Page 29 of Behind Frenemy Lines

Kriya

Charles’s matter for Blackmount was a good one to get involved in. It was an interesting case; it took my mind off the weirdness with Arthur; and it got me meeting new people across the firm.

While Farah was technically supervising, she was away at a conference and content to leave it to Charles and me to lead. Over the next few days we had multiple calls and email exchanges with the Reputation Management, Intellectual Property, and Information Law teams.

At some point I’d meet the client as well: They had asked for a meeting to discuss next steps, after we’d delivered the note to them.

Apparently the contact was an old school friend of Charles’s.

It was the kind of networking and profile-raising Arthur and I always talked about me doing, but Arthur had never got around to letting me do.

I was starting to see Arthur, and our working relationship, in a new light.

It was something about the faces Charles made when I told him about Arthur.

Maybe it wasn’t a harmless idiosyncrasy when, for example, Arthur blocked me from working with other partners, even when I had the capacity to do the work.

Maybe it was weird how possessive he was about my time.

It could be said that there wasn’t a big step from that to Arthur being possessive of me.

Usually I would have dropped him a line to let him know I was working on a new matter for a different partner.

But I didn’t this time. If Arthur had anything for me to do, he could let me know.

In the meantime, I had plenty to get on with.

The note we’d been tasked to produce could easily have taken a couple of weeks to research and write. We had three days.

I spent them in the office, since I’d worked from home earlier in the week. Charles and I had to be in constant contact, anyway. Working out of the same office made sense.

On Friday, around half an hour before the canteen was due to close at ten p.m., I stood up. The longest I’d spent away from my desk that day was during my trip to the bathroom so I could wash my hands after lunch. Lunch itself had been a sandwich at my desk.

The advice note was in good shape, but there was still some work to do before we’d be able to get it off to the client.

Fortunately we’d committed to sending it to him by the end of the day— not “close of business,” which everyone knows means the end of the working day for normal people, so six p.m. at latest. “End of day” gave us all the hours of darkness to work with: so long as the note was on the client’s desk by the next morning, we were good.

“I’m heading down to the canteen,” I said. My shoulders were stiff, and the back of my neck ached. I stretched, rolling my shoulders and cracking my neck. “Want me to pick something up for you?”

Charles didn’t answer straight away. I looked over and he was staring at me, his mouth half-open. He looked like he knew precisely what he’d like to bite into.

He turned back to his computer, his face bright red. “Sorry, I didn’t catch what you said.”

I closed an open notebook on my desk and straightened it, so as to have something to do. “I was saying, do you want anything from the canteen? I’m going to grab dinner before it closes.”

“It’s fine. I’ll go get something myself after I send this email,” said Charles. “Thanks.”

“I can wait.”

“No, no,” said Charles, earnestly. “This will take a while. Don’t let me keep you.”

He was clearly desperate for me to go. I went.

He really likes you, said Loretta’s voice in my head.

“Oh shut up,” I said out loud, making the other tired lawyer in the lift jump. “Sorry. Talking to myself.”

She looked worried, but not as worried as I knew I should be.

It had been an intense few days, but they’d been enjoyable, in a way. The work was interesting, and working so closely with Charles had been fun. I’d already known he was a good lawyer. This case had proved we were surprisingly compatible.

As colleagues. I did not need to be wondering if we were compatible in any other ways, when I shared an office with the guy. And when my boss of eight years was going through it, and I was starting to suspect I needed to reconsider my entire career.

I needed to get my head sorted. Not any body parts south from there, no matter how insistent they were being about their needs.

I’d been planning to get takeaway—the sooner I was back at my desk, the sooner we could hammer out the draft, and the sooner we could go home. But it was so nice being somewhere other than my office, even if it was merely the firm canteen, that I decided to eat there.

I had sausage pasta, transparently made using leftovers from the posh bangers and mash served at lunch, and scrolled idly on my phone. Zuri had messaged in the afternoon, in our uni friends WhatsApp group (currently named “Milo Dinosaurs”):

Still on for nasi lemak at Kriya’s place tomorrow? @Kriya Going Chinatown later to buy ingredients, you want anything?

May Yin and Esther had confirmed. Sze Kim, Harminder, and Reuben weren’t going to make it.

I’d forgotten I was hosting the cookout, but that was fine. We’d get the note out this evening, so I wasn’t going to be working the next day. I’d have the morning to tidy up the flat before people started arriving.

I typed:

Thanks for buying @Zuri. I got rice and santan so don’t need to bring ok. Looking forward to it!

When I got back to the office, Charles was gazing thoughtfully at his phone.

“Has there been anything else from Ellie?” I said. The Reputation Management partner had reviewed our working draft of the note earlier that day and flagged a line of recent case law that undermined one of our arguments, necessitating some hasty research and redrafting.

Charles blinked like he was stirring from a doze. “No.” He put his phone down on his desk, exhaling. “I got a call from the company that manages my building. Apparently a pipe burst in the flat above mine. The ceiling of my bedroom’s collapsed.”

“Oh shit. Is your stuff OK?”

Charles took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s not looking good. I’ll have to see what the damage is tomorrow.

I’ve got insurance, but you’d think the management company would take responsibility.

They’ve sorted the pipes and stopped the flooding, but they’re saying I can’t go back tonight. My room’s not habitable.”

He winced as a fresh thought struck him. “Loretta’s anime things!” He put his glasses back on and grabbed his phone. “I don’t know if her room’s affected. They only sent me photos of my bedroom. She’d be gutted if anything happened to her collection.”

Poor Charles, he really was having a mare. “Are they going to cover the cost of a hotel? You definitely shouldn’t have to pay for that.”

Charles was distracted, presumably texting his building manager an urgent demand to recover Loretta’s anime things, whatever they were.

“Oh, I’ll book a sleeping pod,” he said.

My old firm had had sleeping pods, too, for when you were working late enough that a firm-funded taxi home wasn’t going to cut it.

I’d never used one, though colleagues said they were nice.

It had always seemed to me tantamount to giving up on life.

I was lucky enough to be able to afford to live in central London.

I’d take the cab home even if it was four a.m. and I had to be back at my desk in a few hours’ time.

“Don’t do that, ” I said, on impulse. “I’ve got a spare bed at home. It’s just a sofa bed, but you’re welcome to use it.”

Charles’s expression froze. “Oh—no, that’s, um, that’s very kind, but the sleeping pods will do me fine.” He went red.

“If you’re sure,” I said.

Just as well. What had I been thinking?

“They’re very comfortable,” said Charles, typing. “I need to track down the booking form on the intranet. I haven’t booked one in a while…” His voice trailed off, his eyes on his computer screen.

“What is it?”

“They’re closed for refurbishments.” Charles massaged his temples. “I’ll get a hotel.” He started typing again, presumably looking up options.

I made a decision. “Charles, seriously. The sofa bed’s in the living room, there’s a door, you can shut yourself in. I’ll never know you’re there. It’s a good bed, my family use it when they’re over.”

“It’s fine, I’ll—”

“It’s ten o’clock,” I said. “You could spend the next half hour finding a hotel that has availability and won’t bankrupt you.

Or you could take up my offer, and spend the time finishing the draft.

The sooner we’re done with this, the sooner we get to go home—” and go to bed, I was going to say, but cut myself off.

Given how skittish Charles was looking, that was not going to help my argument.

“I don’t want to impose,” he said, but he was weakening. From the alarm that had crossed his face, I guessed he had just seen what he’d have to fork out to get a hotel room at this time of night.

“You wouldn’t be imposing. You’d be doing me a favour,” I said. “You might not mind spending your evening at your desk, but I want to be home with my feet up, watching my kdrama.”

I thought that would clinch it. Sure enough, Charles said:

“OK. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I said. “Come on. Let’s knock this note on the head.”

Bringing Charles home might have felt more illicit if we hadn’t both been shattered. It was midnight by the time we left the office. The advice note was in the client’s inbox, so we had managed “end of day.”

I fell asleep in the taxi, only stirring awake as it pulled up outside the development where I lived. Charles, predictably, was still on his phone.

“Have a good one, guys,” said the cabbie serenely. Goodness knew what he thought of the fact he was ferrying colleagues from the same law firm to the same block of flats, at this time of night.

It likely wasn’t the first time he’d done that, to be fair. If anything marked us out, it was the fact there wasn’t anything exciting going on. We were keeping enough of a distance from each other that he probably thought we were married.

Charles put his phone away as we got in the lift, but we didn’t talk until we got to the flat.

“Nice place,” he said politely, as I let us in. He took off his shoes before I could ask.

“Do you want to have a shower?” I paused to yawn, then said, “I’ll get you a towel. My dad left some clothes here last time he came. I think they should fit you.”

Charles mumbled something to the effect that I shouldn’t bother. I waved this off:

“You don’t want to be sleeping in your suit. Unless,” I added, “you’re one of those people who sleep naked.”

“I, er, no. No, I’m not.”

“That’s good.” I grinned. “One less thing to worry about, in case I forget you’re here and walk in on you.”

Charles went red.

I lost the fight over who got dibs on the bathroom, so I went first. Then, while Charles had his shower, I got the sofa bed ready.

I was fluffing the pillows when he emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He was wearing a grey cotton T-shirt and black shorts, from Appa’s Reject Shop hauls. The T-shirt was too wide across the waist, but a perfect fit across the chest and arms.

Well. Some might have said it was too tight across the chest and arms—Charles was shrugging his shoulders apprehensively, as though worried he was going to rip a seam—but not me.

I found myself wishing I was wearing something sexier than the roomy batik kaftan Amma had bought from Simee Market. I was covered up from collarbone to ankle: I could have walked into any government office in Malaysia without fear of challenge.

But that was good, I reminded myself. I didn’t want to be sexy. This was Charles. My colleague, but also my friend.

I’d never had a real work friend before. I’d had coworkers I was friendly with —lunch buddies, people I’d have a chat with when I saw them by the coffee machine. And there was Arthur, of course, but I’d never thought of him as a friend, no matter what he said about how he saw me.

There had never been anyone, male or female, that I’d have been comfortable offering my sofa bed to, as I had done that evening, without even thinking about it. How funny to think it was Kawan Baik who merited that level of trust.

He had earned it, to be fair. Charles had stood my friend through some pretty dicey situations. I should treat him as such.

I tore my eyes away from his shoulders. “There are snacks in the middle cupboard there if you get hungry. And there’s fruit and yogurt in the fridge, and—what’s this?

Oh, leftover rasam. Help yourself to whatever.

The bowls and plates and everything are here, and the mugs and glasses are here.

And you can watch TV. I’ll show you how to get Netflix on. ”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “It’s quarter to one.”

“You mean you don’t want to have a bowl of rasam and binge Nailed It! right now?”

Charles smiled. “Maybe not tonight.”

“Suit yourself.” Perhaps I had been overdoing it with the hostess spiel. “Sleep well—oh, shit, what time are you planning to wake up in the morning?”

Charles blinked. “I’m usually up by seven.”

I’d been starting to get stressed about the fact I’d forgotten to tell Charles about my nasi lemak party, but this diverted my attention. “Really, that early? Even at the weekend?”

“It might be a little later tomorrow,” Charles conceded. “I’ll definitely be up by eight thirty, though. Is that a problem?”

“No, no. But I should have mentioned, I’ve got some friends coming over tomorrow. We’re making nasi lemak. I was worried about disturbing you, but if you’re an early riser, that shouldn’t be an issue. People should start turning up from around eleven at earliest. My friends aren’t morning people.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be gone by then,” said Charles.

“You’re welcome to join us,” I said, before I could think better of it.

It wasn’t that I objected to Charles’s company—far from it.

But his presence was likely to raise questions among Zuri and the others, who’d heard all my stories about him over the years.

I could just imagine how they’d react to the news that Charles Goh— the Kawan Baik—had spent the night at my flat, no matter how innocent the reasons for that were.

Luckily for my reputation for virtue, Charles shook his head. “I’ve got to sort out my flat, anyway. I’ll clear out well before eleven.”

“OK,” I said, and let out a jaw-cracking yawn. “Well, I’ll be next door. Knock if you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Charles. “Thanks.”