Death of Me

04. MAYA BENNETT

"Hey Maya! How's it going? Still working, huh?"

"Four days and she ain't dead yet!"

The comments in the break room never get old. It all began with a passing joke about Mr Wheeler's cutthroat work approach either scaring me off or giving me a heart attack. Apparently, my predecessor had a heart attack on his way home. But then again, he was a sixty-year-old man.

The evening sun casts a warm glow on the city as I exit the office building, feeling like a released prisoner. My two friends, Calla and Sarah, are waiting for me by the entrance.

One look at my tired face and Calla's brow dips. "Hey girlie, you okay?"

"Yeah," I nod wearily, "it's been quite a day."

"He's been keeping you busy all day, hasn't he?" Sarah chimes in, sympathetic.

I sigh. "You have no idea. He's been quite frustrating."

As we make our way to my car, I eagerly fill Calla and Sarah in on the events of my day, from the awkward elevator encounter to the unexpected ranch call and the boss's stern demeanor. Sarah doesn't have a car, and today, Calla didn't bring her ride to work either.

Must be because she enjoys carpooling with Sarah and me.

Once we're all settled in, I pull out of the parking lot, ready to leave the chaos of the day behind. That's when Sarah, ever the planner, suggests a girl's night out at my place. Her timing couldn't be better. After the kind of day I've had, the idea of unwinding with my friends sounds like a fantastic way to end the evening.

Seriously, I need it.

When we arrive at my house, we settle in my living room with glasses of wine. The atmosphere shifts to a more relaxed and friendly one. It's time for some gossip therapy!

Calla leans in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So, what do you think he's like, you know, as a person?"

I chuckle, knowing exactly who she means, "It's hard to say. He's strict, demanding, and definitely a no-nonsense kind of guy. But..."

Sarah raises an eyebrow, encouraging me to spill the juicy details.

"Well, he's also strangely fascinating," I continue, "and he's, uh, attractive."

Sarah bursts into laughter. "Called it! Can't blame you, Maya. I mean, have you seen him? He's flipping hot!"

I can't help but grin.

Calla nods in agreement. "Not gonna lie, you're not wrong there. But you know you can't date the boss, right?"

Who wants to date him?! That guy's a tool!

"Of course not," I reply and for some reason, I feel like I'm lying.

Ugh!

"By the way, I was wondering if you finished reading my story?" Calla asks.

Well no...

One look at the expression on her face and I feel afraid to voice the truth. Calla is a writer, one of the best literotica writers I know. She uses me as a beta reader for her stories, especially the mature parts of it. Problem is... there's only so much smut a girl can take before frustration sets in.

Maybe I'm feeling morose, but I haven't been in the mood to read. It feels like I'm struggling too hard to feel something, to imagine what the MMC looks like, to put myself in the place of the FMC and... feel something?

The taste of the wine in my mouth suddenly feels sour.

"I'm halfway through it," The lie slips out, "I just had to pause on it due because of this job and stuff."

Calla looks like she understands, but I can't be too sure.

Just in case, I ask, "You're not upset right?"

"Why would I be upset?" She retorts with a playful nudge.

Great!

After Calla and Sarah leave, I head up to my room with a tired sigh. On my way to bed, I pass by my reading nook, where my laptop sits closed.

Maybe a little...

I settle in and begin to read. At the intimate scene I pause, brows scrunched as I try to visualize it, to feel the chemistry between the characters in a way that inserts me into the scene but every attempt I make falls flat.

And yet, as I clear my mind and begin to imagine the MMC, an image of a man pops up in my mind and it's the last face I want to see.

Freakin' Wheeler!

It's infuriating and completely unexpected. I try to banish the image from my mind, to focus on my own characters, but my thoughts keep drifting back to him. The way his dark eyes held mine in those few pleasurable moments in the elevator, the commanding presence he exuded-it's as if he's imprinted himself in my thoughts.

I can't deny the undeniable attraction that simmer beneath the surface, even though I had vehemently insisted to my friends that I have no romantic interest in Mr Wheeler. And yet, as my eyes revert to the page, my mind conjures up uncomfortable fantasies that I can't control.

What's worse?

These fantasies are more x-rated than Calla's story.

I think I'm going mental. Yeah, that's a better explanation for this.

~V~

"Aww come on!"

I lean forward to see through the rain pelting against my windshield like a relentless drumbeat. My wipers are working double time but visibility is abysmal. I almost wish I had left earlier when the sun was still out, but fucking Wheeler!

I had had one heck of a day. Mr Wheeler had stepped out for a meeting after lunch. I thought I was going to take a breather in his absence but jokes on me! He dumped a bunch of files on my desk with an order.

"I expect this finished before the close of work, Ms Bennett. Do not disappoint me."

I should have abandoned those files and bailed when the clock struck five but... damn!

Grumbling to myself about Mr. Wheeler and his never-ending tasks, I struggle through the stormy evening. The sky is a canvas of dark clouds, illuminated only by occasional bursts of lightning. Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance and my decision to stay back at the office to complete Mr. Wheeler's tasks feels like a cruel joke in the face of this relentless storm.

And then it happens.

My car jerks violently. Once, twice, and panic surges through me as the engine sputters. Suddenly, the car comes to a sudden halt, right in the middle of the deserted road.

"No, no, no!" I mutter, desperately attempting to restart the engine. But the car remains unresponsive. I grip the steering wheel tighter, heart pounding in my chest as my frustration mounts.

"Dammit!"

With a sense of dread, I open the car door and step out into the relentless downpour. Rain beats down on me, drenching me within seconds, plastering my hair to my face, and soaking my dress. The wind whips through the storm, making it impossible to shield myself. I shiver involuntarily, both from the cold and mounting anxiety.

I pop the hood of my car and peer inside, my hands trembling as I try to make sense of the engine. Raindrops sting my eyes, blurring my vision, and I can't seem to find the problem.

Why did I even head out in this storm?

After a futile attempt to diagnose the issue, I glance around, hoping for a miracle. But there's nothing in sight-no other cars, no signs of life. Just an empty, road in both directions. The isolation heightens my sense of helplessness, and I can't decide whether to blame Mr Wheeler for keeping me late, my car for betraying me, or the storm.

With a sigh of resignation, I return to the shelter of my car, already shivering from the cold. Reaching for my phone, I dial Sarah's number.

She doesn't pick.

It's going to be a long night.