CHAPTER ELEVEN — UNDENIABLE
977 Words
By Friday, Yoko Tran-Siripong had reached a very serious conclusion:
She needed professional help.
Not therapy—although that was becoming tempting.
What she really needed was emotional self-control. The kind that allowed normal people to work next to their intimidating, beautiful bosses without internally panicking every five minutes.
Unfortunately, self-control seemed to have taken a long vacation.
Especially after yesterday.
Especially after Faye’s quiet explanation:
He’s just a family friend.
Those five words had replayed in Yoko’s head all night like an annoying pop song.
She hated how relieved they made her feel.
When she arrived at the office that morning, the lilies were gone.
Gone.
No vase.
No petals.
No evidence they had ever existed.
Yoko stared at the empty table in shock.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Looking for something?”
She turned sharply.
Faye stood behind her with a cup of coffee, watching her with suspiciously calm eyes.
“No,” Yoko said quickly. “Just… admiring the minimalist décor.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Faye walked past her into the office.
“Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning,” Yoko replied, trying to sound normal.
Normal was getting harder by the day.
The morning meeting went smoothly.
Too smoothly.
Which, in their world, usually meant trouble was waiting around the corner.
At 11:00 a.m., that trouble arrived in the form of an email.
“Yoko,” Faye called.
She hurried in. “Yes?”
“Read this.”
Yoko leaned over the desk.
Her heart sank.
A major supplier was threatening to pull out of the Tokyo project unless new terms were agreed to immediately.
“This is bad,” she said.
“Very.”
“What do you need?”
Faye looked at her steadily. “I need you.”
Yoko blinked.
“For the negotiations,” Faye clarified. “You understand the details better than anyone.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.”
For one ridiculous second, she had thought—
Never mind.
They spent the next hours preparing counterproposals, drafting emails, and planning strategies.
The office turned into a war room.
And once again, they worked together like a perfectly dysfunctional team.
By mid-afternoon, exhaustion hung in the air.
Faye rubbed her temples.
“Enough,” she said finally. “We’ll continue Monday.”
Yoko nodded, grateful.
As she gathered the files, Faye watched her.
“You handled today well.”
Yoko smiled. “That’s becoming a habit.”
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
A pause.
Then Faye added quietly, “I appreciate you.”
The simple sincerity of it stole Yoko’s breath.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I know.”
Their eyes met.
Held.
Something warm and dangerous flickered between them.
Yoko looked away first, heart racing.
At 5:30, the office slowly emptied.
Weekend energy filled the halls.
Yoko finished the last of her tasks and prepared to leave.
“Any plans?” Faye asked casually as she stepped out.
“Sleep. Eat. Avoid thinking about work.”
“A solid strategy.”
“What about you?”
Faye shrugged. “More work.”
Yoko frowned. “You should take a break.”
“I don’t need breaks.”
“Everyone needs breaks.”
Faye gave her a look. “You’re very bossy for an assistant.”
“Occupational hazard.”
Another tiny smile escaped Faye before she could stop it.
“Go home, Yoko.”
“Yes, Madam Malhotra.”
But neither moved.
The air between them felt heavy again — thick with everything they weren’t saying.
Finally, Yoko turned toward the door.
“Have a good weekend.”
“You too.”
She was almost out when Faye called her name.
“Yoko.”
“Yes?”
Faye hesitated.
“I… enjoyed working with you this week.”
Yoko blinked.
“That sounded dangerously like a compliment.”
“It was.”
Her heart flipped.
“Well,” Yoko said softly, “I enjoyed it too.”
Outside, Bangkok buzzed with Friday night life.
Street vendors shouted. Music drifted from bars. The city breathed relief at the end of another week.
Yoko walked toward the BTS feeling lighter than she had in days.
Until her phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
“Thank you for your hard work this week. – F.”
Yoko stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
She read it again.
Then one more time for safety.
Faye Malhotra had texted her.
Not emailed.
Not instructed.
Texted.
Personally.
Casually.
Yoko typed back with trembling fingers:
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your weekend.”
Three dots appeared.
Then:
“Try to relax.”
Yoko laughed out loud.
Relax. Right.
Impossible.
Across the city, Faye stared at her phone like it had betrayed her.
She had told herself not to text.
Told herself it was unnecessary.
Unprofessional.
And yet her fingers had done it anyway.
She set the device down with a sigh.
“This is getting complicated,” she murmured.
The assistant was no longer just an employee.
She was a presence.
A thought.
A feeling.
A distraction Faye didn’t know how to control.
And that was a problem.
A very serious, very personal problem.
Later that night, Yoko lay in bed replaying the week.
The arguments.
The teamwork.
The quiet moments.
The text message now saved in her phone like a tiny secret.
She hugged her pillow and groaned.
“I am in so much trouble.”
Because there was no denying it anymore.
Not after the way Faye looked at her.
Not after the way her own heart reacted.
Hate had officially turned into
something else.
Something soft.
Something terrifying.
Something that felt dangerously close to falling.
And somewhere between Bangkok’s glittering skyline and two restless hearts, the line between boss and assistant grew thinner than ever.
- Writer
