Chapter 262
Mia’s POV
To be honest, I’d never really thought about whether Maxwell was married or single. These wealthy people are incredibly protective of their privacy, and frankly, it wasn’t any of my business.
So hearing about his “engagement” now made me feel awkward as hell.
I cleared my throat and forced a professional smile. “Congratulations on your engagement,” I said, hoping my voice sounded appropriately enthusiastic. “Should we perhaps reschedule today’s meeting? I completely understand if you need to handle personal matters p>
Maxwell’s response surprised me. He didn’t hesitate for even a second.
“No,” he said firmly, his voice carrying an edge I hadn’t heard before. He turned toward Margaret, who was still hovering uncertainly in the doorway. “Tell Miss Field that I’m in an important business meeting. She’ll need to wait p>
The way he spoke made it sound like his fiancée was nothing more than an annoying interruption. Like she was just another item on his to-do list that he couldn’t be bothered with right now.
His attitude annoyed me for some reason. Kyle used to treat me like that. I suddenly felt a little sorry for his fiancée. And considering how much they look alike, the whole thing felt a little weird.
But I shook my head. This wasn’t something I should be thinking about.
Margaret looked uncomfortable. “Sir, she seemed quite insistent. She mentioned something about the announcement needing to go out today p>
“Margaret.” Maxwell’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “Please ask Miss Field to wait in the reception area. I’ll speak with her when I’m finished here p>
The poor woman nodded quickly and retreated, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
But I just nodded, fully respecting my client’s choice. I reminded myself that whatever drama was happening in Jackson Maxwell’s personal life was none of my concern. I was here to do a job, get paid, and go home to my boys.
“Where were we?” Maxwell asked, turning back to me as if nothing had happened.
“The interior renovation timeline,” I replied.
I continued my report, outlining the delivery schedule for materials, the projected completion dates for each phase, and the budget allocations we’d discussed.
Throughout our conversation, I could hear muffled voices from the reception area. At one point, a woman’s voice rose sharply, though I couldn’t make out the words. Maxwell’s jaw tightened slightly, but he never acknowledged the disturbance.
After we’d covered everything on my agenda-the construction timeline, the permit approvals, the final design modifications-I began packing up my materials.
Chopter 262 the Boundary
“I think that covers everything for today,” I said, sliding the blueprints back into my portfolio case. “I’ll send you the updated timeline by email this afternoon, and we should be ready to begin the next phase on schedule p>
“Excellent work, Mia,” Maxwell said, standing as I prepared to leave p>
I didn’t engage in any more polite small talk. I’d learned over the years that when clients have personal drama brewing, the best thing to do is get out of their way quickly and quietly.
“Thank you for your time today,” I said, extending my hand for a professional handshake. “I’ll be in touch soon with those updates p>
“Have a good afternoon, Mia p>
“You too, Jackson p>
He was polite. Nothing more, nothing less.
I made my way toward the door, already mentally shifting gears from work mode to mom mode. I had about two hours before I needed to pick up the twins from preschool, which meant I could stop by my office, update Camille on the meeting, and maybe grab a decent coffee.
But as I opened Maxwell’s office door and stepped into the hallway, I found myself face-to-face with what had to be the source of all that earlier commotion.
A woman stood with her back to me, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a spectacular view of the city skyline. She was perfectly still, her posture rigid with what looked like barely controlled anger.
I couldn’t see her face, but everything else about her screamed money and privilege.
Even from behind, she radiated the kind of confidence that only comes from a lifetime of having everything you want handed to you on a silver platter.
This had to be Miss Field. Maxwell’s fiancée.
I didn’t allow myself to linger or gossip. The last thing I needed was to get caught up in someone else’s relationship drama, especially when that someone was paying me very well to renovate his property.
I hurried past her toward the elevators, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
The elevator doors opened just as my phone buzzed with a notification.
Bank alert: Deposit received.
I glanced at the screen as the elevator carried me down to the lobby, and my eyes widened slightly. The first payment from Maxwell’s company had hit my account.
It was an excellent amount. More than excellent, actually.
I remembered the strict confidentiality clauses in my work contract with Maxwell. Privacy was extremely important to people like him—people who lived their lives under constant scrutiny from business competitors, gold-digging acquaintances, and gossip columnists.
For the sake of the money—and my professional reputation-I put aside any curiosity about what I’d just witnessed.
Whatever drama was unfolding in Jackson Maxwell’s personal life, I was going to pretend I’d never seen or heard any of it.