Billionaire’s Regret: The One He Lost

Maxine Mason stared blankly after Braxton Payne as he walked away, the lounge door swinging shut behind him. The click of his leather soles echoed down the hall, fading slowly into silence. He was furious.

The realization hit her like a jolt, and Maxine shot to her feet, grabbed her coat, and hurried for the door. But when her hand hit the frame, she froze, uncertainty locking her in place. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted? Braxton keeping his distance from her?

Square her shoulders, she turned back, straightened the meeting schedule, and laid it neatly on Braxton’s desk before heading straight for Fiona’s apartment. For three days straight, every conversation between them had been strictly business. Even when their eyes accidentally locked, they both looked away on instinct, just like a couple in the middle of a fight.

Maxine knew better than anyone what this was—Braxton’s little power play. He was waiting for her to cave, to make the first move. The weight of it crushed her. In just one week, she’d dropped eleven pounds, her face sharpening noticeably. Fiona, sick with worry, insisted she take a break to clear her head.

It just so happened to be the first weekend in forever Braxton hadn’t dumped work on her, so Maxine agreed. They took advantage of the gorgeous clear weather to go hiking on the nearby trails. Fiona badgered her into dozens of selfies, and when Maxine spotted her rare bright smile in the shots, she picked a couple to post to Instagram.

They’d barely made it back down the mountain when Braxton’s name popped up on Maxine’s phone. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Why was he calling her on a day off? Was something wrong?

Fiona peeked at the caller ID and huffed, "Don’t pick up. Work calls on weekends are never good news—they just want to bleed you dry."

"But what if it’s an office emergency…" Maxine reasoned, and answered the call anyway, under Fiona’s disapproving glare.

Braxton’s voice rolled deep and addictive through the line. "Come to my place when you’re done."

The request caught her completely off guard. "Is something wrong?"

"If you’re well enough to go hiking with Fiona, I assume you’re feeling better. So why would there be a problem?" he said, like it was the most normal request in the world.

Maxine got it immediately. This wasn’t about work. He was just impatient to yank control back now that she was on her feet again. Refusing wasn’t on the table, but she’d been told to rest and take it easy while she recovered. She thought for a second, then answered soft and steady, "Alright. But I’ve been craving a drink. Will Mr. Payne indulge me?"

"When have I ever treated a drink like a luxury around me?" he chuckled low.

After hanging up, Fiona frowned with worry. "You’re actually going? Your health isn’t something to mess around with."

She wasn’t wrong—even today’s hike had required multiple stops to keep Maxine from overdoing it.

Maxine squeezed her friend’s shoulder, smiling to reassure her. "Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing."

---

Night fell, and San Francisco’s skyline blazed to life as Maxine arrived right on time at Braxton’s hilltop villa. Inside, the coffee table was stacked full of liquor bottles. Braxton, loose in a plush cashmere bathrobe, was reclined in an armchair, his dark eyes glassy with alcohol as he watched her.

Spotting the half-empty whiskey bottle already on the table, Maxine felt a tiny flicker of relief. When Braxton had a little drink in him, he was always easier to handle. Getting him to drink a little more wouldn’t take much work.

Maxine settled smoothly onto his lap, lifting a glass with a slow, easy smile, "Couldn’t wait for me, huh, Mr. Payne?"

She took a small sip, then leaned in to press the rim to his lips, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Braxton drank it down.

One bottle after another emptied out after that. By the fourth, his usual sharp, focused gaze was foggy, though his arms still curled tight around her waist on instinct.

Maxine had only ever sipped at the edge of her drinks, so her head was still perfectly clear. She cracked open a new bottle and fed him sips straight from the neck.

Three more bottles later, Braxton’s arms went limp. He slumped heavy against her, out cold. She called his name a few times, but got nothing back.

Relieved, she carefully slid out from under him, grabbed a couple of blankets from the linen closet, draped one over him, and wrapped the other around herself. She’d planned to stay just long enough to make sure he was really out, then leave.

Somehow, she ended up asleep on the couch.

Her breathing was soft and slow, the blanket slipping down her shoulders as she shifted in her sleep. A well-defined, calloused hand caught it before it could fall all the way, tucking it back tight around her.

The man who was supposed to be dead drunk stared down at her with dark, searching eyes, and murmured low, "What the hell are you playing at?"

Since the second bottle, Braxton had known something was off. But he’d played along anyway, curious what her game was.

When he “passed out” and heard her moving around, he’d cracked one eye open, half-expecting her to pull something crazy—she knew nearly all of his deepest business secrets, after all.

But all she’d done was cover him up and curl up on the couch. Warmth wrapped around his chest, and then the apartment went quiet.

When Braxton woke, he found Maxine asleep right there on his couch, her face soft and peaceful. Had she gone through all this trouble just to get him drunk so she could nap?

As he studied her serene, almost childlike face, something in his chest softened. He gently lifted her into his arms, carried her to his king-sized bed, and she murmured something soft in her sleep.

He froze, thinking he’d woken her, but she just snuggled deeper into his chest, still dead to the world.

Hmm. Something was different about Maxine. Before, even the slightest sound would have her jolting awake, ready to jump and do whatever he needed. Now she hadn’t even stirred when he carried her across the house. Had she been that exhausted lately? Or was she still recovering, worn thin from being sick?

A hundred different thoughts spun through his head, but in the end he just pulled her closer against him, flipped off the lights, and went to sleep.

The next morning, Maxine woke up with a jolt. When she spotted Braxton’s sleeping profile next to her, she slipped out of bed as quiet as a mouse. The mess of empty bottles caught her eye, and a twist of guilt pricked her stomach.

Braxton wouldn’t figure out she’d gotten him drunk on purpose, would he?

After freshening up and saying goodbye to his housekeeper, she hurried out, eager to avoid any awkward questions from Braxton on her way into the office.

By the time she got to the bullpen, the whispers had already started.

"Did you hear? Everyone’s saying Maxine is actually Payne’s mistress."

"So it’s true? I always wondered how she landed that position with no real experience. Tsk."

"Well, duh. Secretaries always end up sleeping with the boss…"

The gossip got meaner by the second.

Maxine walked in with a hard face, her cold gaze sweeping over the huddle of gossiping coworkers. "This is an office, not a coffee shop for idle chatter. Mr. Payne and I have no such relationship, and if I hear any more of these rumors, I’ll be sending this straight to HR to handle."

The coworkers exchanged awkward, guilty glances and went dead silent.

Just then, Braxton walked through the door, catching the last line of her denial. His jaw tightened, and his face went dark.