Captain Atikom begins his 'casual flirting' plan
"This is bad—my car doesn't have insurance," he lied.
"What? How can an expensive car like this not have insurance?"
"Just because I don't have insurance doesn't mean I'll run away."
"So you admit you'll compensate for damages," Anupap quickly countered.
"What choice do I have? I rear-ended you," Atikom pursed his lips and shrugged.
"Then show me your ID card," Anupap extended his hand.
"No need to go that far. I'll give you my business card. Take your car to get fixed, and I'll pay for it. But it has to be my garage," the police officer negotiated.
"How can I trust you won't skip out?"
"I'm a police officer."
"Police officer. Ha. Like being a cop is a answer of everything. I don't care who you are—I can't trust you," Anupap, who distrusted police, emphasized his words.
"Hey now, disrespecting a keeper of public peace, is an insu…" Atikom made an annoyed face.
"Look, can you hurry up? I need to rush to work. I have a meeting with clients," Anupap waved his hand, showing his irritation.
"Here's my business card. Police Captain Atikom, Thonglor Police Station. Ask anyone—they all know me," he handed over his card.
The other party reached out to receive it.
Such smooth hands. Atikom thought, while imagining those hands caressing his muscular chest.
Crazy, what perverted thoughts. He shook his head, suppressing a smile.
"Of course everyone knows you—probably from rear-ending people all over the city," Anupap muttered quietly to himself after receiving the business card.
"Hey, what did you just say? I heard that."
"What did I say?" The young man raised his eyebrows, tilting his head challengingly.
Atikom was bigger and taller, his frame over 188 centimeters nearly eclipsing the other's figure.
Anupap was considered tall by Thai male standards, but Atikom was more imposing. His tanned skin, fitted t-shirt, and strong muscles made him look commanding.
"You said I..." Atikom narrowed his eyes.
"Let me see your ID card too. I need to hurry, and where's your garage?" Anupap pressed.
"Geez, seriously," the young captain pretended to be exasperated.
The young man in front of him gave him a peculiar look.
Strange, I've never seen anyone make that expression. Atikom found it rather charming.
Looking again, he seems so young. He couldn't guess the young man's age now—his face looked incredibly youthful.
"And your business card?"
The victim handed over his card.
Anupap Everridge, Echo Advertising Company
Artist types... no wonder he's so temperamental
Mixed race maybe? Foreign surname, but his face doesn't look Western
"And your garage? What's it called? Where is it? Draw me a map too."
Anupap sighed. Atikom watched the naturally full, reddened lips of the scowling man in front of him and unconsciously licked his own lips.
"Watthana Garage, uh... Soi Watcharaphon, Ram Inthra. I can't remember their phone number. I'll call and let them know. Don't you need to rush to work now? I need to hurry to the station too. Can I get your phone number?" Atikom rolled his eyes, deliberately speaking in a slow, weary manner.
It worked. The other party's eyes flashed immediately.
"In case you skip out, who would know?" Anupap snapped.
"Hey now, you keep repeating 'skip out'—I'll charge you with defamation. You've already seen my ID card," Atikom retorted.
Anupap knew the police officer was being difficult.
"And I need my car too. I have to visit multiple clients every day. Time wasted, expenses, damages..."
"Okay, okay. You can claim damages—we'll discuss that later. I rear-ended you, so I'm probably at fault anyway. Right now I think we should get our cars off the road. We're blocking traffic—the whole soi is jammed."
Anupap turned and walked back to his car, muttering, "Right, didn't think before crashing."
"Hey, I heard that," a deep voice called after him.
The young man turned back, tilted his head, and raised his eyebrows challengingly.
The young captain smiled at the corner of his mouth, nodded his head, and walked toward his own car. But something made him stop, turn around, and follow the temperamental young man back to his vehicle.
Glancing at the rear of the red sedan, he saw the bumper still dragging on the road. He knocked on the window. The upset young man rolled it down.
His face still sullen, eyebrows furrowed like a temperamental child being teased.
"Are you really going to drive with the bumper hanging like that?"
The person behind the steering wheel sighed.
"Pop your car's butt. I'll put it in the back for you."
Anupap tried to suppress his anger, attempting to think of the positive—that he was lucky his counterpart was reasonable, even if slightly annoying, and willing to pay for repairs. However, he was unlucky that for over a week while his car was in the garage, he'd have no vehicle and would struggle traveling to meet clients while lugging documents around.
The clanging sound from the rear of his car made Anupap startle. He suddenly realized he was gripping the police officer's business card tightly in his hand, so he opened his fist. Captain Atikom's business card was crumpled. Anupap slowly smoothed out the white card without realizing it.
"Whoa, angry enough to do that to my business card?" a deep, throaty voice sounded near his ear.
Anupap jumped, whipping around to see a grinning face hovering close—so close he could smell aftershave.
"Alright, I've secured your rear bumper with rope. Guaranteed to get you to work safely. But drive carefully, no speeding. If someone rear-ends you again, you probably won't find anyone as soft-hearted as me," he winked teasingly.
Annoying. Anupap thought, then jerked his car forward and sped off.
Atikom smiled, watching until the red sports car rounded the curve and disappeared from sight.
Looks like fun. He has a short fuse too.
Maybe I'll try some casual flirting. It's been ages since I've met someone this appealing.
Anupap burst through the office doors, his jaw clenched tight and shoulders rigid with tension. He dropped into his chair with such force it groaned in protest.
"What a complete disaster," he muttered, running both hands through his disheveled hair.
Bud—or Sombat, the department's senior colleague—glanced up from his computer screen, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching with curiosity. "Well, well. Someone looks like they've been wrestling with a hornet's nest. What happened to you?"
"Got rear-ended," Anupap spat, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrests of his chair.
He launched into the full story, his voice growing more animated with each detail. But as he described the young police captain, his gestures became exaggerated, his tone dripping with disdain. The officer's confident stance became arrogant swagger in his retelling, that knowing smirk twisted into something far more insufferable.
"The guy was absolutely infuriating," Anupap concluded, his chest rising and falling with barely contained frustration.
Sombat's eyes sparkled with mischief, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Oh really. And is he PLU?"
Sombat—or P'Bud as the younger staff had dubbed him—was the office's unofficial entertainment director. His personality blazed like a neon sign, completely at odds with his traditional name. Despite countless suggestions to adopt something more fitting, he'd wave them off with a theatrical flourish, insisting his name was "perfectly cool, thank you very much." The nickname had stuck anyway.
"P'Bud, how would I know something like that? Probably not," Anupap's voice carried a defensive edge. "He's a cop with this whole tough-guy act, but God, he was so annoying."
"Oh my. And here I thought you might have gaydar. How disappointing." Sombat pouted dramatically, his lower lip jutting out in mock dejection.
"Unlike you, my radar isn't quite so finely tuned."
"Phi Nu, Khun Trin requests your presence in his office." Atid, a junior colleague, appeared at Anupap's elbow, his voice carefully neutral.
Anupap's stomach dropped. He nodded and mumbled his thanks. Trin—the managing director, his ultimate boss—wanted to see him. The reason crystallized with painful clarity.
He should have arrived only thirty minutes late, might have slipped into the meeting unnoticed or just fashionably tardy if his cursed car hadn't betrayed him. The sports car sat lower than regular sedans, and in his haste, he'd missed the concrete speed bump before turning out of the alley. The impact had been brutal—a thunderous crash that sent his rear bumper clattering to the asphalt.
He'd pulled over, heart hammering, but there was nothing to be done. He'd tried shoving the bumper into the trunk, but the collision had warped the mechanism shut. With traffic backing up behind him, horns blaring impatiently, he'd abandoned the bumper on the roadside.
Just before reaching the company's side street, his car had begun its death throes—jerking spasmodically, engine whining in protest, refusing to accelerate despite his gentle coaxing through the traffic. The shattered taillights left him effectively invisible to other drivers. He'd crawled along, lane changes becoming Herculean efforts.
When the light turned green, he'd pressed the accelerator only to feel the car shudder and lurch forward at a snail's pace. Something else had to be wrong. Another roadside inspection revealed the exhaust pipe, crumpled and twisted like a crushed aluminum can. The journey to work had become a white-knuckle gamble, each mile a small miracle.
What an absolutely cursed day.
He laid the blame squarely at the feet of that Land Rover's owner—that insufferably smug face, those dead eyes that had looked right through him. The man's vehicle had barely suffered a scratch.
Anupap's breath escaped in a soft whisper as he stood before Trin Thevanupap's office door.
Trin commanded respect through sheer competence—his demeanor granite-hard, emotions locked away behind an impenetrable mask. He cut through workplace drama with surgical precision, never hesitating to deliver harsh truths when mistakes demanded correction. But his reprimands came from cold logic, not hot-blooded fury.
Anupap carried his own quiet confidence. His work spoke for itself, consistently excellent, and Trin knew this well.
Yet something flickered beneath his boss's controlled exterior—fleeting glances, subtle shifts in tone that made Anupap wonder if deeper currents ran between them. But Trin remained a fortress unto himself, his executive position another wall between them.
Anupap's own reserved nature matched this careful distance. Neither man easily revealed what lay beneath the surface.
So long now. So long since Chavis... Since Chavis abandoned him.
He shook his head sharply, trying to scatter the memories like autumn leaves, but they clung with stubborn persistence.
He knocked once and entered without waiting for permission. Trin was already watching the door, leaning back in his massive black leather executive chair as if he'd been expecting this moment.
The office felt more like a university dean's sanctuary than the headquarters of an advertising executive—dark oak paneling, subdued lighting, furniture that spoke of tradition rather than innovation. Every piece seemed chosen to intimidate rather than inspire.
"You missed the client meeting. Couldn't reach you when we tried calling." Trin's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"My phone died, and you probably haven't heard yet—I was in an accident."
Trin's eyebrow arched slightly.
Anupap stood before him unmarked, his composure intact, giving no obvious sign of trauma. The revelation of an accident didn't crack Trin's professional veneer.
"I need you to brief the client personally. He specifically requested to speak with the designer. Atid's too green to handle the nuances, and I was just there to observe and support where needed. Pojanee had to step in with explanations, but she couldn't cover everything. You should call him again."
Of course I'll call him, Anupap thought. Did you really need to tell me that? Sometimes Trin's micromanagement felt suffocating.
"How did he respond to the pricing?" Anupap asked.
"He pushed back a little. I made some adjustments. Get the details from Panita."
Their conversation continued for another ten minutes, covering various projects until Trin finally dismissed him.
Anupap shifted to rise from his chair.
"Are you hurt?" Trin suddenly leaned forward, his voice dropping to something almost tender.
Throughout their entire discussion, Trin had maintained his characteristic distance—spine pressed against his chair, eyes fixed on Anupap's face with professional detachment.
Anupap's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the unexpected shift.
"A little," he admitted quietly.
As Trin leaned closer, he caught sight of the dark bruising spreading across Anupap's forehead and above his right eyebrow—angry red marks that spoke of real impact.
The urge to reach out, to touch, to soothe away the pain, hit Trin like a physical blow. His fingers twitched against his desk, but he kept them firmly planted.
Anupap maintained his wall of cool professionalism in almost every interaction, showing emotion only when work disagreements sparked his frustration.
Anupap guards himself so carefully. I know this about him.
"You should get some bruise cream for that," Trin suggested, fighting to keep concern from bleeding into his voice.
Silence stretched between them like a held breath before Anupap excused himself.
The door clicked shut, and Trin's gaze lingered on the empty space where the younger man had stood.
No one knew about his feelings for Anupap. His reputation as a stern, demanding boss preceded him everywhere—staff scattered when he approached, afraid of becoming his next target. Only Anupap dared to push back during professional disagreements, to stand his ground when their visions clashed.
Sometimes Trin yielded to those arguments, partly because Anupap's reasoning proved superior, partly because he trusted the man's instincts implicitly. But if he was honest—and he rarely allowed himself such honesty—he sometimes conceded simply because he craved those moments when Anupap's passion broke through his reserve. Even when that passion manifested as irritation.
As the company's managing director, everyone deferred to him, everyone feared him. This hierarchy made it impossible to show his true feelings, especially to someone as determinedly distant as Anupap.
Trin didn't know what to do.