Meeting Mr. Mogul(36)

I looked up and studied the building across the street from my  apartment. Compared to where I live, his condominium towered over its  neighboring buildings. Unlike the building beside it, which was made of  red brick and a rather mediocre finished cement, his building stood out  with its tinted glass walls and steel frames. For all I knew, he owned  the damn classy building standing in front of me.

I entered the building and was welcomed by a sophisticated lobby that  had a cream white granite reception desk and golden walls with an  equally elegant white and gold furnishings. The floor was tiled and  polished exceptionally well, you can see your reflection. The design  reminded me of the small lobby in my apartment. And then it clicked. He  did own the damn place. It was very obvious.

I let out another huge calming breath before approaching the reception  desk, where a young man with light brown hair stood with his head down. I  was a foot away from him when he looked up at me in surprise, but then  recovered his expression and gave me a small welcoming smile.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" he asked when I finally reached the counter.

"Do you know what floor Mr. Maxwell's apartment is in? I'm Ms. Maxwell's  secretary. I came here to give him some papers to sign," I replied  soberly as I held up the brown envelope that held the documents Maggie  gave me.

"Top floor. Penthouse," he replied directly, still smiling. "The  elevator is that way," he added as he gestured his hand to the left,  where three silver metal doors were located.

"Right. Obviously," I mumbled grimly to myself and nodded in reply. I slowly turned towards the elevator.

When I reached the top floor, the elevator dinged as it opened to a  dimly lit hallway. For a second, I thought I was in the medieval era.  The air was cool, the walls were grey, and I would've tripped and fallen  on my face if it weren't for the two mini chandeliers lighting up the  hallway to some extent. I hesitantly stepped out, looking down at the  dark red carpet. Who would have guessed Mr. Mogul had a thing for the  dark ages.

As I continued along the hallway, I turned sideways to see the clear,  floor-to-ceiling window. The view outside was breathtaking as the city  lights illuminated the streets. There were skyscrapers and towers lined  up closely in the heart of the city. If you squinted your eyes, on the  right side you could see a glimpse of the suburbs. I never would've  thought that the city was this beautiful at night.

When I finally reached the end of the hallway, a huge white door stood  in front of me. Its frame was carved with the same kind of wood I  remembered seeing in the Maxwell Mansion. That kind of furnishing is  something you'll never easily forget. I caressed the frame with the tip  of my fingers before knocking gently on the door. It took me at least  three tries before I realized that there was a small golden doorbell on  the left corner of the wall.

After ringing the bell twice, I finally heard a faint call from the  other side of the door. My heart suddenly picked up, knowing who it was.  When the door opened, I was about to greet him but I couldn't find my  words as I laid eyes on him.

He wasn't the William Maxwell that I knew. He looked vulnerable and  frail. He was wearing a plain white shirt and grey sweat pants. He  looked like a man who lost everything. Who was this man and what did he  do to Mr. Mogul?

"Mr. Maxwell?" I asked, choking the words out.

"What do you want?" he asked his voice deep and raspy. He coughed twice  before he looked up. "Oh. What are you doing here?" he asked when his  dull blue eyes found mine.

"I'm here to deliver some paper work. Are you okay?" I started but trailed off as I asked him worriedly.   





 

He waved his hands dismissively as he grabbed the brown envelope that I  handed to him. For a second, I stood there not able to say another word.  Then, I snapped out of it and remembered why I came in the first place.

"Mr. Maxwell. I wanted to say thank you for this past week," I started, taking a step towards him.

He turned back to me, his eyes wide. It was like he had finally realized  who I was. "Andy. No. It was nothing," he replied, slightly  straightening his stance.

"Uhm... May I come in?" I asked after a short pause, nodding my head inside his apartment.

"Oh. Right. That was rude of me. Please," he said frantically, opening the door wide as he gestured for me to go in.

I gave him a weak smile and walked past him. The first thing that caught  my eye was the clear glass wall across the room. It was like the one in  his office. The room was spacious with little furniture present, like  his office. I slowly made my way to a huge black couch in the middle of  the room. I turned to my right and noticed a huge painting.

"You like Renaissance art?" I asked as I continued to study the painting from afar.

"Yes. I like how it holds beauty and history at the same time," William  replied softly as he sat down on the couch, grabbing a dark red wool  blanket that was laid out beside him.

I turned towards him, studying his pale face. "How ill are you?" I asked as I took a step closer to him.

"It's just the flu. I'm not on my death bed yet," he stated with a chuckle, which turned into a series of coughs.

I bit my lower lip in concentration as I gauged his actions. He  continued to cough a few times after a short pause. With a defeated  sigh, I walked towards him and placed my hand on his forehead and neck.  My hand was greeted by his burning skin. He was sicker than he thought. I  placed my hand on his shoulder and forced him to lie down on the couch.

"What are you doing?" he asked in confusion as he resisted, placing one of his warm hand on my wrist.

"You need to lie down. You are heating up badly." I forced him down a little harder.

He looked at me for a second before giving in. I grabbed one of the  pillows nearby and put it under his head as I slowly brought him down on  the couch. Then I grabbed the blanket and covered his whole body with  it.

"Have you eaten?" I asked silently as I lightly patted down the sheet onto him.

"I don't know... I forgot..." he replied, as he turned his head away from me.

I stood up and looked around the vast room until my eyes landed on a  kitchen counter. "Do you have chicken in your fridge?" I asked as I  glanced down to him.

"I don't know. What do you want to do with a chicken?" he asked grimly as he glanced up at me in confusion.

"I'm making you some chicken soup," I replied with conviction and walked  away from him. I know I'm going to regret this if I don't act fast.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked aloud, his voice raspy as he coughed again.

"It's not what you think. Now, sleep while I make you soup," I instructed sternly, as I hunted for utensils and ingredients.

Half an hour had passed and the chicken soup was almost done. I kept it  warm for a while and checked on William. I silently walked back to the  living room. I could hear his soft snores and chuckled at the noise.  Slowly, I peeked through the back of the couch to see his sleeping face.  The blanket was up to his chin and his dirty blond hair stuck to his  pale face as sweat started to form. I smiled at how innocent he looked  at that moment. Even a man who talked like he owned the world had  vulnerable moments.

I lightly slapped his forehead to wake him up a few minutes later. He  groaned in annoyance before opening his blue eyes. He looked disoriented  as he quickly sat up on his couch and turned towards me.

"You look like a wet golden retriever," I remarked with a laugh, shaking my head in amusement.

"You're the only person I know who can be cruel enough to laugh at a sick person," he countered with a suggestive smile.

Since the first time I stepped into his apartment, his eyes gleamed back  with their usual bright blue shade as his lips tugged up into a smile. I  liked his smile. He looked more alive than before. Like a bullet train,  some sense hit me. What was I doing here, making him a meal, taking  care of him?   





 

As he saw my sudden change of expression, the smile on his face was gone  as the glint in his eyes hardened back to its dim color.

"Here's your chicken soup. Eat it all up so you'll get better," I  instructed as I grabbed the tray on the table beside me and placed it in  front of him.

"Thank you," he replied, looking down at the steaming bowl.

"No problem." I walked a few steps away from him, gathering my bag and coat, which I had placed on the couch beside him.

He noticed my action and moved the tray from his lap to the couch. "Where are you going?" he asked frantically.

"I'm heading back. It's getting late," I replied softly as I glanced down at my watch. It was almost nine in the evening.

"Why don't you stay over for the night?" he offered silently, as he finally stood up.

"Mr. Maxwell..." I started in protest.

"Please. I have an extra room down the hall," he interrupted as he gestured towards a dark hallway on the right side.

I eyed him for a second. "I don't think it's professional that I'm..." I started again, my voice weak and low.