The Psycho I Call Bestie Thinks I'd Steal Her CEO

“Shea! Why the hell did Curtis add you?! Were you trying to seduce him?!”

My god. Her eyes were bloodshot, her voice low and enraged.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped, yanking her hands off me.

She chased after me like a rabid dog, demanding an explanation. “Answer me! Why did he add you?!”

I was gonna ignore her, but then I paused. Knowing her temper, I figured I’d throw her a bone.

“Oh, it might be because his company wanted to buy the copyrights to my book. But I already signed with another publisher, and they’re trying to convince me to switch.”

“Why didn’t you just say that earlier? I almost misunderstood,” she huffed, smoothing her skirt. “I knew it. There’s no way Curtis would be interested in someone like you.”

Right. She always looked down on me.

Back in college, she was the arts committee rep and ran the school’s PR team while I was just the girl with decent grades and nothing else going for me.

Guess she kept me around as her “best friend” just so I could be the foil that made her shine brighter.

I didn’t bother responding to her mockery. I just picked up my smashed phone and walked away.

“Tch. She just writes some trashy book and thinks she’s hot shit. What a freak?!”

She didn’t even try to lower her voice—it was loud enough for me to hear clearly.

In my last life, I would’ve brushed it off as her just being upset.

But now I know better. ‘Dang, my “best friend” has always been this toxic.’

Two days later, I got a contract in the mail from Atlas Publishing.

That night, Vicky knocked on my door.

“Shea, don’t sell your book rights to Atlas. Sell them to our company instead. I know we can’t offer as much, but hey—we’re besties, right? You’ll help me out, won’t you?”

Just like that, she picked up the contract off the table and casually tossed it in the trash.

‘Damn,’ I thought, ‘this bitch’s so sure I’d say yes.’

“Vicky, I already promised them. I can’t help you on this one.”

I looked apologetic, lowered my head to hide the annoyance in my eyes, and pulled the contract out of the bin.

“Don’t forget—Curtis’s got his eye on me. Once I become the CEO’s wife, you’ll be lucky if I let you drink the leftover soup. Come on, don’t be stupid!”

“Sorry, Vicky. I really can’t break the contract.”

She opened her mouth to blow up again until she suddenly seemed to remember something that made her force herself to calm down.

“Forget it. I’m going to bed. Go take your shower.”

I smirked to myself, nodded, and took my pajamas to the bathroom.

After my shower, she was gone.

So was the contract.

Then, I saw her message.

[Had to leave early. Don’t worry—I sent the contract out for you.]

“She really is that desperate. Yikes.”

I copied the home security footage, pulled out the real Atlas Publishing contract from my drawer, signed it, and mailed it myself.

The next morning, I got a call from an old college roommate.

“Hey, Shea, did Vicky hit the jackpot or something? I mean, her Facebook is full of designer stuff lately. Did she snag a rich boyfriend?”

I blinked in a little surprise. I opened Facebook to see what she was talking about.

‘Oh. Vicky’s feed looks like a luxury catalog, indeed. She’s probably doing it to get Curtis’s attention.’

“Uhm, I don’t really know. She hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Hey… That men’s suit she posted… Don’t you think—”

After the call, I scrolled back to a photo Vicky had posted two days ago.

It was a man’s suit jacket—stained with coffee.