CHAPTER SEVEN — TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT
1122 Words
Monday morning arrived far too quickly.
Yoko stepped into Malhotra Tower with a strange mixture of dread and nervous energy. The team-building weekend still clung to her like humidity — memories of damp clothes, shared laughter, and one very dangerous bus ride home.
She had spent most of Sunday trying to forget the way Faye’s head had rested so lightly near her shoulder.
Trying — and failing.
“This is ridiculous,” Yoko muttered as she rode the elevator up. “You are not developing feelings for your boss. Absolutely not.”
The elevator dinged as if it disagreed.
Faye was already in her office when Yoko arrived.
Of course she was.
Perfectly composed. Perfectly polished. Back in full Iron Orchid mode, as if the softer version from the weekend had never existed.
“Good morning,” Yoko said, professional and neutral.
Faye glanced up. “You’re on time.”
“I’m always on time.”
“Debatable.”
Yoko rolled her eyes. “Nice to see you too, Madam Malhotra.”
Faye studied her for a second longer than necessary.
“How are you feeling after the weekend?”
Yoko froze.
That sounded almost… caring.
“I survived,” she answered lightly. “And you?”
“Regretting every life choice that led to kayaking.”
Yoko couldn’t help smiling. “You secretly enjoyed it.”
“I did not.”
“You smiled.”
“I was grimacing.”
“Sure.”
For a brief moment, the air between them felt easy.
Then Faye cleared her throat and the walls went back up.
“Focus, Yoko. We have a busy week.”
And just like that, the spell broke.
By 10 a.m., the familiar rhythm returned.
Emails. Meetings. Phone calls.
Except something was different.
Faye wasn’t as sharp as usual. Her tone wasn’t as cold. And when Yoko made a small mistake in a report, Faye corrected her without the usual sting.
It was unsettling.
Yoko found herself watching her boss more carefully than necessary.
Noticing things she hadn’t before.
The way Faye pushed her glasses up when she was tired.
The way she tapped her pen when thinking.
The tiny crease between her brows when annoyed.
“Stop it,” Yoko whispered to herself. “You are being weird.”
Unfortunately, weird seemed to be her new normal.
At lunchtime, Yoko was buried in spreadsheets when Faye appeared beside her desk.
“Come with me.”
Yoko blinked. “Where?”
“Lunch.”
“With you?”
Faye sighed. “I don’t see anyone else here.”
“But—”
“It’s not a social invitation,” Faye added quickly. “We need to discuss tomorrow’s presentation.”
“Right. Business lunch. Very professional.”
Faye gave her a look. “Exactly.”
Yoko grabbed her notebook and followed, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach.
The restaurant was small and quiet — far from the fancy places Faye usually chose.
Yoko looked around in surprise. “This doesn’t look very CEO-like.”
“I prefer good food to expensive décor,” Faye replied.
“Noted.”
They ordered quickly.
For the first few minutes, they actually talked about work.
Revenues. Strategies. Plans.
Then, somewhere between the appetizers and the main course, the conversation shifted.
“You handled yourself well this weekend,” Faye said suddenly.
Yoko paused mid-bite. “You already thanked me.”
“I’m saying it again.”
“That’s twice in one week. I should write this down.”
Faye shook her head. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
A comfortable silence fell.
Too comfortable.
Yoko cleared her throat. “So… do you really hate team-building that much?”
“Yes.”
“No hesitation at all.”
“I don’t enjoy forced happiness.”
“Fair.”
Faye studied her. “You, however, seemed to enjoy it.”
“I enjoy watching serious people suffer.”
“I noticed.”
Their eyes met.
And for a second, it didn’t feel like boss and assistant sitting across from each other.
It felt like something else.
That illusion shattered the moment they returned to the office.
Because waiting for them was chaos.
“Madam Malhotra,” the receptionist said nervously, “there’s an issue with the Hong Kong investors. They moved the meeting to today. In thirty minutes.”
Faye’s entire posture changed.
“Thirty minutes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to Yoko instantly. “Conference room. Now.”
The next half hour was a blur.
Phones ringing.
Files printing.
Presentations rearranged at lightning speed.
Yoko moved on pure adrenaline, anticipating Faye’s needs before she even voiced them.
By the time the investors arrived, everything was ready.
The meeting went flawlessly.
When it ended, Faye shook hands calmly while Yoko quietly exhaled in relief.
Crisis averted.
Again.
After the guests left, Faye closed her office door.
“You did well,” she said.
Yoko dropped into a chair. “I think I aged five years.”
“That makes two of us.”
They shared a rare, tired smile.
Then Faye added, “I couldn’t have done that without you.”
The words landed heavily.
Sincerely.
No sarcasm.
No criticism.
Just truth.
Yoko felt her throat tighten.
“Part of the job,” she said softly.
Faye nodded, but her gaze lingered.
And for a dangerous moment, neither of them looked away.
That evening, as the office emptied, Yoko gathered her things.
“Goodnight, Madam Malhotra.”
“Goodnight, Yoko.”
She was almost at the door when Faye spoke again.
“Yoko.”
“Yes?”
Another hesitation.
“About the bus ride… I apologize if I—”
“Oh! No, it was fine,” Yoko interrupted quickly, cheeks heating. “You were tired.”
“Still.”
“Really. No harm done.”
Faye nodded slowly.
“Good.”
But the tension in the room said otherwise.
Outside, Yoko walked toward the BTS station with a thousand thoughts spinning in her head.
The hate was definitely gone now.
In its place was something far more terrifying:
Awareness.
Of Faye’s voice.
Her presence.
Her nearness.
Yoko groaned.
“This is bad,” she whispered.
Very, very bad.
Upstairs, Faye stood alone in her office, staring out at the Bangkok skyline.
She replayed the day in her mind — Yoko’s quick thinking, her bright eyes, her stubborn competence.
The assistant who was supposed to be temporary.
The assistant who was becoming impossible to ignore.
Faye closed her eyes.
“I need boundaries,” she murmured.
But even as she said it, she knew one undeniable truth:
Those boundaries were already starting to blur.
- Writer
