionist’s eyes widened, and she quickly looked down at her computer screen to hide what was obviously a laugh.
Maxwell took a step toward . Then another. Then a third, until he was standing directly in front of , so close I could see my panicked reflection in his eyes. He was looking down at through his nose with an intimidating stare that made my legs weak.
My heart was hamring so hard I was surprised it wasn’t visible through my suit. This is it. He knows. He’s figured out I’m a woman and now he’s going to expose right here in this hotel lobby and probably have arrested for fraud and...
He leaned down until his face was inches from mine, those eyes boring into like he could see straight through to my soul. "Is there sothing important you’re not telling , Oliver?"
I didn’t expect that question, and It imdiately caused sweat to start beading on my forehead, my throat suddenly feeling dry.
I shook my head frantically, too numb to form actual words. Nope, nothing at all, just your average male assistant who happens to have breasts and a vagina, nothing unusual here!
Maxwell stared at for a mont, as if searching my eyes. Then, rcifully, he straightened up, his expression shifting to that "case closed" look he got when he’d made a final decision.
"It’s settled then," he said matter-of-factly, turning back to the receptionist. "We’ll take the room."
Settled? SETTLED? Nothing about this situation was settled! This was the opposite of settled! This was a disaster!
But Maxwell was already requesting the key from the receptionist, who handed it over with a smile.
"Right this way, Mr. Wellington," said one of the hotel staff mbers who had appeared to collect our luggage. I watched helplessly as they gathered our bags, including my suitcase that contained so of my hidden feminine necessities.
We followed the staff mber across the lobby toward the elevators. My legs felt like jelly, and I was pretty sure I was developing a nervous twitch in my left eye.
The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. The staff mber pressed the button for the 50th floor, and my stomach dropped as we began our ascent. The 50th floor. Of course it was the 50th floor. Now I won’t even be able to escape through the balcony when things go south.
The elevator climbed smoothly, and the numbers ticked upward like a countdown to my doom. 30... 35... 40... 45... 48... 49... 50.
Ding.
The doors opened, and an elegant hallway ca into view. We followed the staff mber down the corridor until he stopped at a set of double doors at the very end.
"Your penthouse suite," he announced, swiping the key card and pushing the doors open.
We stepped inside, and despite my panic, I couldn’t help but be impressed. The penthouse was absolutely massive - more like a luxury apartnt than a hotel room. It had floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of Chicago, and the decor was all modern elegance.
There was a spacious living area with soft sofas and a dining table, a kitchenette with granite countertops, and a separate office space. It was the kind of place where important deals were made and powerful people relaxed after conquering the world.
At least there’s plenty of space, I thought, taking in the massive layout. Maybe I can just avoid Maxwell entirely. Hide in the bathroom or sothing.
But then my eyes landed on the bedroom area, and my blood turned to ice.
The bed.
Oh. My. God. The bed.
It was enormous - easily big enough to accommodate five people comfortably. Maybe six if they were friendly. It dominated the space like so kind of sleeping monunt, all fluffy white comforters and an abundance of pillows that practically scread "romantic getaway."
I found myself staring at it in horror, my mind imdiately conjuring up images of trying to maintain my Oliver disguise while sharing that massive bed with Maxwell. How exactly does one hide their gender while sleeping next to their incredibly observant boss? Especially when said boss is hot and handso as hell.
"Why are you staring at the bed?"
I nearly jumped out of my skin. Maxwell’s voice had co from directly behind , and I spun around to find him standing way too close, studying my expression.
"I was just... admiring the room!" I squeaked, my voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old boy. "Very nice decor! The sheets are really beautiful."
The sheets are beautiful? WHO SAYS THAT?
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything.
"I’ll take the sofa," I announced quickly, gesturing toward the living area. "It looks very comfortable. Perfect for soone with my... my many sleep disorders."
"You would do no such thing, Oliver. We are both taking the bed."
Reviews
All reviews (0)