Page 36 of Bossalicious Bad Boy

I spend the rest of the day going through the motions, my thoughts continually circling back to Clara. What could be driving this wedge between us? And how can I fix it without making things worse? The questions prick at me like thorns, leaving me feeling raw and exposed.

By the end of the day, I'm emotionally drained – and no closer to finding an answer. As I stand up from my desk, I take one last look at Clara's empty chair, my heart heavy with the weight of our fractured friendship.

* * *

The moment I step into the office the next morning, I'm on high alert. My gaze lands on Clara's desk, and my gut churns at the sight of her familiar belongings: her laptop, her coffee mug, a few scattered papers. I tap my fingers on my own desk, willing myself to keep it together.

"Morning, Alex," she says with a tight smile as she walks past me toward her desk. She avoids eye contact, her once-sparkling eyes now dull and guarded.

"Clara, can we talk?" I blurt out, unable to contain my urgency any longer. My voice is more insistent than I intended, but I can't help it. I need answers.

"Uh, sure. But I have to finish this report first," she replies, her voice strained. "Can it wait until lunch?"

"Fine," I agree, trying to hide my disappointment and frustration. The hours drag by like molasses, and when lunchtime finally arrives, I waste no time in approaching her again.

"Let's go grab something to eat," I suggest, hoping the casual invitation will put her at ease. She hesitates for a moment before nodding and grabbing her purse.

We walk to a nearby deli in silence, the tension between us palpable. As we wait for our sandwiches, I rack my brain for the right words, desperate to mend the rift that's grown between us.

"Clara, I've noticed you've been... distant lately," I begin, my heart pounding in my chest. "Is everything okay? Did I do something to upset you?"

She glances at me, her eyes searching mine for a moment before she looks away. "No, it's not you. It's just… work has been really stressful, and I've been trying to juggle everything."

"Are you sure?" I press, not entirely convinced. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Of course," she replies with a small, forced smile. "Really, it's nothing."

"Okay," I say, though her words do little to quell my concern. We finish our meal in uncomfortable silence, the weight of unsaid words hanging heavy between us.

The next few days are more of the same: Clara avoiding my gaze, giving me terse answers, and shutting down any attempts at conversation. It's like trying to hold onto water – the harder I grip, the faster she slips through my fingers.

I can't take it anymore. One morning, after yet another stilted exchange, something inside me snaps.

I fling my door open, my eyes landing on Clara immediately. She’s already staring at me, and I cock an eyebrow. “I need to see you. In my office.”

Her eyes widen a little as she nods. She walks past me inside, and I shut the door behind her.

Clara spins toward me. “What did you want to talk about?”

"Us," I say, my voice wavering. "I feel like there's this...distance between us lately, and I want to understand why."

"Alex, I'm swamped with work right now." Her eyes dart toward the door. "Can we do this later?"

"Clara, please," I plead, my desperation evident. "This is important."

"Fine," she sighs, finally turning to face me. Her eyes are distant, her arms crossed defensively. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Look, I know something's wrong," I say, willing my voice to stay steady. "You've been avoiding me for days, and I can't figure out why. If I did something to upset you, please tell me so I can fix it."

"It's not that simple." She looks down, avoiding my gaze. "Sometimes people just...drift apart."

"Is that what's happening to us?" I ask, the question laced with pain. "We're drifting apart?"

"Maybe," she admits, her voice so low I have to strain to hear her. "And maybe that's for the best."

"Clara..." My throat tightens, choking off the words I want to say. She turns back to her computer, signaling that the conversation is over.

I leave her office, feeling as if the floor has dropped out from beneath me. The once-solid ground of our friendship now feels like quicksand, sucking me down into a pit of confusion and despair. I lean against the wall for support, struggling to catch my breath.

---