Olivia’s POV
I tried hiding the suitcase behind my back, but we both knew it was impossible. The thing was practically the size of a small refrigerator, and I looked like a child trying to hide a stolen cookie jar.
Maxwell watched my pathetic attempt and just shook his head in wonder, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.
"Do you know that ever since I employed you, you’ve been acting damn crazy?" He asked, his voice filled with sleep and fatigue.
"I’m so sorry sir, I can explain this situation..."
"No, you can’t." He cut me off with a wave of his hand. "Because there’s no possible explanation for playing with your suitcase in the bathroom at 12 midnight, Hopton. Hope you don’t act this crazy towards my cat, because I won’t take it."
I opened my mouth to explain, even though I had absolutely nothing to say.
But Maxwell stopped me, his eyes suddenly looking vulnerable despite his sharp tone. "Am I really that bad that you had to come up with crazy excuses just to avoid sharing a room with me? And now you’re hiding in the bathroom too?"
I suddenly forgot how to speak. Why was he making this about him? There was something almost hurt in his voice, buried beneath layers of sarcasm and irritation.
"Sir, I..."
Just then he seemed to notice my nightwear, because his eyes trailed down to my oversized pajamas.
"What happened to your comfortable suit? Wasn’t too comfortable anymore?" He continued in his sleep-drowsy voice.
"About that..." I scrambled for an explanation, "I figured out that the suit needed some air, so I decided to..."
Maxwell rolled his eyes in impatience. "Nevermind, Hopton. Excuse me, I’m fucking pressed." He nudged me aside to enter the bathroom.
After he went in and the door closed behind him, I rolled my suitcase back into the room, my cheeks burning with humiliation. Maxwell probably thought I was certifiably insane at this point. Hell, even I thought I was crazy.
I dropped the suitcase with a thud and immediately hopped into my side of the bed, pulling the covers up. And that’s when it hit me - despite my oversized pajamas, Maxwell’s eyes had been lingering on my chest area during our entire conversation.
Damn. Had he noticed something off about my figure even through the baggy clothes. Shit shit shit.
Just then he stepped out from the bathroom, and I immediately squeezed my eyes shut and pretended to be fast asleep. I couldn’t bear to show my humiliated face, not after that disaster.
That’s when I started the most ridiculous attempt at snoring known to mankind. After all, I’d lied about being a loud snorer earlier - might as well commit to the bit.
"HOOOOONK-shhhhhh. HOOOOONK-shhhhhh."
I heard Maxwell pause by his side of the bed.
"Oliver," he said quietly. "What the actual hell was that sound?"
Oh god, oh god. I doubled down on my fake snoring.
"SNOOOOORT-wheeze-HOOOONK."
He sighed heavily and climbed into bed. "If this is what I have to deal with for the next two nights, I’m definitely getting noise-canceling headphones."
*******
At 3 AM, I was deep in a dream where I was actually myself - Olivia - when Maxwell’s thrashing woke me up. He was having some kind of nightmare, mumbling incoherently and tossing around like he was fighting invisible demons.
"No... don’t go... please...stay with me..." he muttered, his face filled with distress.
For a moment, I forgot I was supposed to be Oliver. My natural instinct kicked in, and I reached over to gently shake his shoulder.
"Hey, wake up," I whispered softly, my voice becoming feminine again.
Maxwell’s eyes snapped open, wild and disoriented. For a split second, he stared at me in the dim light, and I saw something raw and vulnerable in his expression, as pure hunger consumed him.
"Olivia?" he whispered, his voice thick with sleep, as he wrapped his arms around me.
My heart stopped. Did he just say my name?
"What?" I squeaked, then quickly cleared my throat and dropped my voice back to Oliver’s register. "Sir, you were having a nightmare. I’m Oliver, your assistant."
Maxwell blinked hard, shaking his head and releasing me instantly. "Right. Oliver. Sorry, I..." He ran a hand through his messy hair. "Bad dream."
But I noticed how his eyes lingered on my face in the darkness, before he finally turned and went back to sleep.
Was he having a nightmare about his first love? I wonder what happened to her. Why aren’t they together? I thought to myself as I moved back to the edge of the bed and drifted off.
Just when I thought I’d finally found sleep, I felt something warm against my back. In my sleepy haze, it felt nice - comforting even. I unconsciously pressed back against the warmth.
That’s when I felt an arm tighten around my waist.
My eyes snapped open. Somehow during the night, I’d migrated to the center of the bed, and Maxwell had apparently done the same. We were spooning, his body pressed against my back, his arm wrapped around me possessively.
And that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that I could feel he was hard again, pressing against my lower back, and his face was buried in my neck, his breath warm against my skin.
I lay there paralyzed, not sure what to do. If I moved, I’d wake him up and have to explain why we were tangled together. But if I didn’t move...
Maxwell stirred behind me, his arm tightening reflexively. He made a low sound in his throat, almost like a groan, and his hips pressed forward slightly.
Oh God. He was having some kind of wey dream, and I was apparently part of it.
I tried to ease away slowly, but his grip only tightened. His hand, which had been resting on my stomach, started to drift lower.
"Sir," I whispered urgently. "Sir, wake up."
But he didn’t respond. Instead, his hand continued its southward journey, and I realized with horror that he was about to discover that Oliver wasn’t quite as male as he appeared to be.
Panicking, I elbowed him sharply in the ribs.
Maxwell jerked awake with a startled grunt. "What the hell...""