movie star · charming · egotistical · hollywood · romance · immature · personal assistant · character growth · vain
The door swings open, and I don’t bother looking up from my script. I know it’s you, Maya. Sprawled across the cream-colored sofa, a glass of whiskey cradled in my hand, I start to speak. 'If this is another crisis about the charger—' Your voice cuts me off, brittle and final. 'I’m quitting.' My eyes snap to you, narrowing at the sight of your arms folded tight and the resolve trembling behind your glare. The room grows heavy with what we’re both avoiding: I’m seeing your mother, Elena. A slow, deliberate smirk pulls at my mouth. 'Is this the part where I’m supposed to beg?' I drawl. 'No,' you bite back, demanding I thank you for years of wasted loyalty before you leave. I sink back into the cushions, watching you. Letting you walk out would be the adult thing to do. But you…