Better change that to mostly work. Work is here and now, and Jihoon will be gone soon. Work won’t.
Twenty-Six
I arrive in Niagara ninety minutes later and hurriedly navigate to a small boutique winery off the picturesque parkway that follows the Niagara River to the waterfalls. Ines waits under a tree, looking as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. Her pristine white suit plays up the deep brown of her skin. She’s always so put together and often has a perfectly arranged Hermès scarf at her neck. Today’s is an eye-catching mix of pale pink and dark green.
“Ari, thank you.”
I smile, but a tiny part of me thinks,I could be having outrageous sex with Jihoon right now. I tamp that down and focus on the job.
She glances at my wrist, where my new watch catches the sun. “Cartier?”
“It was a gift,” I say.
Ines nods in approval.
“What?” I ask.
“Someone values you the way you deserve be valued. It’s good to see.” She points me to her car. “We’ll go together so we can talk.”
I check my phone as Ines briefs me. Nothing from Jihoon, and I try not to let it disappoint me. Crowding my phone are more notifications about StarLune. I should turn them off, but I’m also curious about what people are saying. So far, it’s still shock and speculation onwhy he’s in Toronto and places where people are sure they saw him. No mention of me or Hana, thank God.
The rest of the afternoon and early evening is a blur as I follow Ines between wineries to smooth out details. Much of what Luxe does is last-minute to accommodate the whims of their clients, who apparently have the future-planning abilities of marmosets. Everything is perfect—the weather is clear and warm, the wine is ready, and I’ve sacrificed my last day with Jihoon for an overpampered socialite to come enjoy it with her parasitic posse.
The real kicker is that I didn’t even need to do much besides look over some contract wording that I probably could have done by phone. Why didn’t I push back harder?
During breaks, I check the increasing traffic of StarLune posts. It was a bad idea to set the notifications. I should mute them, but it’s like watching a building collapse. I can’t look away. Although I’ve accepted Jihoon—Min—and StarLune are a phenomenon, I don’t think I internalized it completely until now. The sheer volume of posts tramples my ignorance into the ground. I put my phone away, promising to only check every hour. Every half hour, I amend, taking one more peek.
When we finish at the final stop, it’s almost six, and I want to get back to Toronto. “Are we good?” I ask Ines, trying to keep my voice as patient as possible.
“I’ll drive you back to your car.” She smiles at me. “It was a relief to have you here although you didn’t have much to do. Some of those wineries can be difficult about special clients with no lead time, and I wanted to be prepared.”
“Of course,” I mutter.
I text Jihoon that I’m on my way back as Ines starts driving. When her phone rings, she puts it on speaker.
“Ines,” she says in a smooth voice.
“Hey, Ms. Ines, the guests are gone.” It’s Gregor, the driver.
“What?” Her hands tighten around the wheel.
“The ladies I was driving around? They’re gone.”
“Gone where?” she asks. I look at Ines’s itinerary as she talks to Gregor and see they should be enjoying mussels while overlooking the Niagara gorge whirlpool right now.
“A waiter at the last place told them about some strip club where the guys only wear steel-toed boots and, uh, tool belts? I guess he called them a cab, and they went over.”
I try not to giggle at Ines’s face. Tool belts?
Ines, however, handles it like a pro. “Gregor, you stay there in case they come back.”
“Will do, boss.”
Ines pulls over. “Sorry, I need to take care of this.”
“Of course.” My leg starts trembling with stress, but it’s not like I can walk to my car from here, so the sooner this is dealt with, the faster I’m on my way home. I take a surreptitious look at my phone. StarLune notifications are off the charts, and I clear them all with a swipe. I don’t need Jihoon’s fame shoved in my face this much.
Ines calls a local contact, who, not surprisingly given the clues, knows exactly which club it is. “It’s called the Jackhammer,” the woman says with enthusiasm. “Yeah, I can see why they went.”