Chapter 114: Chapter 114
Olivia’s POV
"Excuse me! Oliver!"
Sabrina called out, immediately she spotted me standing at the entrance of the hospital.
She walked towards me, her heels frantically clicking against the tiled floor. She was dressed like she was attending a fashion show rather than visiting a sick person - perfectly styled hair, immaculate makeup, and a very short gown that enhanced her banging body.
"Sabrina," I said, forcing my voice to remain neutral and masculine. "What are you doing here?"
She looked at me like I’d asked the stupidest question in human history. "What do you think I’m doing here? I came to see my man. Where is he?"
My jaw tightened at the possessive way she said "my man," but I kept my expression carefully blank. "He’s in his room, still entertaining his family."
"Perfect! I’m family too." She adjusted her handbag and moved to walk past us.
I felt Kira’s hand squeeze my arm, and when I glanced at her, she mouthed, "Stop her!"
But I just shook my head slightly. I had no mandate from Maxwell to keep Sabrina away, and honestly, after the way he’d dismissed me earlier, I wasn’t sure I had the authority to stop anyone from seeing him. Besides, if I tried to prevent her from entering and they somehow ended up resolving their issues, I’d be the villain in their love story.
Sabrina swept past us without another word, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume in her wake.
The moment she disappeared inside, Kira whirled on me. "Are you seriously not going to stop her? Wouldn’t he be extra pissed?"
"Maxwell hasn’t given me permission to turn people away from his room," I said, moving towards the cafe. "And honestly, Kira, maybe they need this. Maybe they’ll talk things out and..."
"And you’ll be the bad guy for trying to keep them apart," Kira finished, understanding dawning on her face. "Damn, Liv, you’re thinking like a politician."
"I’m thinking like someone who wants to keep their job," I corrected. "Maxwell is already furious with me for ’announcing to the whole world’ that he was hospitalized. I’m not about to give him another reason to fire me by playing gatekeeper to his personal relationships."
We got to the café across from the hospital and settled into a corner with our food. For the next hour, we talked about everything and nothing - Mitchell’s latest adorable antics, Kira’s concerns about Damien’s sketchy behavior, sharing a room with Maxwell, and my complete disaster of a "date" with Diane.
"I still can’t believe you kissed her," Kira said for the third time, shaking her head in amazement.
"She kissed me!" I protested. "I pushed her away immediately!"
"Yeah, but for like three seconds, you kissed a gorgeous woman while pretending to be a man. That’s some next-level complicated lesbian energy right there."
"Can we please not analyze my ’energy’ again?" I begged.
Just then, Kira’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and groaned. "It’s Damien. He wants me to meet him at the parking lot - they’re heading back home."
I felt a twinge of worry. "Be careful with him, okay? If you notice anything really dangerous..."
"I’ll call you immediately," Kira promised, giving me a quick hug. "You just focus on not getting fired by your grumpy boss. I’ll see you at home later."
After Kira left, I sat in the café for another few minutes, trying to gather the courage to face Maxwell again. Finally, I decided I should at least check on him one more time before the day ended. Maybe his family’s visit had improved his mood.
When I reached his hospital room, I knocked softly before pushing the door open.
The room was empty.
I stared at the neatly made bed, the disconnected monitors, the absence of any personal belongings. For a moment, I just stood there, my brain refusing to process what I was seeing.
"Excuse me," I called out to a passing nurse. "My boss - Maxwell Wellington - he was in this room. Where is he?"
The nurse checked her tablet. "Oh, Mr. Wellington checked himself out about twenty minutes ago, right after his family left. He signed the AMA forms and everything."
"AMA?"
"Against Medical Advice," she explained. "The doctor strongly recommended he stay for at least another day, but Mr. Wellington insisted he was well enough to leave."
Shit.
I muttered a quick thank you and practically ran toward the elevator. Maxwell had left the hospital without telling me, without even checking if I was still in the building. Did this mean I was fired? Had Sabrina convinced him to leave me behind in Chicago?
My mind raced with worst-case scenarios as I hailed a cab outside the hospital and gave the driver the hotel address. "Please drive as fast as you can."
The driver must have sensed my panic because he actually drove with some urgency. I spent the entire ride checking my phone, hoping for a message from Maxwell - any indication that I still had a job.
Nothing.
When I finally burst into our hotel room, I found Maxwell packing his suitcase. He was moving slowly, clearly still weak from the pneumonia, but his face was set in that stubborn expression I’d come to recognize. He’d already changed out of the hospital gown and back into one of his suit, though I noticed he’d left the tie and jacket off.
"What are you doing?" I asked, breathless from my run through the hotel corridors.
"Leaving," he said without looking up from his packing. "I’m not going to remain in a hospital bed while people flock in like I’m dying. It’s humiliating."
"Sir, the doctors said you need to rest. You have pneumonia! You can’t just..."
"I can and I will." He finally looked at me, and his expression was cold. "I’ve already arranged for the jet to be ready in an hour. I’m going home where I can recover in peace, without my entire family treating me like I’m on my deathbed."
I moved toward him, trying to think of something - anything - that would convince him to stay and properly recover. "Mr. Wellington, please. You’re still weak. You could relapse if you don’t give your body time to heal."
"Then I’ll relapse in the comfort of my own home, thank you very much." He zipped up his suitcase with more force than necessary, then winced slightly, clearly still in pain.
"What about the conference?" I tried. "Isn’t that why we came here in the first place?"
"The conference isn’t the main reason I’m here. But then, there’s no need sharing that piece of information with you because you’d broadcast it to everyone before midnight.
His dismissive tone stung more than I wanted to admit. "So... should I come with you, or...?"
Maxwell paused, looking at me with an unreadable expression. "You can remain in Chicago if you want. Attend the rest of the conference. Network. Do whatever assistant things you feel are important."
My stomach dropped. "But you’re going back?"
"I am." He grabbed his suitcase and moved toward the door. "The choice is yours, Oliver. Stay here and be useful, or come back and watch me recover from pneumonia. Either way, I’m leaving."
For a moment, I just stood there, completely at a loss. Was this his way of firing me without actually saying the words? Or was he genuinely giving me a choice about my professional priorities?
"I’m coming with you," I said finally, making the decision in a split second. "You’re clearly not well enough to travel alone, and someone needs to make sure you don’t collapse in the airport."
Something flickered in Maxwell’s eyes - surprise, maybe, or relief - but it was gone before I could identify it.
"Fine," he said, his voice neutral. "But pack quickly. The car will be here in fifteen minutes."
As I hurried to gather my own belongings, I couldn’t help but notice that Maxwell was moving more slowly than usual, pausing occasionally to catch his breath. The pneumonia had clearly taken more out of him than he wanted to admit, and his stubborn refusal to rest properly was going to make everything worse.
But I knew Maxwell well enough by now to understand that arguing with him when he’d made up his mind was pointless. The man would probably crawl onto that plane if he had to, just to prove that he didn’t need help or sympathy from anyone.
"What about your family?" I asked as I stuffed clothes into my suitcase. "Won’t they be upset that you left the hospital?"
"My family will survive the disappointment."
"And Sabrina? She came to see you at the hospital."
His jaw tightened. "Sabrina and I had a conversation. It’s handled."
The way he said "handled" made me think their conversation hadn’t gone well, but I knew better than to push for details.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, we were in the lobby with our suitcases, waiting for the car that would take us to the private airport. Maxwell looked pale and exhausted, his eyes slightly glassy with what I suspected was a returning fever.
"Sir," I said quietly as we waited, "are you sure about this? We could wait one more day, let you rest a bit more before traveling."
He turned to look at me, "I appreciate the concern, Oliver. But I need to go home. I need to be somewhere that isn’t filled with people treating me like I’m fragile."
"You are fragile right now," I said gently. "There’s no shame in that."
"There’s every shame in that," he countered. "Not for people like me."
Before I could respond to that troubling statement, the car pulled up. The driver loaded our luggage, and we climbed into the back seat. As we pulled away from the hotel, Maxwell leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, his breathing slightly labored.
I watched him carefully, noting the way his hands occasionally clenched as if fighting off pain or discomfort. This stubborn, prideful man was clearly suffering but would rather die than admit he needed help.