Olivia’s POV
This cannot be happening. I can’t keep giving in to his request all the ti, I should atleast try to get out of this one.
"Why aren’t we going to the company today?" I asked finally, trying to sound like a serious employee who actually wanted to go work, when all I needed was a break.
Maxwell leaned back in his chair, one hand coming up to rub his chest absently. "My pneumonia. Don’t tell you’ve forgotten already, Oliver?"
His pneumonia? Weren’t we done with that already? "Sir, sorry to say this... but I thought you were better now. You seed completely fine last night."
"It started up again during the night," he said, his expression neutral. "Minor flare-up. Nothing too serious, but I think it’s best I work from ho today rather than risk making it worse."
I didn’t even know when I moved until I was standing right in front of him, concern enveloping . "Are you okay? Do you need anything? Should we call the doctor?"
God, what was I doing? I was supposed to be his assistant, not his mother. But the mory of him laying helpless in the hotel room that morning, gasping for air on that plane, his lips on mine - it all ca rushing back and I couldn’t help myself.
Maxwell’s eyebrows rose slightly at my sudden closeness, but he shook his head. "I’m fine, Oliver. Really. It’s just a minor issue. But thank you for your concern."
There was sothing in the way he said it, like he was actually pleased about my show of concern.
"How was your night?" he asked, his eyes still locked on mine.
My face imdiately heated, and I turned the other way, avoiding his gaze. "It was fine."
"Are you sure?" Alex asked from across the table, his tone sounding curious.
"Yes," I replied quickly, though I wondered why he asked. "Why?"
"Because your face just turned bright red at that simple question." Damien chipped in, setting down his coffee mug.
Shit. My hand instinctively ca up to touch my burning cheeks. "It’s the weather," I stamred. "It’s really hot in here."
But even as the words left my mouth, I knew how ridiculous they sounded. The air conditioning was running. Everyone else looked perfectly comfortable.
"The weather?" Gabriel repeated, and I could hear the amusent in his voice. "Oliver, we’re in an air-conditioned mansion."
I wanted to die. Actually curl up and cease to exist. Instead, I stood there like an idiot, my face probably getting even redder from the embarrassnt of being caught in such an obvious lie. Why couldn’t I lie properly?
"Go change into sothing more comfortable," Gabriel said, "We’re all here for Maxwell’s wellbeing anyway, to make sure he doesn’t overwork himself. No need for you to be in full corporate outfit ."
I forced myself to look at him, then at each of them closely, desperately searching for any sign of recognition. Any hint that one of them had been the man holding last night. But they all just looked... normal. Concerned. Amused at my awkwardness. Nothing stood out.
Was I going insane? Was I so desperate to solve this mystery that I was seeing clues where none existed?
"Oliver?" Maxwell’s voice pulled from my thoughts. "Are you okay? Or did you not bring any casual clothes with you?"
I opened my mouth to explain that no, I hadn’t exactly planned on an extended stay at his mansion and therefore hadn’t packed loungewear, but before I could speak, Maxwell was already ringing a small bell on the table.
A maid appeared imdiately. "Yes, Mr. Wellington?"
"Please take Oliver upstairs and find him sothing comfortable to wear from the guest wardrobes. Sothing casual that fits."
"Of course, sir." The maid turned to with a polite smile. "This way, Mr. Hopton."
I followed her out of the kitchen, acutely aware of four sets of eyes on my back as I left.
Quite frankly, I was relieved to escape. I hadn’t brought any casual clothes because I didn’t think I’d be trapped in Maxwell’s mansion right after our trip! I’d expected to go ho, change, maybe spend the weekend recovering from the Chicago disaster.
Kira would be expecting ho today or at least in a few days, not knowing her best friend was just a few miles away, trapped in a mansion with four devastatingly attractive n - one of whom had spent the night touching her in the dark.
As I followed the maid up the staircase, my mind was already working through strategies. How was I going to figure out which one of them was my stranger? Should I speak to each of them individually? Try to catch them in a lie or an inconsistency?
And if I was going to do that, I’d definitely start with Damien. There was sothing about him that had been off since last night - the intense staring, the pointed comnts, the way he seed to be analyzing my every move.
The maid led to a different room than the one I’d slept in - another guest room, apparently, this one with an entire wall of built-in closets.
"Mr. Wellington keeps various sizes of casual clothing for guests," she explained, opening the closet doors to reveal different kinds of outfits for both male and female. "Please take your ti and choose whatever you’re comfortable in. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything."
After she left, I stood in front of the open closet, feeling overwheld. There were shirts, pants, shorts, even swimwear. Everything looked neat and expensive.
I needed sothing oversized. Sothing that would hide my bound chest and my curves.
Finally I found a large beach shirt - white with blue stripes, loose and flowing. Perfect. But finding pants was more difficult. Everything seed to be designer fitted clothing, tailored to actually show off a man’s physique rather than hide a woman’s.
After trying on several pairs, I finally settled on a pair of khaki chinos. They were the loosest option available, but they still showed the curve of my ass more than I would have liked.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, turning this way and that, trying to assess myself. The shirt hung loose enough to hide my chest, thank God. But my ass... there was definitely a curve there that wasn’t masculine at all.
Should I go back and find sothing else? But what? Everything else had been even worse - tighter, more fitted, more revealing.
At second thought, I decided to just forget it. n had asses these days, right? Plenty of n who worked out had rounded glutes. I’d just attribute it to frequenting the gym. That seed believable enough.
Taking a deep breath to steel my nerves, I headed back downstairs.
When I entered the kitchen, Maxwell imdiately looked up from his coffee. "Much better," he said approvingly. "Now co have breakfast before we get down to business." He gestured to an empty seat right next to him with breakfast already set.
As I walked toward the table, trying to move naturally and not draw attention to myself, Damien’s voice cut through the morning atmosphere.
"Oliver’s got a nice ass for a man."
I froze mid-step, my entire body going rigid with panic.
"Damien," Alex said, sounding surprised.
"What?" Damien shrugged, completely unbothered. "I’m just making an observation. It’s a complint."
I forced myself to keep moving, to sit down like this was a perfectly normal comnt and not a potential exposure of my entire charade. "I, uh, I go to the gym," I managed to say, my voice only slightly strangled. "Leg day is important."
"Hmm." Damien tilted his head, studying with calculating eyes. "Interesting. So why is the gym only working on your ass and not your other muscles? Your arms and shoulders look pretty average to ."
The bastard. What was he trying to do?
"Different people build muscle differently," Gabriel interjected, "Genetics play a huge role in muscle developnt."
"Exactly," I said gratefully, trying to sound confident, like we were all just bros discussing gym activities.
"Still," Damien persisted, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, "it’s unusual for soone who claims to work out regularly to have such a figure in selective places."
At that mont, I knew with absolute certainty that Damien had sothing against . This wasn’t the sa polite, friendly man I’d t on the day I was fired. This was soone actively trying to catch in a lie, soone looking for inconsistencies in my story.
The question was: why?
Maxwell cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. "Damien, I think Oliver’s exercise routine is his own business. Now, can we please eat breakfast in peace?"
I picked up my fork with trembling hands and forced myself to eat the breakfast on my plate, even though my appetite had completely disappeared.
One of these four n had held in the dark last night, had whispered sweet things and made feel safe and protected. But the funny question was: why wasn’t he helping out??!
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