Olivia's POV
Before I could even process what was happening, Maxwell was already settling into the space beside me with the kind of effortless confidence that made my blood boil.
He crossed his legs like he owned the place, then he raised two fingers in the air, summoning a waiter with the casual arrogance of someone who'd never been told "no" in his entire privileged life.
My heart kicked into overdrive, hammering against my ribcage so hard it hurt. It always did this - betrayed me completely whenever I was face-to-face with Maxwell as myself, as Olivia.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I forced myself to compose, straightening up. "What are you doing here?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care.
He didn't even look at me, his attention fixed on the approaching waiter. "Getting a drink."
The casualness of it made my jaw clench. "On a Tuesday night?"
"Yes." One word. Flat. Dismissive.
