Page 51 of Triplet Babies for the CEO

Tasha was more than just my assistant; she was the steadiness to my chaos, the person who kept me grounded when everything else spun out of control.

Now that she’s gone, it’s like I’m operating on autopilot without a guidance system.

I miss her sharp wit, the way she’d roll her eyes when I was being an ass, the sound of her laugh that would sneak out even when she tried to hide it. I missher.

My desk is covered with paperwork, piles of folders, and contracts I should’ve reviewed hours ago, but I can’t focus on anything.

All I can think about is Tasha, the way her eyes would light up when she was passionate about something. The way she’d look at me, like maybe, just maybe, I could be the man she needed.

If she could just bring herself to trust me.

My phone’s chime breaks through my thoughts, and I scramble to grab it, my heart pounding.

Finally, a message.

It’s from Tasha.

>>You can stop calling. I’m gone. Move on with your life.

The words hit me like a punch to the jaw.

I’m reeling, my fingers shaking as I type back, desperate for more than just that.

>>Where are you? Just tell me where you are.

>>Vegas.

>>Where in Vegas?

And then nothing.

Josh barges into my office, the door swinging open without so much as a knock. “Dad, let’s get lunch,” he says, a bright smile plastered on his face.

I’m staring at my phone, willing it to light up again, but it stays dark. There are no more messages coming through.

“Not today, Josh. I’ve got too much on my plate.”

“Come on, Dad. You need a break. Let’s just get some air. It’ll do you good.”

Finally, I relent, pushing back from my desk with a heavy sigh.

“Fine, but let’s make it quick.”

The cold air bites at my face as we step outside. The city feels darker today, the wind cutting through my coat, every breath stinging like I’m inhaling ice.

Holiday decorations hang in the windows of shops, twinkling lights, and sales signs screaming that Christmas is just around the corner. The streets are lined with bare trees, their branches skeletal against the overcast sky.

We walk toward a small sandwich shop we like to frequent, a deep silence hanging between us. I catch glimpses of families bustling past, the excitement of the holidays in the air.

For me, it’s all hollow. Tasha’s absence is a void I can’t fill. The thought of having Christmas without her…I realize now just how much I was beginning to rely on her emotionally.

Stepping into the warmth of the shop, the smell of fresh bread and coffee hits me, but it only reminds me of everything I’ve lost.

The place hasn’t changed in years. I smile down at the same black-and-white checkered floors, scuffed from the boots of construction workers who come in for a quick bite. The walls are adorned with framed photos of old Chicago: the skyline in sepia, workers balanced precariously on steel beams, smiling in the face of danger.

There’s sports memorabilia everywhere—old Blackhawks jerseys, Cubs pennants, and a signed Michael Jordan poster fading in the corner.

Josh starts chatting about something, probably work, maybe Gemma, but I’m not listening.

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