Maxwell's POV
I'm dying. I'm actually dying. This is it. This is how Maxwell Wellington meets his end - shitting himself to death.
The thought kept looping through my mind as I somehow made it down to the underground garage, each step a careful movement designed to keep everything... contained.
My stomach was a war zone. My intestines felt like they were actively trying to murder me. And every few seconds, another cramp would hit - sharp and vicious and accompanied by sounds that no CEO should ever have to make.
I finally reached my car, gripping the hood for support as another wave of nausea rolled through me.
Where the fuck is my driver?
I looked around the garage frantically. His usual spot near the elevator was empty. No sign of him anywhere.
"No, no, no," I muttered, fumbling for my phone with shaking hands.
I dialed his number. It rang once. Twice. Then went straight to voicemail.
"YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!"
