A Job Offer
Milk Pansa prided herself on being calm under pressure. In the courtroom, in meetings, even in moments of crisis, she was the picture of control. But today, as she pulled into a small neighborhood far removed from the high-rise offices and polished floors of her usual world, she felt something close to unease.
Love Pattranite lived here.
Milk checked the address Freen had given her, looking at the modest, two-story building in front of her. The first floor housed a small grocery shop, its front lined with baskets of fresh produce.
She took a deep breath and stepped out of her car.
A girl was stacking apples outside the shop, her dark brown hair tied up in a loose bun. She looked up at Milk, tilting her head in mild curiosity before calling into the store.
“Love! You have a visitor.”
A voice from inside responded. “Unless they're buying, tell them I'm busy.”
Milk exhaled, already bracing herself for what was about to come.
The girl, this had to be Becky, grinned at Milk. “Well, are you buying?”
Milk wasn't in the mood for games. “I need to speak with Miss Love.”
Becky shrugged and gestured toward the entrance. “Suit yourself.”
Milk stepped inside the shop, her heels clicking against the slightly worn tiles. The air smelled faintly of spices and dried herbs. And then she saw her.
Love was kneeling by a crate of onions, sleeves rolled up, looking like she had spent the whole morning working. Strands of hair had come loose from her ponytail, sticking to the sweat on her forehead. She was nothing like the refined, composed women Milk usually interacted with.
She was also, Milk realized with some irritation, very pretty.
Love barely glanced at her. “Unless you're here to buy vegetables, I don't have time.”
Milk folded her arms. “I'm not here for vegetables.”
At that, Love looked up, her eyes sharp and assessing.
And just like that, Milk felt it. That instant spark of recognition. That silent challenge between two people who were going to make each other's lives very difficult.
“Milk Pansa,” Love said, her voice laced with something unreadable.
“The famous lawyer.”
Milk raised an eyebrow. “You know who I am?”
Love stood up, dusting her hands on her jeans. “Of course. You're the woman whose car put my sister in a coma.”
The air between them turned heavy.
Milk held her ground. “That's what I came to talk about.”
Love folded her arms. “You’re here to convince me it wasn't your fault?”
Milk wasn't expecting subtlety, but Love's bluntness caught her off guard.
“I'm here because I want the truth just as much as you do,” Milk said evenly.
“My car was stolen that night. I wasn't the one driving it.”
Love let out a short, humorless laugh. “That's convenient, isn't it?”
Milk's jaw tightened. “It's the truth.”
“Then prove it.”
Milk exhaled. She wasn't surprised by the skepticism, but she needed Love to listen.
“That's exactly what I'm trying to do. The only reason I even found you is because I'm investigating, just like you are.”
Love tilted her head, watching her. “So? What do you want from me?”
“To work together,” Milk said before she could stop herself.
Love blinked, then burst out laughing. “You think I'd work with you?”
Milk straightened. “We have the same goal.”
Love's expression darkened. “No. You want to clear your name. I want justice for my sister.”
Milk met her gaze head-on. “And what if that's the same thing?”
Love didn't answer right away. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes, something Milk couldn't quite read.
Then she shook her head. “I don't trust you.”
Milk expected that. “Then let me prove you can.”
Love frowned. “How?”
Milk hesitated. She hadn't actually planned beyond this moment. But then Freen's idea came back to her. It was a bad idea. A terrible idea.
And yet...
“I have a job offer for you.”
Love narrowed her eyes. “A job?”
Milk nodded, forcing herself to sound casual. “I need a private chef.”
Love's face twisted in disbelief. “You think I'll just drop everything and cook for you?”
Milk smirked. “I pay well.”
Love scoffed. “Pass.”
Milk stepped closer. “I'll also handle your case for free. Legal fees, investigations...everything.”
That got Love's attention. She looked at Milk, searching for a catch.
Milk softened her tone. “You don't trust me. I get that. But if you work for me, you'll have access to everything. You can watch me, keep an eye on my case, and see for yourself whether I'm hiding anything.”
Love bit her lip, considering. For the first time, doubt crept into her stubborn stance.
Then Becky's voice cut in from behind. “Love, take the damn job.”
Both of them turned.
Becky was leaning against the counter, watching with an amused expression. “You need money. You need information. And you hate working under people anyway, so what's the problem?”
Love shot her a glare. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” Becky said easily.
“Which is why I think this is a smart move.”
Milk didn't take her eyes off Love. “You don't have to trust me. Just trust that this deal benefits you.”
Love stared at her for a long moment. Then, finally, she exhaled.
“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “But I'm not doing this for you.”
Milk smiled. “I wouldn't expect anything less.”
The deal was made. Love was going to work for Milk.
As Love packed up her things for the day, Becky nudged her. “So... she's hot.”
Love rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”
“I'm just saying,” Becky teased. “You two had a lot of eye contact for two people who supposedly hate each other.”
Love ignored her. “I'm doing this for Mim.”
Becky grinned. “Sure.”
Meanwhile, outside, Milk leaned against her car, watching the grocery shop. She didn't know why, but she had a feeling she had just invited chaos into her perfectly structured life.
And for the first time in a long time...
She wasn't sure if that was a bad thing.
(Condominium)
Love Pattranite had a bad feeling about this.
She wasn't the type to regret decisions, once she made up her mind, that was it—but as she stood in front of the towering condominium complex where Milk Pansa lived, she wondered if she had just made the worst mistake of her life.
"This is a bad idea," she muttered under her breath, gripping the strap of her backpack.
Beside her, Becky looked completely unbothered. "Oh, come on. It's a great idea. You get paid, you get access to the case, and you get to stare at your hot, rich boss every day."
Love shot her a glare. "I'm here for Mim. Not for whatever you're implying."
Becky smirked. "Yeah. Keep telling yourself that."
Before Love could fire back, the sleek glass doors of the building slid open, and a familiar figure stepped out. Milk Pansa.
As always, she looked effortlessly elegant black slacks, crisp white blouse, blazer draped over her shoulders. She moved with the kind of confidence that came from knowing she belonged wherever she went.
Love felt an irrational urge to mess with her.
Milk stopped in front of them, eyeing Love's casual jeans and worn-out sneakers. Her lips pressed together slightly, but she didn't comment.
"You're late."
Love crossed her arms. "You didn't give me a time."
Milk exhaled through her nose, clearly trying to maintain patience. "Come on. I'll show you around."
Becky elbowed Love. "Good luck, chef," she teased before heading off.
Love huffed and followed Milk inside, bracing herself for whatever came next.
Milk's penthouse was everything Love expected sleek, modern, and way too clean.
It looked more like a showroom than a home. The living room had plush white furniture (which Love was terrified of ruining), floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking city view, and an open-concept kitchen that looked barely used.
"You actually cook in here?" Love asked, raising an eyebrow at the spotless countertops.
Milk walked past her, setting down her bag. "I have a housekeeper who prepares meals sometimes, but I usually eat out."
Love scoffed. "Figures."
Milk turned to her with a small smirk. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Rich girl energy," Love said, wandering to the fridge and opening it. She blinked at the contents.
"Seriously? Sparkling water, expensive wine, and, like, three apples? That's it?"
Milk folded her arms. "I wasn't exactly preparing for a live in chef."
Love sighed and shut the fridge. "First rule, I do the grocery shopping. Otherwise, we'll both starve."
Milk raised an eyebrow. "We?"
Love shrugged. "I'm cooking for you, aren't I?"
Milk didn't argue. Instead, she gestured toward the hallway. "Come on, I'll show you your room."
Love's room was bigger than her entire apartment. It had a queen-sized bed, a private bathroom, and a window with a city view.
She set her backpack down on the bed, trying not to feel weird about the whole thing. She thought that this wasn't just a job, this was enemy territory.
Milk leaned against the doorway. "Any questions?"
"Yeah," Love said. "What's your deal?"
Milk blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You don't trust me. I don't trust you. So why are you really doing this?"
Milk was quiet for a moment. Then she sighed, looking more human than usual.
"Because I need answers. And I think you might find them faster than I can."
That...was not the response Love expected.
For a second, she almost felt bad for her. Almost.
Then Milk straightened, putting her lawyer mask back on. "Dinner is at seven. Don't poison me."
Love rolled her eyes. "No promises."
At exactly 7:05 PM, Milk walked into the kitchen and stopped short.
Love was standing at the stove, completely in her element. The scent of garlic, chili, and something rich and savory filled the air. She moved with practiced ease, tossing ingredients in a pan, not even flinching when oil sizzled.
Milk had never found cooking particularly interesting. But watching Love focused, confident, a little messy but in a way that made it look effortless Milk felt something unfamiliar twist in her stomach.
She ignored it.
"What are you making?" Milk asked, leaning against the counter.
Love glanced at her. "Pad Kra Pao. You like spicy?"
Milk smirked. "I can handle it."
"Good." Love grabbed a plate and served the dish, stir-fried basil chicken over rice, topped with a perfectly fried egg.
She slid it toward Milk. "Eat."
Milk sat down and took a bite.
The spice hit immediately.
It wasn't unbearable, but it was enough to make her reach for water. Love, watching closely, grinned. "Oh, I thought you could handle it."
Milk, refusing to be defeated, forced a smirk. "This is nothing."
Love leaned on the counter, eyes twinkling. "Your face is literally turning red."
Milk coughed, grabbed her water, and muttered, "Shut up."
Love laughed, the sound surprisingly warm.
For the first time since this whole disaster started, Milk felt... something shift.
Maybe this wasn't going to be such a bad idea after all.
Later that night, Love couldn’t sleep.
She wasn't used to such a quiet place. No street noise, no occasional honking, no Becky's random sleep talking.
Frustrated, she got up and wandered to the kitchen for water.
She wasn't expecting to find Milk there.
Milk was sitting at the counter, glasses on, flipping through a file. She looked...different. Less intimidating. Almost soft.
"You don't sleep?" Love asked, leaning against the fridge.
Milk glanced up. "I could ask you the same thing."
Love shrugged. "Too quiet here."
Milk smirked. "Not used to luxury?"
"Not used to the lack of life," Love corrected.
Milk tilted her head, studying her. "You really love your family, don't you?"
Love stiffened. "Obviously."
Milk set her pen down. "I get it."
Love frowned. "Do you?"
Milk hesitated. "My brother...he's a mess, but I'd do anything for him."
Something about the way she said it made Love pause.
For the first time, she saw something real beneath the perfect lawyer exterior.
Maybe Milk Pansa wasn't just a rich girl trying to clear her name.
Maybe she was just as desperate for answers as Love was.
Love sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "You're not as awful as I thought."
Milk smirked. "Give it time."
Love snorted, grabbed her water, and turned back toward her room.
As she walked away, she heard Milk's voice, softer this time.
"Goodnight, Love."
She paused for half a second.
Then, without turning back, she muttered, "Goodnight, boss."
Milk just smiled.