Olivia’s POV
After having a little chat with Kira, I dragged my suitcase to my room with the little energy I had left. The mont I closed the door behind , I let out a long breath.
Freedom. Finally.
I unpacked my bag, hanging up my Oliver suits, and packing away my disguise materials in the back of my closet like they were dirty secrets I wanted to forget. Then I headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the heaviness of my disguise.
When I erged, I put on my most comfortable clothes - soft cotton shorts and a simple tank top. No binding. No wig. No fake Adam’s apple. Just . Just Olivia.
For this entire weekend, I would have freedom. No worrying about my walk being too feminine, my voice being too high, my ass giving away.
The relief was almost overwhelming.
By the ti I made it to the kitchen for dinner, Kira had already set the table with takeout containers from a Thai restaurant. The sll of pad thai and green curry made my stomach growl - I’d barely eaten at Maxwell’s mansion, too anxious to do more than push food around my plate.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, both of us too hungry to talk. But I could feel Kira’s eyes on , could sense the questions building up inside her.
Finally, she set down her fork and turned to with that look - the one that ant she wasn’t going to let avoid this conversation any longer.
"So," she said, leaning forward with interest written all over her face. "Are you going to tell about your stay in Maxwell’s mansion? Because girl, I need details. All the details."
I swallowed my mouthful of noodles. "I will tell you everything. I promise. But first..." I set down my own fork, my expression turning serious. "I need to know about Damien."
Kira’s eyebrows rose. "What about him?"
"He was at Maxwell’s place," I explained, "and he kept staring at . Like, really staring. Not in a friendly way or even a curious way. It was... weird. Intense. Like he was trying to figure sothing out, or catch in a lie. It made so uncomfortable, Kira. What’s his deal?"
Kira frowned, twirling her fork thoughtfully. "Honestly? I don’t know. He’s... complicated. Sotis he’s completely normal and professional. Other tis, he gets this look in his eyes - like he’s seeing sothing no one else can see. It’s unsettling."
"That’s exactly it," I said, leaning forward. "Unsettling. That’s the perfect word."
"But," Kira continued, and a mischievous smile played at her lips, "I’m on duty to bodyguard him on Monday. If you want, I could help you snoop around. See what I can find out. Maybe check his files, his phone calls, whatever."
Relief flooded through . "Really? You’d do that?"
"Of course! That’s what best friends are for. Plus, I’m kind of curious now too. If Damien is being sketchy with you, I want to know why."
"Thank you," I said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "I really appreciate it."
Just then, a small white blur appeared in my peripheral vision.
Mitchell marched up to at the table, her fluffy tail standing straight up like a flag of war. But instead of the sweet, affectionate cat I knew and loved, she was giving a look of pure, unadulterated fury.
I looked at Kira, bewildered. "Why is she still angry with ?"
Mitchell’s green eyes were narrowed, her ears slightly back, her entire posture radiating displeasure. She looked like a small furious queen who’d been gravely insulted by a peasant.
"Mitchell, baby," I said, trying to sound soothing. "Why are you still mad? I said I was sorry. I even brought you treats. What more do you want?"
Mitchell just kept staring at with those angry eyes. Then, slowly, she turned around and walked away, her tail swishing about her.
Kira tried to hold in her laugh, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Oh my God. It seems like Maxwell is determined not to let you rest at all. He tornts you both at ho and in the office."
"This is not funny," I protested, but I could feel a smile tugging at my own lips.
"It’s a little funny," Kira said between giggles.
Just then, Mitchell ca marching back. But this ti, instead of just staring, she started batting at my feet with her paws - soft little punches that didn’t hurt but definitely conveyed her ssage.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
"Ow! Mitchell, stop it!" I tried to pull my feet back, but she followed them, continuing her assault.
"Oh my God!" Kira exclaid, now fully laughing. "The cat obviously wants you to follow her!"
Mitchell stopped hitting my feet and looked at Kira with what could only be described as approval. Like Kira was the only one in this apartnt with any sense.
Then Mitchell turned and walked off again, her tail held high.
"Go!" Kira said, practically pushing out of my chair. "Go after that cat if you want to have any peace in this house!"
I stood up reluctantly, feeling ridiculous but also desperate. "Mitchell, wait!"
I followed the cat through our small apartnt. She walked with purpose, not looking back to see if I was following, completely confident that I would obey her command.
"Mitchell, please," I begged, trailing behind her like a servant following a queen. "I’m sorry I left you. I didn’t want to, I swear. Maxwell made go to Chicago, and then I couldn’t co ho because..."
Mitchell turned a corner, heading straight for my bedroom.
"...because of complicated reasons involving my job and my secret identity and n who may or may not know I’m actually a woman..."
She jumped onto my bed with graceful ease.
"...and I know you don’t understand any of this, but I really am sorry, and I missed you so much, and please, please forgive ..."
Mitchell curled up on my pillow, deliberately facing away from . Her tail wrapped around her body, and she closed her eyes like I wasn’t even there.
The rejection was devastating.
I climbed onto the bed beside her, lying on my side so I could see her face - or at least the back of her head. "Mitchell. Sweet girl. Beautiful princess. Please look at ."
Nothing. Not even an ear twitch.
"I’ll give you extra treats for a whole week. I’ll buy you that fancy cat food you like, the expensive one. I’ll play with you every single day..."
Still nothing.
"I’ll let you sleep in my bed every night. You can have my pillow. Hell, you can have my entire side of the bed!"
Mitchell’s ear twitched slightly. Progress.
"Please," I whispered, reaching out to gently stroke her soft white fur. "Please forgive . I can’t stand you being mad at . You’re the only uncomplicated relationship in my life right now, and I really need you."
My voice cracked on that last part, and to my horror, I felt tears prickling at my eyes. It was stupid - crying over a cat being mad at - but after everything that had happened this week, it felt like the final straw.
Maybe that’s what Mitchell heard in my voice, because suddenly, she shifted.
Slowly, like she was granting a great favor, she turned around to face .
Her green eyes studied for a long mont. Then, finally, she stretched out one white paw and placed it gently on my cheek.
"Does this an you forgive ?" I asked, my voice filled with relief.
In response, she crawled into my arms, tucking her head under my chin and beginning to purr - a deep, rumbling sound that felt like forgiveness and love and acceptance all rolled into one.
I held her close, stroking her fur, feeling the tension drain from my body. "I love you so much, you dramatic little furball."
Mitchell purred louder, kneading her paws against my chest in contentnt.
I lay there with her for several minutes, just enjoying the simple comfort of holding sothing warm and alive and uncomplicated. No disguises, no secrets, no wondering if she was judging or trying to figure out who I really was. Just a cat and her human, curled up together.
Mitchell’s purring gradually slowed as she drifted off to sleep, her body going limp and heavy in my arms. I continued stroking her fur gently, not wanting to disturb her now that we’d finally made peace.
Just then, a sound cut through the quiet - a notification ping from sowhere in my room.
I frowned. My phone was in the kitchen. This sounded like it was coming from...
My bedside table.
Carefully, trying not to wake Mitchell, I reached over and pulled open the drawer. There, beneath so old papers and forgotten receipts, was my old phone - the one I rarely used anymore, the one I’d gotten before I started this whole Oliver charade.
Who would be texting on that number? Almost nobody had it anymore.
I pulled out the phone with my free hand, Mitchell still sleeping peacefully against my chest. The screen lit up, showing a new ssage from an unknown number.
My heart started pounding as I opened it.
Unknown: You disappeared the last ti you ca to my office, even when I specifically told you to wait. I saw your note. I’ve accepted your request to et. Tomorrow, 2 PM, at Cussco’s Restaurant. Don’t be late.
Maxwell.
Reviews
All reviews (0)