Olivia’s POV
Back at Wellington & Sons, I arrived at my desk before Maxwell returned - thank God for small mercies. I quickly hid my extra food in the small locker behind my desk. Then I settled into my chair and pulled up the files I was supposed to be working on before the morning’s disasters, trying to look like a dedicated assistant who definitely hadn’t spent lunch plotting revenge and discussing blackmail.
A few minutes later, I heard the sound of Maxwell’s footsteps approaching. My spine straightened automatically, my hands positioning themselves over the keyboard.
He walked past my desk without a word, heading towards his table. But then he called out, "Oliver."
Oh God, what now?
I kept my expression neutral. "Yes, sir?"
Maxwell was settling into his chair, as he scanned me suspiciously. "Are you finished cleaning the restroom?"
"Yes, sir. Spotless, just as you requested."
"Good." He tilted his head slightly. "Why aren’t you smiling?"
I blinked, confused. "What?"
"You’re not smiling," he repeated, like it was a huge crime not to smile. "Have you forgotten my rule? You must smile at every task I give you. It shows enthusiasm and willingness to serve."
I wanted to scream. Wanted to tell him exactly where he could shove his stupid smile rule.
Instead, I summoned up the fakest, brightest smile I could manage - the kind that definitely didn’t reach my eyes, the kind that probably looked unhinged and crazy.
"Of course, sir. Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to clean your bathroom. It was truly the highlight of my day."
The sarcasm was probably too thick, but I couldn’t help myself.
Maxwell’s lips twitched - with amusement or annoyance, I couldn’t tell. "That’s better. You may return to your work."
I turned to leave, then settled behind my desk as I watched him from the corner of my eye, while pretending to work.
Come on. Drink the water. I’ve been waiting patiently for this.
Maxwell opened his laptop and started typing, completely absorbed in whatever he was working on. Minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
DRINK THE WATER, DAMN IT.
My leg was bouncing under my desk, nervous energy and anticipation making it impossible to sit still. I kept glancing at him, watching that water bottle sitting there innocently.
Finally - FINALLY - after what felt like an eternity, Maxwell reached for it.
My breathing stopped. My entire body went still.
He unscrewed the cap with those long, elegant fingers. Brought the bottle to his lips. Tilted his head back.
And gulped down the entire remaining contents in one long drink.
Oh my God. Oh my GOD. He actually drank it.
I had to bite my lip to keep from bursting into laughter. Maxwell Wellington - powerful attorney, cold-hearted bastard, maker of my nightmares - had just swallowed a full serving of toilet water.
That’s what you get. That’s what you fucking get for humiliating me.
He set the bottle down, and I watched - practically holding my breath - as his expression shifted slightly. His tongue moved in his mouth, like he was tasting something. His brow furrowed just a fraction.
He knew something was off. He could taste it.
But you’ll never guess what you just drank. Never in a million years.
The satisfaction was so intense it was almost physical. I wanted to dance. Wanted to sing. Wanted to frame this moment and hang it on my wall.
Maxwell stood from his desk and walked toward my area, still with that slightly puzzled expression.
"Oliver."
"Yes, sir?" I somehow managed to keep my voice steady, and completely innocent.
"Get me a new bottle of water. This one tastes... strange."
"Strange, sir?" I tilted my head, playing dumb. "Strange how?"
"I don’t know." He handed me the empty bottle, and I had to work very hard not to snatch it away like evidence at a crime scene. "Just off somehow. Probably a bad batch. Get me a fresh one from the break room."
"Of course, sir. Right away."
I took the bottle and practically skipped down the hallway to the break room, humming under my breath.
Maxwell Wellington had just drunk toilet water.
Toilet. Water.
And I was the only one who knew.
It was petty. It was disgusting. It was probably the most immature thing I’d done since middle school.
And it was glorious.
I grabbed a fresh bottle from the refrigerator, still grinning like an idiot, and made my way back to the office.
When I handed Maxwell the new water, he was already back to working, apparently having dismissed the weird taste as nothing important.
I returned to my desk, opened my laptop, and pretended to work while internally celebrating my small victory.
Maxwell Wellington: 1,000
Olivia Hopton: 1
Minutes later, I was still typing away at my desk, wondering how I’d be able to eat my sandwich without getting caught, when I heard a strange sound from Maxwell’s table.
A low rumble. Like distant thunder.
I paused, fingers paused over the keyboard, glancing up at Maxwell.
Then another loud sound, this one more intense. A gurgle that could only be coming from someone’s stomach.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.
My eyes widened. Is the bad water upsetting his stomach already?
Another rumble, louder this time. Maxwell’s entire body went rigid, his hand moving to press against his stomach.
Then I watched - trying very hard not to stare but unable to look away - as his face went pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His other hand gripped the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white.
He stood abruptly, his movements stiff and awkward. His legs were pressed tightly together, his ass clenched so hard I could see the tension even through his suit pants. He was clearly trying - desperately trying - to hold everything in.
A sound escaped him - a long, strained prrrrrrrrp that he couldn’t suppress.
"Oh God," he gasped, one hand still clutching his stomach, the other reaching out like he needed something to steady himself.
Then he moved. Not walked - ran. Actually ran toward his private bathroom with quick, desperate steps, his legs still pressed together, his whole body radiating urgent panic.
The bathroom door flew open, and slammed shut.
And then... sounds. Terrible, explosive, sounds echoed through the office despite the closed door.
I sat at my desk, frozen, my hand slowly rising to cover my mouth as my shoulders began shaking with silent, hysterical laughter.