They arrived at a pub, one of Christian's numerous establishments. Maeve could tell when they entered. He owned the place. A nice spot was reserved for them. It was secluded and had a pleasant view. It was a calm spot—not much of a fuss around.
"Shall we order, then?" Christian's deep voice interrupted her dazed look out the window. She nodded in agreement.
"Let's cut to the chase. Why did you bring me here?" She spoke up abruptly after they had seated comfortably.
Christian was surprised by her sudden question. A question he couldn't answer himself. "We had a long, insufferable day at the funeral. What better way than to unwind and relax?" He raised his glass, which had been served wine.
"You don't have to hide your pity; I can smell even from a mile away." Her lips pouted, and she took her glass, the sweet aroma of wine hidden with the stench of alcohol. She swallowed in a gulp.
"More!" Maeve asked the attendant to refill her glass with the bottle in his hands. She might as well enjoy it.
Minutes later, her eyes were unfocused, and her words slurred with every statement she made. She hiccuped. She was annoyed.
The attendant hesitated to pour as she asked. He gazed at her wearily and then narrowed a glance at Christian, who watched her with a focused gaze. Her glass banged on the table as she requested groggily.
"One too many, and you might make a mess," Christian warned her; however, she didn't listen and forcefully took the wine bottle. It went down in another gulp just before Christian took the bottle away from her and handed it to the waiter.
Her vision had become unsteady, and her movement wobbled clumsily. She let out a deep groan with her hands supporting her head.
"Why am I like this? Why do I feel like this?" she questioned herself repeatedly. Christian could only sit and watch as she unfolded every bit of layer she had put on. For him, it was a side of her he had yet to see, almost inexplicably amusing.
Maeve stood up, deciding it was all for the night. She needed the comfort of her apartment. Her stance wavered, and she crumbled to the floor. Christian caught her before she had made an impact on the ground.
It was time to head home. He thought.
"I can handle it from here," she muttered to him. Her fingers bridged the distance between them; however, he didn't budge. Eventually, her eyes closed shut while she rested on him.
"I would be held accountable if that were to happen," he said to her calmly. She had slept off in a deep snooze.
The next day,
Maeve awakened to the sound of Christian's voice. "Good morning; you seem to be enjoying your slumber, as it took quite a while for you to come through." Maeve's eyes opened wide, shock evident on her face. She was greeted by the smell of warm hangover soup on the side table.
"Where am I?" she asked, the sudden heaviness of her head. It throbbed slightly. She groaned in pain.
She noticed the high-class suite and detailed arrangement, which only meant she was in his penthouse.
The coffee shop, she thought, and she would need a change of clothes first.
"Drink the soup, and then you can leave," he ordered. She glanced over at the table. Taking the bowl in her hands. It warmed her fingers, and the smell caused a churn in her belly.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You still have manners then," he said, getting up from the single sofa in the corner room. "When you get better, take a cab. But I expect you next morning to make my breakfast." he said in a firm tone.
The abrupt, cold tone he used sent a block of reality crushing down her skull. His hospitality had run dry.
"Sure," she muttered tiredly, easing back into the covers.
He switched on the flat screen, and the news came on. "Maeve Brooklyn Donahue, a once esteemed offspring of the billionaire businessman Henry Donahue, was caught having a one-on-one argument with her supposed lover..."
Maeve coughed up the soup in surprise, almost choking as she listened to the new reporter read out the news.
"What the hell!" she shouted in disbelief. "When...How?" she glanced at Christian, who didn't look surprised by it. "I'm not his lover," Maeve shouted.
Christian lips upturned in a snarl. "And you got the bedding dirtied."
"How did it escalate so quickly?" she wondered.
"It's an obvious ploy crafted against you," Christian mentioned as he dialled the hotel cleaning service.
Maeve curled up. A sudden chill surrounded her. Her life was ruined. Where would she flee to? Her face and name were being broadcast everywhere.
"What do I do?" she muttered to herself.
"You need to go back home after you finish your soup," Christian said. Mave looked at him, aghast. She couldn't go out there. Goodness knows the reporters would have swarmed her apartment building trying to get her.
"Your presence will surely drag those flies in pursuit. I don't need that here," he said coldly.
Maeve wanted to make a plea to him when her phone rang. She saw it was Oliver. Relief washed through her.
On the other line, she could hear Oliver's worried tone. "Are you okay? Where are you?" he asked impatiently.
"I'm fine. I am currently at a hotel." She didn't want to disclose that she was Christian to avoid any more questions. "Tell me where to come get you. I'll be there to pick you up," he said to her.
Maeve was relieved to hear him come to her rescue. "Thank you; I'll send it over now." The line cut, and she sighed. She got off the bed in haste.
"Thank you for yesterday. I'd best be on my way," she said gratefully.
He didn't respond, and she didn't wait for an answer, either. Oliver would soon be here any minute to pick her up.
Oliver had picked her up in the corner alley of the hotel. He hugged her as soon as she got into the car. A sigh of relief on his end, seeing that she was okay.
"We'll be going somewhere else; a friend of mine owns the place and has given for the meantime," he explained to her.
Her shoulders sagged from the weight of exhaustion that came over her. "I don't know how to thank you," she said in tears.
"Let's get there first, and we can talk all about it later," he said, putting the gear into drive. Maeve clutched her seat belt.