Chapter 99: Chapter 99
Oliver’s POV
As we pulled into the airport, I expected Maxwell to head toward the main terminal where all the regular flights departed. You know, the usual chaos of security lines, overpriced coffee, and crying babies. But instead, our car veered off in a completely different direction, toward what looked like a more exclusive part of the airport.
"Um, where are we going?" I asked hesitantly, breaking the intimidating silence that had dominated our entire drive.
Maxwell didn’t answer, just continued staring straight ahead with that infuriatingly unreadable expression of his.
We drove past several hangars and smaller buildings until finally, the car began to slow down. And that’s when I saw it.
Standing majestically on the tarmac was the most beautiful private jet I’d ever seen in real life - not that I’ve actually seen any one in real life. It was gleaming, sleek white with elegant blue accents, and there, boldly written across the side in bold letters, was the name "MAXWELL."
I almost gasped out loud. Holy shit, he has his own private jet? But then I remembered I was supposed to be Oliver, a male assistant, and my boss was sitting right beside me, probably still seething from the Sabrina encounter. I quickly composed myself and tried to look like flying in private jets was just another Tuesday for me.
Play it cool, Olivia. You’re Oliver. Oliver is man. Men don’t gasp, or swoon in surprise.
When the car stopped, the driver immediately stepped down and opened Maxwell’s door. I stepped out on my own side, trying to maintain some dignity while internally freaking out about the fact that I was about to fly in a freaking private jet.
Maxwell started walking toward the aircraft, and I hurried to follow. The closer we got, the more impressive the jet became. This thing was huge - like a flying mansion with wings.
As we approached the stairs leading up to the plane, I could see a line of staff members waiting. They stood at attention, greeting Maxwell as he approached.
"Good morning, Mr. Wellington," they chorused, bowing their heads respectfully as he ascended the stairs.
"Welcome aboard, sir," a woman who appeared to be the head flight attendant greeted with a smile. "Everything is prepared exactly to your taste."
Maxwell nodded curtly and continued into the plane. I followed behind, trying to look like I belonged here while secretly wondering if I was dreaming.
But nothing could have prepared me for the interior design of the plane.
The moment I stepped inside, my jaw nearly hit the floor. This wasn’t a plane - this was a luxury hotel that happened to have wings. The cabin was spacious beyond belief, with rich cream leather seats that looked more like armchairs, polished mahogany tables, and soft ambient lighting that made everything glow with warmth.
There were different sections - what looked like a meeting area with a conference table, a lounge area with plush sofas, and even what appeared to be a bar complete with crystal glasses and shelves filled with drinks. The carpet was thick beneath my feet, and everything screamed money and sophistication.
Dear God, how much does this thing cost? I thought, trying not to gawk like a tourist at Disneyland.
Maxwell took his seat in what was obviously his usual spot - a large leather chair near the window with a perfect view and its own side table. I started moving toward a seat several rows away, figuring I should give him space and try to remain invisible.
"Where the hell are you going?"
I froze mid-step. Maxwell’s voice halting me.
"I was just going to find a seat..." I began, turning back toward him.
"Oliver," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument, "come sit your ass down." He gestured impatiently to the seat directly across from his.
Well, so much for keeping a low profile.
I obediently made my way back and settled into the very soft seat facing him. The chair was so luxurious it practically embraced me, and I had to resist the urge to sink back and enjoy it.
As the plane began to taxi, Maxwell looked at me. "Do you know what we’re traveling for?"
I cleared my throat, trying to sound like a confident assistant. "Business?"
He nodded, "You’re right. We’re attending the International Lawyers Business Summit in Chicago. Chicago is hosting this year, and it’s usually a huge event that lasts two to three days." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving my face. "Your mission there will be to take notes. That’s all. Think you can handle that, Oliver?"
Relief flooded through me like a cool drink of water. Take notes? That’s it? I could definitely handle taking notes. This was going to be easier than I thought.
"Absolutely, Mr. Wellington. I can definitely handle taking notes."
"Good." He turned to look out the window as the plane lifted off. "Try not to embarrass me."
Wow, such confidence in my abilities, I thought sarcastically. But honestly, I was just relieved. A legal conference, some note-taking, and then back home. This trip might actually be manageable after all. As long as I had my own hotel room where I could let my guard down and not worry about maintaining the Oliver charade 24/7, everything would be fine.
How hard could it be?
*******
Hours later, after we’d arrived in Chicago and taken the world’s most expensive car ride through the city, we pulled up to the conference hotel. It was one of those massive, intimidating tall buildings that screamed "important business happens here," all glass and steel reaching toward the sky.
Maxwell strode into the lobby like he owned the place, with me trailing behind him like an obedient puppy. The floors were so polished I could see my reflection, and large crystal chandeliers hung overhead like frozen icicles.
He walked toward the front desk where a receptionist smiled warmly on seeing him.
"Mr. Wellington! Welcome to Chicago. We have your reservations ready," she said, typing on her computer.
"Excellent. Two rooms, as requested," Maxwell replied.
The receptionist’s fingers paused over the keyboard, and her smile faltered. "Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Wellington. There seems to be a... situation with the accommodations."
Maxwell’s expression darkened. "What kind of situation?"
"Well, with the summit and several other major conferences happening simultaneously this week, we’re completely booked. Every single room in the hotel is occupied..." She paused, looking apologetic. "Except for one."
The words hit me like a bomb. One room. One. Single. Room.
I wanted to faint. Actually, fainting might be the perfect solution to this earth-shattering problem. Maybe if I fainted, I’d wake up in my own personal room and these whole thing would become a horrible nightmare.
Maxwell’s jaw tightened. "One room."
"Yes, sir. It’s our penthouse suite, so it’s quite spacious, but..." she trailed off, clearly understanding the implications.
I stood there, trying to process this information while my internal panic alarm started blaring. One room. With Maxwell. For three days. While pretending to be Oliver.
This trip had just gone from manageable to absolutely catastrophic.