Painted

Chapter 23

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Rebecca’s condo, casting a soft glow over the sleek, minimalist interior. Sarocha stood at the kitchen counter, one hand on the coffee pot and the other holding her phone, scrolling through an email from the PR team. Rebecca was behind her, rummaging in a cupboard for plates, still wearing the oversized shirt she’d slept in the night before, her hair mussed from sleep.

“I’m thinking we use the desk for me and the dining table for you,” Rebecca said, placing two plates on the counter. She glanced at Sarocha over her shoulder. “We need space if we’re going to get any work done.”

Sarocha hummed in agreement but smirked as she poured their coffee. “And you don’t trust yourself not to pounce on me if we’re too close?”

Rebecca straightened, narrowing her eyes in mock seriousness. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Oh?” Sarocha raised a brow, leaning back against the counter with the coffee mugs. “I seem to recall someone couldn’t keep their hands to themself last night, Miss Armstrong.”

Rebecca flushed but smirked back. “I didn’t hear any complaints.”

Before Sarocha could retort, the toaster dinged, and Rebecca busied herself retrieving the golden croissants. They settled into a comfortable rhythm, moving around each other with the ease of familiarity as they set up a simple breakfast. Despite the light banter, a quiet tension lingered in the air—a reminder of the pressure waiting for them once the workday began.

They ate at the counter, their laptops perched nearby, emails and updates from their teams steadily coming in. Rebecca’s phone buzzed every few minutes, but she ignored most of it, savoring the rare moment of peace.

When the plates were cleared, they got to work setting up their respective spaces. Rebecca claimed the desk near the windows, setting her laptop and notes in neat rows. Sarocha, meanwhile, occupied the dining table on the other side of the room, arranging her own workspace with practiced efficiency.

“Do we need some kind of barrier between us?” Rebecca teased as she sat down, watching Sarocha settle in across the room.

“Wouldn’t help,” Sarocha replied, smirking. “I’d just get up and come over.”

Rebecca chuckled but sobered as her gaze lingered on Sarocha. “We can’t screw this up, you know.”

Sarocha met her eyes, her expression softening. “I know.” She exhaled, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But we’re in this together, Beck, just remember. Whatever comes our way, we’ll handle it.”

Rebecca nodded, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. They exchanged a small smile before diving into their laptops, the clack of keys filling the space.

For a while, they worked in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional frustrated sigh or muttered comment about an email. But every so often, one of them would glance up, their eyes meeting across the room, and the lingering tension would melt into something softer, something warmer.

Rebecca was halfway through drafting a detailed email to the team when her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at the screen, her stomach tightening as she saw the PR manager’s name pop up in the subject line. She opened it quickly, her eyes scanning the contents while her jaw tensed.

“What is it?” Sarocha asked from across the room, not looking up from her laptop but catching the shift in Rebecca’s energy.

“PR update,” Rebecca murmured, leaning back in her chair. She rubbed her temple as she read further. “They’re monitoring the media coverage, and…well, there are a few new articles this morning.”