Hyukjoon nodded. “Good to see you, too,” he said easily. He stepped out of the car and went to Dahye’s side, offering her his hand. She took it. Briskly, he led her toward the elevator, but before he could press the button, the doors slid open, revealing a woman dressed entirely in black. Her hair was pulled into a neatlittle bun, and she bowed so low that Dahye feared her back would break.
“Mr. Jang,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” She turned to Dahye. “And you, too, Miss Lee.”
Dahye shook her head. “It’s Park,” she said, her voice hoarse. Hyukjoon frowned.
The woman coughed and gave her an embarrassed smile. “My apologies. I don’t know where my head is at. It’s been a busy day.”
Inside, Dahye stared at the elevator buttons. There was nothing here, either. No writing. No signage. She felt strangely inadequate, though she didn’t know why. The skirt squeaked every time she moved, and in the silence it seemed deafening. She tried her best to hold still. She decided she would never take Bora’s advice again.
The elevator doors opened, and the sound of classical music flooded Dahye’s ears. She peered out, stifling a gasp. Whatever she had been expecting … it wasn’t this. From outside, the building was plain and nondescript, but inside it was tastefully decorated, with white granite floors and high, vaulted ceilings. Soft light spilled from the brass fixtures hanging above their heads and onto the walls made of veined marble. Dahye reached out a finger and pressed it against its cool surface.
Eunhye would have loved this, she thought. She took out her phone and snapped a picture to post later tonight to her Instagram story. Then she looked up and saw that Hyukjoon and the woman were waiting for her.
“I thought you were worried about our reservation,” Hyukjoon said, chuckling.
“I was. I am.”
The woman led them into an even more beautiful room. The focal point was an enormous chandelier with four tiersof sparkling crystals, each one bigger than her two fists put together. Dahye’s heels sank into the pale pink carpet. It was like quicksand. She lifted her foot, terrified of falling or spraining an ankle, and Hyukjoon said, “Take them off.” She removed them. The carpet was plush and soft against her bare feet.
The walls were decorated with Minhwa paintings. Tigers, birds, and hares stared down at her. She remembered a story her father had told her about a cunning rabbit that had tricked a gullible tiger into eating stones. The tiger, thinking the stones to be tteok—rice cakes—had grilled them over a fire before swallowing them whole.
“It’s not about the size of the animal,” her father had said afterward, as Eunhye and Dahye nodded, listening with rapt attention. “It’s about this.” He tapped his index finger against his temple. “And this.” His finger moved down to the left side of his chest.
There were a few shelves with merchandise, but not much. A row of purses. Jewelry. Shoes. Dazed, she looked around as Hyukjoon plopped down on the couch in the center of the room, putting his feet up on the coffee table. A bottle of champagne had appeared next to him, along with two flutes. He poured, then downed the entire glass in one noisy swallow.
Noticing Dahye’s astonishment, he smiled, then burped loudly. “What do you think?”
“What is this place?”
“It’s a private shopping experience for VIP clients.”
“But how does it work? There’s barely anything out here. Do they even have anything I can wear?”
Hyukjoon shrugged. “They keep most of the stock in the back. She’s bringing out a few things. Here, have some champagne. It’s Dom.”
“Dom?”
“Dom Pérignon.” He studied the label. “2012. Not too bad.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what that was but was too embarrassed to ask. She accepted the glass, taking a small sip. The bubbles tickled her throat. Setting the glass down on the table, she said, “Oppa, I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know. Breaking something.”
The woman appeared out of nowhere and refilled Hyukjoon’s glass. The champagne hissed. “Don’t worry,” he said, waving his hand aimlessly. “I could buy everything in here a hundred times over. Break whatever you want. I don’t care.”
Dahye flushed. She glanced at the woman’s face, but the woman made no indication she had heard him. “I’ll be back shortly with those dresses,” she said, touching Hyukjoon’s shoulder lightly. Dahye’s stomach clenched. That familiarity between them—why did it make her feel so uneasy?
Moments later, the woman emerged, wheeling out a garment rack. The dresses hanging from it were beautiful. Airy linen and smooth silk in shades of cream and pistachio and blush. Layers of fine Turkish cotton. Dahye picked up the tag on the first dress. There was no price.
“Excuse me,” she called out. “How much is this dress?”
The woman’s face was impassive. “1,450,000 won.”
Dahye inhaled sharply. She touched the second dress, her movements tentative. “And this one?”
“1,385,000 won.”