Page 65 of My Bestie's Billionaire Dad

The reality check is bitter and stinging. I've always prided myself on my leadership, my ambition, my drive.

Maybe they are all just fucking babies.

Nobody likes to work these days.

Nobody knows what hard work is, like I do.

I'm lost in my angry thoughts when it hits me that maybe I am too harsh.

Nobody gets me.

Nobody understands... the pressure, the things I've had to go through to get here.

The only person who ever seemed to humanize me was Maya and now she's gone.

Closing the laptop, I lean back in my chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

My eyes wander back to the photograph on the desk, to the image of Maya, her smile wide.

Reality sinks in deep, feeling like a physical blow to my face. I pushed her away.

I replay the voicemail I left for her in my head, the harsh words, the anger I let loose on her. It was an act of self-preservation, a defense mechanism built over years of protecting my heart.

The regret settles in, clawing at my conscience.

I posted her job, hoping to replace her, to fill the void she left. I realize now how futile it was. Maya wasn't just an employee. She was a part of my life, my world. She was everything.

I start to feel desperate. I pull out my phone, my fingers trace over the screen. It's a shot in the dark, but I text Kaitlyn.

Kaitlyn. Come over for dinner?

I hit send. Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes turn into what seems like an eternity, but there's no response.

I try again.

Kaitlyn, please. It's important.

I wait, staring at the screen and hoping for a reply. It remains stubbornly silent.

The cold, hard truth begins to settle in. Even Kaitlyn won't respond to my messages either.

The desperation grows.

I swipe through my contacts, finding Maya's name. I haven't contacted her since... well, you know. Taking a deep breath, I type a message.

Maya. I need to talk to you. Immediately.

My thumb hovers over the 'send' button. I swallow then I press send before I can chicken out.

I'm not doing this anymore.

I add it as an afterthought, hitting send again. My chest feels tight. This is completely out of character for me, practically begging, but I need her. I need to fix this.

I wait. And wait. And wait.

No response.

My self-loathing reaches a boiling point.

---