Chapter 3
Freen POV
Our first day working in Rebecca's—sorry, Becky's—building, and I've already decided I don't like it. It's too cold, the coffee machine is broken, and the chairs in the conference room are way too soft for my liking. Yes, soft chairs are a problem when you're trying to focus on writing clean code, but your brain keeps sinking into inappropriate thoughts about the client.
About Becky.
To be fair, it's not my fault. She keeps walking into the room looking like she's stepped straight out of a goddamn Vogue cover shoot. Today? A crisp white blouse tucked into black high-waisted trousers, and those heels—seriously, how does she walk so confidently in them? If I tried that, I'd probably faceplant before saying "good morning."
Anyway, back to the project.
We've been sitting in the meeting room for the last hour, brainstorming ideas and sketching out workflows. Becky sits across from me, nodding occasionally at my team's suggestions while flipping through a notepad. She's taking this very seriously, which I appreciate—except for the part where I catch myself watching her too much.
Her hair falls over her shoulder as she leans forward to ask a question, and I lose track of what Noey is saying. Crap.
"So, Freen," Becky says, her voice smooth, snapping me back to reality. "What's your take on this? Do you think integrating the AI directly into the app will create scalability issues later?"
Focus, Freen. Words. Use them.
"It depends," I manage, clearing my throat. "If we optimize the backend and avoid overloading with unnecessary data processing, scalability shouldn't be a problem. But I'll need to do some tests to confirm."
Becky's lips curve into a small smile. "You really know your stuff, don't you?"
I blink. Did she just... compliment me? My heart does this stupid little flutter, and I hate it. I force a smirk. "Well, they don't call me the top coder of my class for nothing."
"Top virgin, you mean," Nam mutters under her breath. I kick her foot under the table, making her yelp. Becky raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.
"Something I should know about?" she asks, leaning forward slightly.
"Nope. Nothing at all," I say quickly, glaring at Nam. She snickers but wisely shuts up.
The rest of the meeting goes smoothly—until it doesn't.
Becky POV
The team is incredible. They're sharp, innovative, and clearly passionate about their work. Freen, in particular, stands out. She has this quiet confidence about her, a way of explaining complex ideas in simple terms without sounding condescending. It's... attractive.
Stop it, Becky.
You're here to work. Not to notice how her wavy hair falls perfectly over her forehead. Or how her biker jacket makes her look annoyingly cool. Or how her voice gets this husky edge when she's explaining something technical.
Focus.
But then, halfway through the meeting, I make the mistake of teasing her.
"So, Freen," I say, "if you're this good at coding, what other hidden talents do you have?"
She looks up, startled, and for a moment, I swear her cheeks turn pink. Then she recovers with that trademark smirk I've already started recognizing.
"Well, Becky," she says, leaning back in her chair, "I guess you'll have to stick around and find out."
The room falls silent.
Nam lets out a low whistle. Noey's jaw drops. Yuki snorts, trying to hide a grin.
And me? I'm completely caught off guard.
"Touché," I say finally, smiling despite myself. But my cheeks feel warm. Freen's confidence—cocky but not overbearing—is... frustratingly charming.
Before I can respond further, Sofia enters the room to announce a fire drill.
Freen POV
The fire drill couldn't have come at a worse time. Everyone rushes out of the building, Becky leading the way with her assistant. Nam and Noey are laughing about something behind me, while Yuki talks on the phone.
As we stand outside waiting for the all-clear, Becky moves closer to me.
"So," she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear. "You're not as shy as you seem, are you?"
I glance at her, and there's this glint in her eyes—like she's enjoying this game we're playing.
"I'm full of surprises," I reply, matching her tone.
"Good," she says, stepping a little closer. Her perfume is subtle but intoxicating. "Because I think we'll be seeing a lot of each other."
I swallow hard, my brain short-circuiting. Is she flirting with me, or am I reading too much into this?
Before I can say anything else, the all-clear is given, and she turns to walk back inside, her heels clicking against the pavement.
Nam sidles up to me with a knowing grin. "Oh, she likes you, fuzzy."
"Shut up," I mutter, but my heart is pounding.
This is going to be one hell of a project.
After a long, productive meeting—where I did my best to stay professional, despite the sizzling glances Becky kept throwing my way—we finally wrapped up. But just as we were getting ready to leave, Becky's voice broke through my thoughts.
"How about lunch? I mean, if you guys are free, of course," she suggested, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Nam, of course, was the first to chime in, her excitement unmistakable. "Oh, we're always free for food. Right, girls?"
Yuki nodded, but Noey was already scrolling through her phone, likely looking up food recommendations. "Sure, let's go. But Freen, don't try to skip out on us this time."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I replied, smiling. Becky caught my eye, and for a brief moment, I felt the air between us shift again. It was subtle but undeniable.
The walk to the restaurant was lighthearted, with Nam taking pictures for her story, teasing Noey about her sudden fascination with the food scene, and Yuki and Becky talking shop. But through it all, I couldn't help but notice the way Becky kept sneaking glances at me. It was as if she was trying to figure something out—or maybe she was just intrigued by me, and for a moment, I liked the thought of that.
We got seated at a table by the window, the natural light highlighting Becky's features in a way that made my heart skip a beat. I swear, this woman was killing me with her effortless charm.
Our waitress arrived, a young woman with a bright smile and an enthusiastic energy. As soon as she locked eyes with me, I noticed the way she gave me a once-over. She lingered a little too long on the "hi, what can I get you?" moment before taking the drink orders. But then, she turned back to Becky with an even brighter smile.
"So, what's the special today?" Becky asked, her tone polite, but I could hear the slight edge of something else in her voice.
The waitress, clearly sensing an opportunity, leaned a little closer, eyes locked on me. "Well, we've got some great fresh seafood today, but I have to say, I think you'll look even better after a good meal."
I raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to react. But before I could say anything, I noticed Becky's hand tightening around her water glass. There was a shift in her posture—her shoulders tensed, just slightly, and I caught the flicker of something in her gaze as she watched the waitress flirt.
The waitress, clearly not picking up on the tension, continued with her flirty banter. But Becky—Becky wasn't having it. Her lips pressed together into a thin line, and I could see her jaw working, like she was trying to control something. A surge of heat coursed through me, realizing that—no matter how subtle it was—she was jealous.
It hit me like a ton of bricks. Becky Armstrong—this gorgeous, successful woman—was jealous of a waitress flirting with me. But why?
"Actually, I think we're all good with the regular menu," Becky said, her voice just a little too sharp. "And you can bring the drinks along when you're ready."
The waitress gave her a quick nod, a little thrown off by the sudden change in Becky's tone, but she smiled and backed away. Becky didn't even look at her again.
I glanced over at Becky, catching her eyes for the briefest moment. She didn't say anything, but there was a flush creeping up her neck. Maybe I was imagining things, but something told me I wasn't.
"Is everything okay?" I asked, a teasing smile on my lips.
Becky cleared her throat, pretending to focus on the menu in front of her. "Yeah, of course," she replied, a little too quickly. "Just... that waitress was being a little too forward for my liking."
I leaned in, my voice soft and playful. "Jealous, Becky?"
She stilled, her eyes flashing with something—something unreadable, but it was there. "I'm not jealous," she said, her voice steady, but I could hear the hint of insecurity in it. "I just don't like people getting too comfortable."
I couldn't help but smirk at that. Becky Armstrong, the goddess of the screen, was insecure about a waitress flirting with me? That made me feel a bit... powerful.
"Well, it's not like I was giving her any attention," I said, letting my tone drop low and teasing.
Becky's eyes flickered to mine, and I saw that spark of recognition in them. "I noticed," she said softly, the edge gone from her voice. There was something more vulnerable in it now, and it only made me want to push a little more.
"So, does that mean you're claiming me as yours, then?" I asked, my words bold and challenging.
Becky's breath caught in her throat, and for a long moment, she didn't respond. Her fingers drummed against the table nervously, but her gaze never left mine. When she did speak, it was in a voice so quiet I could barely hear it.
"Maybe," she murmured, her lips curling into a half-smile. "But you'd have to keep all those other girls at bay."
I couldn't help but laugh, my heart racing in my chest. "Don't worry, I'm not interested in anyone else."
The tension between us thickened, palpable in the air. She was holding back, and so was I, but in that moment, something unspoken passed between us. The flirty banter, the subtle jealousy—Becky and I were treading a fine line. One that neither of us were ready to cross yet, but we both knew it was coming.
For now, though, we were still sitting in that restaurant, laughing with friends, pretending like everything was just as it seemed. But we both knew, deep down, something was simmering beneath the surface—and neither of us was in any hurry to put out the flame.
Nam, who had been silently observing this whole exchange, suddenly piped up. "You two are hilarious. Are you flirting or just... fighting about who's got the better flirting game?"
Becky and I both turned to her at the same time, our expressions identical in their amusement. "We're just talking," I said, keeping it light. "But I think we've figured out who's winning the game here."
Becky shot me a playful glare. "Don't get too cocky, Freen."
I grinned. "I'm always cocky, Becky. It's part of my charm."
Just as I thought the moment was about to pass, Becky leaned in closer. "Well, maybe it's your charm that's got everyone looking at you," she said, voice low, just for me.
Her words lingered in the air between us, and for a second, it felt like we were the only ones at the table. Then I saw it—the briefest flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, like she was worried she'd let something slip.
But before I could ask her about it, the waitress returned with our drinks, completely unaware of the undercurrent of tension between Becky and me. Becky quickly composed herself, a forced smile back on her face as she greeted the waitress with exaggerated politeness.
We all ordered, with Nam and Yuki going back to their usual food fights. But despite the chaos, I couldn't stop thinking about that one moment. Becky Armstrong, the woman who usually had everything under control, had just shown me something she didn't want me to see: vulnerability.
And honestly? I couldn't wait to see more of it.