A Bad Boy in my life

Thirty six

Can we still be friends?
Doesn't have to end
And if it ends, can we be friends?

Friends — Justin Bieber

"Someone will find us soon," I remark, trying to alleviate the tension that fills the confined space.

Maxon runs his hands over his face, a mix of frustration and anxiety evident on his features.

"Do you have any idea what you're going to say?" he asks, his voice tinged with desperation.

I fix my gaze on a fixed point, pondering the situation at hand.

"Kate mentioned that she would finish ironing some of Mr. Stirling's suits and come here to put them away. When she manages to open the door, you can hide among the clothes, and I'll explain that I got trapped. I'll distract her, giving you a chance to leave," I suggest, hoping that this plan will provide us with a way out.

Maxon stands up, running his hands through his hair, his determination shining through as he continues to search through his father's belongings for the elusive card.

The feeling of being trapped in such close quarters is suffocating, akin to being trapped in an elevator with a stranger. I want to ask Maxon about his fear of enclosed spaces, but I know that delving into that topic now would only complicate matters further, creating a conversation that serves no purpose.

I yearn to talk about it with him, to bridge the gap that has formed between us, to regain the sense of familiarity we once shared. However, deep down, I know that such a resolution is merely a distant dream.

"This damn thing has to be here!" Maxon exclaims, frustration lacing his voice as he rummages through one of the drawers in the wardrobe.

I observe his bruised face, the bandage on his cheek looking haphazardly placed, indicating an infected wound beneath.

"I highly doubt Mr. Stirling would keep a card in the sock drawer," I speculate, trying to inject a sense of humor into the situation.

"Any idea where he might have hidden it, then, Miss Expert at finding objects?" Maxon retorts, his tone laced with a mixture of frustration and curiosity.

I study his face once again before pushing myself away from the wall, taking a moment to survey our surroundings.

"If I were Mr. Stirling, where would I keep a card...?" I muse, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Actually, where would I hide it...?"

I walk around the round ottoman in the center of the carpet, deep in thought.

"It can't be in an obvious place," I think aloud, analyzing the possibilities. "But it also can't be too difficult to reach. It has to be somewhere he would enter the closet and remember..."

I approach the row of suits, systematically checking the pockets of each one. In the final suit, I feel a plastic thickness beneath my fingers, and a smile of triumph forms on my lips as I retrieve a blue card from its pocket.

"Is this it?" I inquire, holding up the card in my hand.

Relief floods Maxon's expression as he sees the card he has been desperately searching for. An almost imperceptible half-smile graces his face as he takes the card from my hand.

"Yes," he says, his gratitude evident in his voice.

I run my hands over my apron, feeling a sense of accomplishment, and move to the opposite corner of the closet, allowing Maxon a moment to collect himself and examine the card.

"Why did your father leave the office at that time?" I inquire, my curiosity getting the best of me. "He received a phone call and rushed out."

"Fear," Maxon responds, his voice tinged with bitterness. "One of the security guards called him, claiming there was a woman named Ellen at the gate wanting to speak with him. Ellen happens to be the name of his mistress in New York, as I found out a few months ago."