I give him my phone, and he pauses for an almost insultingly long time before putting in his number. Then he takes the map I hold out and aims a polite smile at my feet. “Thank you,” he says.
I nod at him before going out the door. My attention has already narrowed in on the day’s concerns, none of which have to do with tiger-tattooed men or scenic vistas. So it’s annoying that I keep thinking of both those things instead of preparing for my client meeting. I shake my head and return my attention to my screen. No use—I’m distracted by my screen saver, a cityscape of Buenos Aires.
I should have read Dad’s article about keeping focus after all.
Three
Wednesday, 7:13 a.m.
Living with my new roommate is like living with a ghost. I assume his jet lag causes him to wake at odd hours, because I rarely see him, although I sense traces of his existence. Whenever we see each other, caution emanates off him like he’s wearing an electric fence jacket. He’s watchful, taking my measure, and I would be lying if I didn’t find this irritating in my own house, where he’s a visitor.
Thursday, 7:58 a.m.
Three cups of ramen fell on my head when I opened the cupboard foraging for coffee this morning. I text Jihoon when I get to work.
Me:You like ramen.
Jihoon:Yes. Ramyeon is a Korean food group.
Me:I’m not a fan, particuflarly when it falls on me. Can you put them away properly?
Jihoon:I’m sorry.
He adds a GIF of a sad cat for emphasis. It makes me smile, but only a bit because how hard is it to put ramen away so it doesn’t fall out? It’s shelf-stablein multiple ways. I ponder possible responses and send back a cat with a noodle cup on its head. Amusing, but also—don’t let noodles drop on me.
Friday, 10:10 a.m.
I rub my neck as I turn away from my computer, wondering what to tackle next. Work is a hydra of tasks to be completed. The moment a project closes or the email is sent, another seven pop up the queue, ready to take its place. Even if I did miraculously finish everything, there would be that nagging sensation I should be doing more.
Before I can decide, the phone rings. It’s Alex with good news: Hyphen Records is expanding and wants to bring me on retainer.
I cheer up because bringing in new work looks very good indeed, even if a record label isn’t as high-profile as some of Yesterly and Havings’s more blue-chip accounts. Then he asks what I know about K-pop.
“K-pop?” I draw a blank but think fast. “It’s pop music. From Korea.”
The silence on the other end is enough for me to know my answer was sorely lacking. Finally Alex says, “Hyphen works with one of the big Korean entertainment companies to distribute their artists in North America.”
“I’ll study up,” I promise. I’ve learned about glass installation and cat food (not together) for other clients. I can watch some music videos for Hyphen.
“Newlight Entertainment’s biggest band is StarLune,” he says. “Might want to start with them. I’ll send you a playlist and some fact sheets about the industry.”
We chat for a bit longer before I say goodbye. Reflected in my monitor is the big smile I’d never wear outside my closed door. Hyphen wants me. Not one of the partners. Me. Richard assures me I’ll get put on the bigger clients if I keep proving myself.
“What’s got you so happy?” Brittany didn’t bother to knock before opening my door.
My smile falls off as if it’s been power washed. “Nothing,” I say.
“Sure. Well, Meredith told me to tell you not to bother with the thing she assigned you.”
“What thing exactly?”
Brittany shrugs, already shutting the door. “She said you’d know.”
I don’t, and now I’ll look ignorant for asking.
That’s not me proving myself.
Saturday, 2:30 p.m.