Facade of Love

Chapter 457 They're All Asking for It

Without asking for my opinion, Maxwell pulled me over to the table, and we took our seats.

I scrunched my brow and gave his hand a secret pinch, but he just shrugged it off, grinning at me like he knew something I did not. "Yvette, since you're laying off the booze right now, just munch on some snacks or play on your phone if you get bored, okay? I'm gonna have a few rounds with Mr. Young, then we'll head home."

He had a weird undertone to his voice that made Idris's face cloud over, his dark eyes flicking over to me like he was trying to figure something out.

I dodged his look and gave Maxwell a noncommittal, "Hmm."

Mr. Lacava, catching the vibe, chuckled and said, "Mr. Sanchez, you're treating her so well. Is there something you're not telling us?"

"Mr. Lacava, let's not get sidetracked. How about we toast to Mr. Young?" Maxwell lifted his glass, his smile begging for a smack.

I could not care less about a bunch of suits buttering each other up instead of talking business and egging on drinking. I ducked my head and pulled out my phone to kill time.

For some reason, Maxwell was dead set on matching Idris drink for drink, and Idris was right there with him. He was acting like he had lost his mind, not stopping for a second.

The rest of the crowd caught on that something was up. They started with a few jabs, but soon made their excuses and bailed.

Even Mr. Lacava, with his beer gut, took off.

Watching those two guys go at it like they were in some kind of drinking duel, I finally tugged on Maxwell's sleeve. He glanced at me, his face beet red from the booze, and slurred, "What's... what's up?"

I shot a look at Idris, who was still maintaining composure. When did he get such an ironclad liver? He was downing drinks like water and not even flinching.

I turned back to Maxwell and said, "It's late. Time to head out."

Maxwell's brow creased slightly as he tutted, "Hold on. It's still early. I've got a night of drinking with Mr. Young ahead of me."

He lifted his glass to Idris and cheered, "Mr. Young, let's keep the party going. Drink up!" However, no sooner had the words left his lips when he face-planted onto the table, out cold.

He was totally zonked...

I just stood there, dumbfounded.

The private room had emptied out, leaving Idris sitting a short distance away, watching me with an expression that was neither here nor there. I bit my lip, got up to help Maxwell make our exit, and told Idris, "Mr. Young, it's late, and he's plastered. We can't stick around for more drinks, we've got to head out."

Idris did not say a word, just reclined a bit, giving me that nonchalant look that was seriously punchable.

I paid him no mind.

I tried to hoist Maxwell up, but the guy was a total dead weight, a towering figure over six feet tall, and I could not even drag him. Despite my best efforts, he was out like a light. Not even a shout

could stir him.

Idris just sat there, a spectator with a look of amusement, silently observing my struggle. Finally, he drawled, "Need a hand?"

No kidding...

I bit my lip again but nodded. "Could you, Mr. Young, help me get him downstairs?"

He curled an eyebrow, ignoring my request, and instead called out, "Ensio."

Right on cue, Ensio appeared, asking, "Mr. Young, what's up?"

Idris glanced at Maxwell sprawled on the table and instructed, "Take Mr. Sanchez home for Ms. Scott, will you? Make sure he gets there safely."

Ensio gave a nod, no fuss, and scooped Maxwell up, escorting him out of the room.

I gave Idris a heartfelt thanks. He had helped me out, and it would not be right to brush him off with a cold shoulder.

As I turned to leave, Idris piped up, "Is Ms. Scott really going to walk away without another word?"

I shot him a puzzled look. "Is there something else, Mr. Young?"

He took his time, his long fingers drumming on the marble tabletop, a rhythm that set my nerves on edge.

I was about to walk out, thinking he had nothing more to say, when he suddenly caught my gaze, one eyebrow arching playfully. "My guys took Mr. Sanchez home. Don't I deserve a ride too?"

Me???

I could not help but smirk, despite my confusion. "You're not... drunk, are you?"

His deep eyes locked onto mine. "If you'd like me to play the drunk, sure, I can do that."

That guy!

Why would he need a ride if he was not plastered?

I bit my lip, then offered, "I'll get you a cab."

"I don't do cabs," he declared with a mix of arrogance and conviction.

I was at a loss for words. Everyone had been drinking till the crack of dawn. By the time Ensio dropped Maxwell off, it would be way past midnight. I could not just stand around all night, and calling someone else to pick him up was out of the question.

I sighed and finally said, "Alright. I'll drive you home, Mr. Young."

He nodded but stayed put. I frowned, wondering if the restaurant chairs were made of clouds or something.

We locked eyes, and after a tense moment, he softened his gaze. "Help me up, will you?"