Chapter 148: Chapter 148
Olivia’s POV
The noise coming from Maxwell’s executive bathroom was loudly horrific.
It sounded like a war zone. Like someone was dying in there. Explosions and groans and sounds that no human should ever have to hear from another human, let alone their boss.
I tried to hold it in. I really, genuinely tried.
But it was impossible.
A snort escaped from me first. Then a giggle. Then another. And before I knew it, I was throwing my head back and laughing out loud, belly laughs that made my sides ache and tears stream down my face.
This was pure, beautiful, karma.
The same Maxwell who’d made me clean his precious bathroom for the crime of getting dressed in it, was now destroying that same bathroom with what sounded like the apocalypse of all bowel movements.
"OLIVER!" His voice came from behind the bathroom door, strained and desperate and furious.
I immediately clamped my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle my laughter, but it was too late. He’d definitely heard me.
I rushed to the bathroom door, forcing my voice to sound professional and concerned instead of gleeful. "Yes, sir? Do you need assistance in there? Should I come in?"
"Don’t you DARE..." Another terrible sound cut off his words. "...don’t you even dare come in here, or I swear to God I will flush you down this toilet!"
The image of Maxwell trying to flush me down the toilet while dealing with... whatever was happening in there... made me bite my lip so hard to stop from laughing out.
"Okay then," I managed to choke out. "I’ll just leave you to it..."
"WAIT!" Panic edged his voice. "Don’t go yet."
I pressed my forehead against the door, my shoulders still shaking. "What do you need, sir?"
"Pharmacy." Each word sounded like it took physical effort. "Nearest one. Get me... strong medicine... stomach upset. The strongest they have."
"Of course, sir. Right away." I paused. "Is there anything else you need?"
There was a long silence. Then, in a voice so strained it was almost unrecognizable: "Fresh suit. Get me... fresh suit... before you leave."
I froze.
Wait. Did he...? Oh my God, he actually...
"Sir?" I called through the door, fighting desperately to keep my voice level. "What do you need a new suit for?"
"STOP ASKING USELESS QUESTIONS AND DO AS I SAY!" he roared, followed immediately by another explosive sound that made me jump back from the door.
He shit himself. Maxwell Wellington actually shit himself.
I had to physically bite down on my fist to keep from completely losing it. My entire body was shaking with suppressed laughter, tears streaming down my face, and I was pretty sure I was going to rupture something from the effort of staying quiet.
This was the best day of my life. The absolute best day.
I skipped to his hidden closet, pulling open the doors and scanning the rows of beautiful suits. Dark grays, charcoal blacks, navy blues - all perfectly pressed, all boring and and so very Maxwell.
But then my eyes landed on something different.
A bright white suit.
It was stunning - clearly expensive, probably saved for some special occasion. And it was white. Pure, spotless white.
This is perfect.
A white suit. For a man currently experiencing the worst gastrointestinal distress of his life.
What could possibly go wrong?
I grabbed it along with a fresh white shirt and a pale blue tie, laying everything out carefully on the chair near his bathroom door.
"Your suit is ready, sir!" I called out cheerfully. "I’ll go get your medicine now!"
A pained groan was the only response.
I took a few cash from my bag and practically danced out of the office, down the hallway, into the elevator. The moment the doors closed, I doubled over with laughter, gasping for air.
I gave him toilet water, and now he’s shitting his pants.
The pharmacy was not too far from the company. I entered inside, probably looking slightly deranged with my red face and tears still drying on my cheeks.
"Hi!" I said to the pharmacist behind the counter. "I need medication for a headache. A really bad headache. The strongest you have."
The pharmacist pulled out some drugs from a container, and poured some in a drug packet. "These should help. Take two every six hours as needed."
"Perfect." I took the packet, examining it carefully. Then, as casually as possible: "Just to confirm - these couldn’t cure an upset stomach, right? Like, if someone took these thinking they were stomach medication, it wouldn’t help at all?"
The pharmacist looked at me strangely. "No, these are specifically for pain and headaches. For stomach issues, you’d need something like..."
"Great! That’s what I thought. Just checking!" I paid quickly and hurried out before she could ask any more questions.
He wants medicine? He’ll get medicine.
I was heading back through the building lobby, still grinning like an idiot, when I literally walked right into someone.
"Oh! Sorry, I..."
Ken.
His eyes widened when he saw me, then that same wicked smile from this morning spread across his face. "Oliver. Fancy meeting you again..."
"Nope!" I said cheerfully, sidestepping him. "Can’t talk right now. Excuse me."
I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away, but honestly? Whatever stupid blackmail scheme Ken had brewing couldn’t even touch the high I was currently riding.
Maxwell Wellington was upstairs shitting himself into a white suit, and I was bringing him headache medicine.
Ken’s threats felt like a problem for Future Olivia to worry about.
I went into the elevator, and rode up the executive floor, hurrying back to Maxwell’s office.
The bathroom door was open now, and Maxwell was standing in the middle of his office wearing that white suit, pacing back and forth. His face was pale and sweaty, his hair - usually so perfectly styled - was disheveled from running his hands through it. He looked absolutely miserable.
And he was wearing white. Beautiful, unforgiving white.
This is going to be good.
"Finally!" he snapped when he saw me. "Did you stop to grow the plants yourself? Where’s the medicine?"
"Right here, sir!" I held up the packet. "The pharmacist said this is the strongest they have for stomach issues."
He snatched the packet from my hands, took out two tablets, and swallowed them dry, without even stopping to check.
"Thank God," he muttered, closing his eyes briefly.
I watched him carefully, waiting. The headache medicine obviously wasn’t going to do anything for his stomach problems. If anything, taking medication on an already-upset stomach might make things worse.
We both stood there for a moment. Maxwell’s hand was still pressed against his stomach, his breathing shallow.
Then I saw it - his eyes widened. His face went even paler. His entire body tensed.
"Oh no," he whispered.
"Sir? Are you..."
He didn’t answer. Just turned and ran - again - back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
The sounds that followed were somehow even worse than before. I heard him actually groan in pain between the explosive noises, and for a brief moment, I almost felt bad.
Almost.
But then I remembered him making me clean that bathroom. Remembered his smug smile when he’d humiliated me. Remembered every cruel word and hatred.
Yeah, no. He deserves this.
Twenty minutes later, Maxwell emerged again, looking completely destroyed. The white suit was somehow still white - miracle of miracles - but Maxwell himself looked like he’d been through hell.
"New suit," he said hoarsely, as he held his desk for survival. "Get me... another suit. Not white. Dark. Dark colors."
"Of course, sir."
I returned to the closet and selected a navy suit this time. When I brought it out, Maxwell just grabbed it and disappeared back into the bathroom to change.
This cycle repeated twice more over the next hour. Each time, Maxwell would emerge looking worse, pace for a few minutes, then get hit with another wave and have to run back to the bathroom.
By the fourth suit change, he looked absolutely defeated.
"I’m going home," he announced, his voice weak. He was now wearing a gray suit, his hair completely messed up, his face still pale and sweaty. "I can’t... I can’t work like this."
"Should I come with you, sir?" I asked, trying to sound concerned rather than gleeful. "I could get you more drugs if you..."
"NO!" He thundered. Then, through gritted teeth, he said: "Just... go home, Oliver. Take the rest of the day off."
"But sir, if you’re not feeling well..."
"GO. HOME." He said each word while holding his stomach. "I don’t... need witnesses... to my suffering."
Too late. I’ve been witnessing it all afternoon.
"Of course, sir. I hope you feel better soon." I gathered my things, making sure to grab my hidden stash of extra sandwiches and juice from my locker. "Please let me know if you need anything. And don’t forget to take the meds if it get worse."
Maxwell just waved dismissively, already heading out of the office. He was walking like someone who was trying very hard not to shit themselves, legs pressed together, movements stiff and awkward.
I waited until he was gone, then looked around his office one more time.
Four destroyed suits. One white one that had somehow survived. And a completely messed up bathroom that would probably need professional cleaning.
I stood triumphant in the middle of the office space, my hands on my waist as I stared out the window.
"To revenge," I whispered to myself, grinning. "May it always taste like justice."
Then I grabbed my things, and headed home.
I had a cat to cuddle, a best friend to tell this story to, and three sandwiches to demolish while I replayed the day’s events in glorious detail.
Maxwell Wellington: 1,000
Olivia Hopton: 100
I was still losing. But God, that had felt good.