This is bad news. I don’t want to be mean, but I have a heavy workload. Having a stranger mope around drinking merlot from thebottle and stalking his ex’s social media while listening to maudlin ballads is not going to be great for my productivity.
A new dread rises. “Will your mom come by to visit him?” Hana’s eternal struggle to build boundaries with her mother has yet to result in any tangible success. If she knows there’s a wounded Choi bird in her vicinity, I can kiss a peaceful home life goodbye.
She snorts. “God, no. Jihoon’s keeping it a secret. No one knows he’s here but me, so don’t post any photos of him on your social media. You know she checks it to see what I’m doing.”
“As if I would.” She did say he’d be quiet. “He can stay.”
Hana squeals. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Before I can answer, she blows a kiss into the phone with an obnoxiousmwahsound and disconnects.
I put the phone on the counter and the knife back in the wooden block. After quickly rebuttoning my blazer, I go down the hall and knock on the bathroom door. “Ah. Jihoon?”
“Are you armed?” Now that my fear has abated, I notice he has a deep, raspy voice without much of a Korean accent.
“I put the knife down after Hana vouched for you.”
The door swings inward, and Jihoon, who has skipped back to the far wall to maximize the distance between us, inspects me cautiously. I can spot the family similarity to Hana. Both have the same sharp curve under the eye that dips down to a strong jawline and pointed chin. Under that flawless bone structure, he looks absolutely beat. Dark circles ring his eyes, and the corners of his mouth are tight.
“I’m Ariadne,” I say with the professional smile I activate for work and most social interactions. It’s enough to say,I am friendly and mean you no harm, but not so welcoming as to invite anything further.
“Ariadne.” He comes forward and says my name carefully, pronouncing all the syllables so it sounds like music. “Choi Jihoon.” He bows slightly. There’s an uncomfortable silence until he says, “Am I allowed out?”
“Right.” I step away. “I’ll show you Hana’s room.”
He drags over two of the world’s largest suitcases and closes the bedroom door after giving me a polite smile. Excellent, I don’t have to navigate any awkward conversation and can focus on the memo due tomorrow. The headache that’s been lurking all day starts to take over. I pull out my laptop case, but I’m too distracted to work. Instead I pour a glass of water and bid a silent and mournful farewell to the serene solitude I had planned. A stranger in my space means being social and friendly instead of relaxing with unbrushed teeth and ripped leggings. I’ll have to be “on” all the time, instead of only at work. It’s exhausting to think about, but I agreed and that’s it. I’m stuck.
I finish the water and send Hana a quick text outlining all the ways she owes me. Then, unable to delay it any longer, I put Jihoon out of my mind and open my laptop.
Two
I have an unvarying morning routine that involves a single hit to the snooze button, a mental review of what’s coming in my day, some deep breathing to cope with it, and a struggle to roll myself out of bed. Today, my ritual is interrupted by a text.
Alex:Favor time.
Alex Williams is the public relations vice president for Hyphen Records, and this message bodes ill for me. I stare at the screen with bleary eyes and try to force myself back into a work headspace despite only getting four hours of sleep. I fail.
Me:No
The phone rings, and I pick it up while kicking off my duvet. “Nois a complete sentence, Alex. Also it’s six in the morning.”
“No choice. You’re Luxe’s lawyer. Since Hyphen is Luxe’s client, together we have a problem. I technically called this a favor to be nice, but it’s not. Ines said to call you direct.”
The most exhausting yet fascinating of my clients is Luxe, a luxury concierge firm catering to the rich, famous, and supremely dickish. Luxe can source any consumer good or experience for those who can pay, from exclusive dinners to carriage rides with white horses dyed mint green to seeing an acrobatic Argentinian clown troupe perform in a park. It’s owned by Ines, an unflappable woman who goes by onename, like Madonna or Cher. Ines is the only woman I’ve met who can get away with that kind of personal statement, because she has a huge presence that fills every space she enters.
“Did one of your man-child rock stars screw up?” I leave out theagain.
“Hey, it’s like we’ve done this before.”
“Give me the details.” It’s as I expected. A band with more fame than brain trashed a snooty restaurant after Luxe wrangled them a private chef’s night. Since Luxe organized the event, it’s their job to take the lead in working with Hyphen’s PR and legal teams to soothe the restaurant and get it all swept under the rug. As Luxe’s lawyer, this has now become my job.
This isn’t as weird as Luxe’s problems sometimes get—their clients can be a toxic combination of imperially demanding and oblivious to social norms—but it’s aggravating to have to drag a bunch of entitled jackasses out of the hole they dug for themselves. One thing I’ve learned working with Luxe is that celebrities are the glitter of humanity: pretty to look at, useless except at parties, and an utter pain to clean up after.
Coffee. I need coffee to deal with Alex’s problems this early. I put on a robe, collect the outfit I set out last night, and open my bedroom door, thinking through what I’ll need from him.
“Alex, do we have the—what the hell?” The phone goes flying as my foot catches on something in the middle of the floor. I land ungracefully on my hands and knees, straddling a warm lump that manages to be simultaneously hard and soft.
It’s Jihoon, and he moans in pain as he struggles beneath me.