Maxwell’s POV
I sat in my chair, fingers drumming impatiently against the desk, my leg bouncing restlessly beneath it - a nervous habit I’d broken years ago in law school, yet here it was, resurrecting itself again.
What the hell is taking so long?
I checked my watch. Thirty-two minutes. It had been thirty-two goddamn minutes since Olivia had left to get my iced tea.
The logical part of my brain knew that Taylor’s shop was a ten-minute round trip. Maybe fifteen if there was a line. Ten more minutes would’ve been enough to change into something else. But thirty-two minutes? That was excessive. Something was wrong.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up my text thread with Julian.
Me: What’s going on?
I stared at the screen, watching for those three dots that would indicate he was typing.
Nothing. Just the white space of unanswered messages mocking me.
Fucking hell.
I stood abruptly, my chair rolling backward and hitting the wall with enough force to knock it over. I didn’t bother to right it. Instead, I started pacing, back and forth, back and forth, like a furious animal.
Different scenarios flooded my mind, as I fought to find control.
Did she run into trouble? Did someone figure out her secret?
The thought made my jaw clench so hard my teeth ached. If anyone had discovered what she was hiding, if anyone had confronted her, scared her, threatened her...
Did she panic and run home like before?
Like she’d done on my first day of resumption? She’d disappeared from her office right after I’d told her we had a meeting. I’d ended up sending people to look for her. The uncertainty had driven me half-mad until I’d confirmed she was safe at her apartment.
Did David get to her?
My hands curled into fists at the thought. That bastard. If he’d approached her again, if he’d so much as looked at her wrong, I would march to that hospital where I’d dumped him over the weekend and bury him alive.
Is she hurt?
The thought stopped me mid-stride, ice flooding my veins.
What if she’d had an accident? What if she’d gotten dizzy from the blood loss - women lost blood during their cycles, I knew that much. But maybe it was too much that she’d fainted somewhere? What if she was lying on the floor of that bathroom, unconscious, with no one knowing she needed help?
"Damn it!" I growled, running both hands through my hair hard enough to hurt.
If anyone had touched her, harmed her, frightened her - I would skin them alive. Slowly. I would make them understand exactly what happened to people who dared to hurt what was mine.
Mine.
I paced faster, the silence of my office pressing in on me from all sides. I hated this quiet. Hated the emptiness.
I wanted Olivia here. Needed her presence like oxygen. Needed to see her, confirm she was safe, watch the way her eyes darted away when I stared too long, see that nervous flush creep up her neck when I got too close.
Why the hell did I send her away?
I should have just accepted the damn coffee. Should have let her stay here where I could see her, where I could keep her safe, where I could torture myself with being close to her while maintaining my distance.
But no. I’d sent her away because every time she was near me, every time she stood close enough that I could smell the cologne she used to smell more masculine, every time I heard that slightly-too-high voice trying so hard to sound deeper - I wanted to do things to her.
With her.
Inside her.
Literally anything that involved her body and mine in the same space, preferably with fewer clothes between us.
I wanted to push her against my desk and kiss her until she forgot to maintain that masculine facade. Wanted to hear what sounds she’d make when I finally got my hands on her properly - not in the rushed, desperate encounter in my car, or the plane, but slowly, thoroughly, until she was begging in that real voice of hers.
I wanted to strip away every layer of Oliver Hopton and find Olivia underneath. Wanted to peel off that binding she wore and finally see what she’d been hiding. Wanted to map every curve with my hands, my mouth, my...I’m going crazy.
The thought echoed through my mind continuously.
I’m going crazy. I’m going crazy. I’m going fucking insane.
This woman - this infuriating, reckless woman - have totally ruined me. She’d infiltrated my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I couldn’t focus on work. Couldn’t focus on cases. Could barely function when she was in the room because all my energy went into not pulling her into my lap and showing her exactly what I thought of her little disguise.
And when she wasn’t in the room? Like now? I was pacing my office like a madman, thinking of worst-case scenarios, fighting the urge to tear through the building looking for her.
This has to stop.
But I knew it wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not until I was finally done with her, then making her mine in every possible way.
I stopped pacing abruptly, my mind made up.
Fuck this.
I strode toward my office door, my hand already reaching for the handle. I was going to find her myself. Track her down wherever she was, make sure she was safe, and then...
I pulled the door open.
And collided directly with her.
The iced tea she’d been carrying flew up between us, the lid popping off, cold liquid exploding everywhere. It hit my chest, my shirt, my tie - soaking through my clothes in seconds. The cold shock of it made me suck in a sharp breath.
"I’m so sorry!" she gasped, her hands flying up in horror. "I didn’t... I wasn’t expecting... oh God, your suit..."
I looked down at the spillage that was now my torso, tea still dripping from my tie, forming a spreading stain across my white shirt.
And I smiled. This was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Another opportunity to rattle her for making me worry too much.