Olivia’s POV
I didn’t know this was going to happen!
I had envisioned myself sitting very far away from Maxwell, hurrying up with my food, then fleeing upstairs to my room. I certainly hadn’t imagined myself sitting in between Alex and Gabriel - lika a sardine - and directly across from Damien.
Oh my God. What am I going to do now? This is a nightmare.
"Oliver," Alex said warmly, "we really can’t thank you enough for taking care of Maxwell in Chicago. Damien told us you were the one who found him and got him to the hospital."
"It was nothing," I mumbled, studying the intricate pattern on my plate with intense focus. "He’s my boss. Anyone in my position would have done the same."
"Not true," Gabriel interjected. "Most assistants would have panicked or called someone else to handle it. You took charge of the situation smartly. And you also called Alex when you knew nothing of Max’s medical history."
Before I could respond, I felt eyes on me and looked up to find Damien staring at me with an unreadable expression. I couldn’t understand the look, but it was intense in a way that made my skin prickle with unease.
The first thing that came to my mind when I found his eyes on me was my chest. It took every ounce of strength in me not to look down and check if my breast was visible.
Jesus Christ.
"Is everything alright, Sir?" I asked, unable to help myself.
Damien blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "What? Oh, yes. Sorry. It’s nothing."
But it didn’t feel like nothing. It didn’t feel like nothing AT ALL!
The sound of footsteps made us all turn toward the doorway. Maxwell entered the dining room looking completely fine and strong. He was dressed casually in dark slacks and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows - not in oversized pajamas like me.
I must definitely look like a masquerade in the midst of these guys.
His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered, and he looked so healthy and vibrant that I had to resist the urge to google "miraculous pneumonia recovery" again.
Alex and Gabriel immediately stood up and went to him, their faces filled with concern.
"Max, how are you feeling?" Alex asked, gripping his friend’s shoulder. "You really scared us, man."
"Are you sure you should be out of bed?" Gabriel added. "Pneumonia is serious."
Maxwell waved off their concerns with that characteristic dismissiveness. "I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Must have been a mild case."
"Mild?" Alex looked incredulous. "Damien said you had a 104-degree fever!"
"Well, it’s gone now," Maxwell said simply, moving past them to take his seat at the head of the table.
Damien remained seated but was watching the interaction. I noticed his gaze kept drifting back to me, and each time I caught him looking, my anxiety ratcheted up another notch.
Dinner was served by a team of staff members, and it looked really good. But it was so sad that I couldn’t enjoy the meal the way I’d have wanted to.
I took careful bites, hyper-aware of how I was eating, making sure my movements were masculine enough. I sat with my legs spread slightly, elbows on the table, and chewed with my mouth closed but not too delicately.
The conversation flowed around me - talk of business deals, upcoming cases, mutual acquaintances. I contributed when directly addressed but otherwise tried to make myself invisible.
But I could feel their eyes on me. Especially Maxwell’s and Damien’s.
I was so uncomfortable that I rushed through my meal, barely tasting the delicious food. The moment I finished, I set down my napkin and stood up.
"Thank you for dinner," I said, addressing no one in particular. "But I’m exhausted from the travel. I think I’ll retire for the night."
I’d barely taken a step toward the door when Maxwell’s voice stopped me cold.
"Actually, Oliver, I forgot to mention something earlier."
I turned back slowly, dread pooling in my stomach. "Yes, sir?"
Maxwell leaned back in his chair, a slight smile playing at his lips. "We’re having a guys’ night. The five of us. It’s something we do periodically, and since you saved my life today, I thought it only appropriate to include you."
The other three men were nodding in agreement, their expressions ranging from enthusiastic (Alex) to amused (Gabriel) to still weirdly intense (Damien).
"I... I don’t know if I’m up for it," I stammered. "I’m really tired, and I was hoping to get some rest before..."
"Come on, Oliver, don’t be a party spoiler," Damien said, speaking up for the first time since Maxwell had entered. "It’ll be fun. Just a few drinks, some games, nothing too intense."
"I really should..."
"Please?" Gabriel said calmly. "Consider it our way of thanking you for taking care of Maxwell. Besides, you’re part of the inner circle now, whether you like it or not."
Inner circle? Since when? Nobody told me they were recruiting, and I certainly didn’t apply.
God, what have I gotten myself into? Ever since I got this job at Wellington and sons, I’ve never had a moments rest.
"Okay," I heard myself say, even as my brain screamed at me that this was a terrible idea. "I’ll join you for a bit."
"Excellent!" Alex clapped his hands together. "Let’s move to the living room. It’s more comfortable there."
The living room was a luxurious space with leather couches, a massive fireplace, and a bar that looked more like a club. Someone had already set up a selection of alcohol, glasses, and several decks of cards.
Soft music was playing from hidden speakers - something jazzy and low-key that would have been relaxing under normal circumstances.
I positioned myself in an armchair slightly apart from the main seating area, hoping I could observe more than participate. But Damien gestured to the spot on the couch next to him.
"Come sit here, Oliver. Don’t be antisocial."
Reluctantly, I moved to the couch, sinking into it and trying to take up as much space as possible in a masculine way. Maxwell sat across from me, while Alex and Gabriel took the other couch, forming a rough circle around the coffee table.
Someone - I think it was Gabriel - poured drinks for everyone. I accepted the glass of whiskey but had no intention of actually drinking it. I just held it, occasionally bringing it to my lips and pretending to sip while barely letting any liquid touch my mouth.
I will not be put to shame in the midst of these men tonight, not when my breast was only protected by a tiny camisole.
"To Maxwell’s miraculous recovery," Alex declared, raising his glass. "And to Oliver, for saving his stubborn ass."
"Hear, hear," the others chorused, and we all clinked glasses.
The first hour or so was actually manageable. They told stories about their college days, funny incidents from their friendship. I laughed when appropriate, nodded along, and successfully avoided consuming more than a few drops of alcohol.
But then Maxwell stood up and walked over to a cabinet, pulling out a deck of cards.
"Alright," he said, his smile looking dangerous. "We’ve had enough drinks. Now it’s time to play."
My stomach dropped to my feet.
"What kind of game?" I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
Maxwell shuffled the cards with ease. "Poker. But with a twist."
"The loser of each round," Damien explained, his eyes gleaming with anticipation, "has to complete a dare. One dare from each of the other players."
"And if someone refuses a dare?" I managed to ask through my suddenly dry throat.
"Then they take a shot," Gabriel said, nodding toward the bottle of whiskey on the table. "For each dare refused."
I stared at them in horror. So my options were: accepting to do ’dares’ that might expose my secret, or get drunk and definitely expose my secret.
Nothing. And I mean NOTHING in this world is making me loose this game tonight.