Maxwell's POV
I sat in my chair, fingers drumming impatiently against the desk, my leg bouncing restlessly beneath it - a nervous habit I'd broken years ago in law school, yet here it was, resurrecting itself again.
What the hell is taking so long?
I checked my watch. Thirty-two minutes. It had been thirty-two goddamn minutes since Olivia had left to get my iced tea.
The logical part of my brain knew that Taylor's shop was a ten-minute round trip. Maybe fifteen if there was a line. Ten more minutes would've been enough to change into something else. But thirty-two minutes? That was excessive. Something was wrong.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up my text thread with Julian.
Me: What's going on?
I stared at the screen, watching for those three dots that would indicate he was typing.
Nothing. Just the white space of unanswered messages mocking me.
Fucking hell.
