Olivia's POV
We settled back at our original table by the window, the same spot where this disaster had started. The restaurant was still empty, still eerily quiet, and I immediately came to the conclusion that Maxwell had actually rented out the entire place just for this meeting.
But why?
A waitress came forward, standing nervously at a distance like she was scared to approach. She'd probably witnessed our earlier argument and was wondering if it was safe to come near us now.
"What would you like to order?" she asked hesitantly, her eyes darting between us like she expected another explosion.
Maxwell barely glanced at the menu. "The salmon, medium-rare. Side of asparagus. And a glass of your 2015 Chardonnay."
Of course he didn't even need to look. He probably ate here all the time.
The waitress turned to me expectantly.
