Maxwell’s POV
I’m dying. I’m actually dying. This is it. This is how Maxwell Wellington ets his end - shitting himself to death.
The thought kept looping through my mind as I sohow made it down to the underground garage, each step a careful movent designed to keep everything... contained.
My stomach was a war zone. My intestines felt like they were actively trying to murder . And every few seconds, another cramp would hit - sharp and vicious and accompanied by sounds that no CEO should ever have to make.
I finally reached my car, gripping the hood for support as another wave of nausea rolled through .
Where the fuck is my driver?
I looked around the garage frantically. His usual spot near the elevator was empty. No sign of him anywhere.
"No, no, no," I muttered, fumbling for my phone with shaking hands.
I dialed his number. It rang once. Twice. Then went straight to voicemail.
"YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING !"
Shit shit shit. He’s definitely getting fired. That man is getting fired today. Right now. The mont I’m capable of forming coherent sentences again.
Another cramp hit, and I doubled over slightly, pressing my free hand against my stomach like that would sohow help.
I scrolled through my contacts, finding Alex’s number imdiately.
I hit dial, and rcifully, he picked up on the first ring.
"Max? What’s up?"
"Alex," I managed, my voice strained. "I need you. Right now. Can you co drive ho?"
"Drive you?" There was confusion in his voice, then concern. "Are you okay? You sound terrible."
"I’m..." Another cramp. I bit back a groan. "I’m sick. My driver’s not here. I need you to co to the office and..."
"Oh man, I’m so sorry, but I’m like two hours drive from the office. I’m currently eting with a client, but I can wrap it up and co get you. Can you wait that long?"
Oh my God. Was the universe conspiring against ?
"Two hours?" I repeated weakly. "Alex, I can’t wait that long."
"I’m sorry, Max..."
I hung up before he could finish his sentence, already scrolling to Julian’s number.
Please be available. Please please please.
"Maxwell!" Julian answered cheerfully. "What can I do for you?"
"Julian, thank God. I need you to drive ho. Right now. My driver’s not here and I’m..." I had to pause as my stomach made another threatening sound. "...I’m not feeling well."
"Oh no! What’s wrong?"
"Stomach issue. Food poisoning, I think. Can you co down to the garage?"
There was a pause. "I’m actually in a really important eting right now. It’s been scheduled for weeks, and they’re very particular about..."
"JULIAN..."
"...but I can wrap it up and be there in twenty minutes! Twenty-five tops!"
Twenty minutes. I couldn’t wait twenty minutes. I might not survive twenty minutes.
"What the fuck is going on?" I muttered, pressing my forehead against the cool tal of my car’s hood. "How is everyone suddenly more dedicated to their work than I am?"
How was everyone in a fucking eting when their boss was literally dying?
Just then, I rembered my brother.
Damien. Oh God, Damien. He would help. How could I have forgotten.
I hated asking him for help. Hated admitting any kind of weakness in front of him. But desperate tis called for desperate asures, and I didn’t mind crawling at this point.
"I pray he’s in the office today," I muttered, as I dialed his number with trembling fingers.
He picked up at first ring: "Whatsup, bro? You need sothing?"
"Your driver," I said without preamble. "Is he available? Mine’s not here and I need to get ho imdiately."
"Are you okay?" There was concern in his voice. "You sound..."
"I’m fine. Just need a driver. Can you send him down or not?"
"He’s not here, but I can send my head of security. He can drive you."
I didn’t care if it was the janitor at this point. "Yes. Fine. Perfect. Send him down. Now."
"He’ll be right there."
I hung up and leaned more heavily against my car, closing my eyes and trying to breathe through another wave of cramping.
Thank you, God. Thank you thank you thank you.
I was going to make it. I was going to get ho before the next explosive drama.
Everything was going to be just fine.
Kira’s POV
I was standing guard outside Damien’s office, scrolling through my phone and trying not to think about how badly I needed to pee, when Damien’s voice called out, "Kyle! Co in here."
I imdiately straightened and walked into his office. "Yes, sir?"
Damien looked up from his computer. "I need you to go down to the garage imdiately. My brother needs a driver - his isn’t available. You’re to drive him ho."
I blinked. "Your brother? Maxwell?"
"Is there another brother I’m not aware of?" Damien’s tone was dry. "Yes, Maxwell. He’s waiting in the garage. Take my car."
Why would Maxwell need to borrow his brother’s security guard as a driver?
"Of course, sir. Right away."
I grabbed Damien’s car keys and headed for the elevator.
The elevator descended to the parking garage, and I stepped out, looking around for Maxwell’s vehicle.
Then I spotted him.
He was leaning against his car, gripping the hood like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, his face was pale and covered in sweat, and he looked absolutely miserable.
What the hell happened to him? Is his pneumonia back?
My footsteps echoed as I approached him. "Mr. Wellington?"
He didn’t turn, just kept his eyes closed, breathing deeply like soone trying very hard not to throw up. "Thank God. Finally."
"Sir, are you..."
He turned around to face .
And froze.
He stared at for a while, then started shaking his head - vigorously, desperately, backing away from like I was holding a weapon.
"I’m not... you’re not driving . No way. Absolutely not!"
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