CHAPTER SIXTEEN

To say that Wendy took her work seriously was like saying that water is wet. It was obvious that she put maximum effort into her career, anyone could see that. However, people failed to point out how she tended to exaggerate a bit. Or people hid that she could go above and beyond what was asked of her, either because she was excited or because she wanted to declare, “Hey, look what I can do.”

For example, the list of songs she gave me.

It should just be a list; a sheet of paper with items on it, gently enclosed in an envelope to protect the contents. Wendy, however, placed a block of paper on the restaurant table. A clump of white sheets, I bet it must have been more than one centimeter thick, mocking the only sheet in my possession. I clearly remembered her saying it would just be a list. I also remembered that she said she would try to make a list, with no guarantee of when it would be ready. Should I consider it a failure or a very successful attempt?

In any case, Wendy maintained a satisfied smile as she looked at her work. She carefully ran her hand over the paper a few times, smoothing out the non-existent folds. I wondered when she had time to do something extra since she seemed busy. Unlike the band who had weeks off, Wendy continued to go to the television studio to guide her team. Not to mention that she managed to make billions of macaroons at some point.

“Can I take a look?” I asked, trying to find out why the pile of paper was huge.

"Sure. But wouldn’t you rather look at the menu first?”

“I want the dish you ordered last time,” I replied sheepishly, not in the mood to try something different. I always opted for something I knew and the shrimp Wendy gave me was delicious, the rest of the dish must be good too.

Wendy smiled at my response and I could swear it was the same smile from just now, when she was proud of her work. She was about to call someone to take our order, but I stopped her by saying much more embarrassed, “Actually, do you know if they serve anything really fast? I kind of haven’t eaten since last night.”

“Oh! They serve a basket of bread and sauces, that's enough?”

"Yes, thank you!" I replied, barely waiting for her to finish speaking, my hands greedily searching for the papers on the table. I was dying to read what was there. Can you blame me? I only knew Kepton4's songs, the rest were unreleased compositions by my favorite singer.

Turns out she had even made a list on the first page. Wendy opted for an elaborate, colorful spreadsheet rather than a simple list. She created columns with “I want” painted in red, another “I don’t want” painted in green, and a blue one with “This is 100% mine” inside. The names of the songs are distributed in the lines within their respective columns. I held back laughing because it was childish, something Yeri would definitely do, but I wouldn't mock other people's creativity and effort.

I recognized the names of the songs Kepton4 chose, I read and re-read the list several times when they handed it to me on Friday. The songs were distributed in the green and red columns, indicating a future conflict between the two parties. But what caught my attention was the presence of asterisks at the end of the names, some had just one while others had two asterisks. A legend at the bottom of the spreadsheet indicated that one asterisk was “negotiable” and two asterisks meant “non-negotiable”.

I was opening my mouth to ask what that meant, as the legend wasn't very explanatory when the piece of bread was shoved in front of my face. Wendy was holding a small piece of bread with white cream on top, her other hand hovering underneath with a cloth napkin. “Open your mouth,” she said as if that action was a recurring thing between us.

“No way you're going to get your hands dirty and put it on my papers later,” she explained, returning the food to my mouth. “Come on, don’t make me do aegyo.”

“I'll wipe my hand with the napkin,” indignant at her action, I covered my mouth with my hand to deny the offer.

“It’s not enough, I know they will be dirty. Let me help you,” Wendy continued insisting on bringing the bread to my mouth. “I know you're hungry. Please... Joohyun-ssi.”

Maybe it was my real name being said by her or the gentle way she pronounced it. Who am I kidding? The combination of the two made me lower my hand and open my mouth, accepting the food. I couldn't look at her while I chewed, for sure my face was burning with embarrassment. I couldn't stop thinking about how this couldn't be normal behavior in a business meeting.

“It’s delicious, right? It’s burrata with herb butter.”

It was really delicious. The bread was crunchy in contrast to the white cream - a mild, slightly acidic cheese. The butter was what brought all the flavor, I could taste garlic, thyme, and pepper. I sighed in agreement; my stomach was grateful for finally receiving food after being empty for so long.

“Aren’t you being adamant in pointing out some songs as ‘non-negotiable’ when we’ve barely started negotiating?”

“I wanted to start strong, you know? Show who has the power here,” she replied casually, focused on taking another piece of bread from the basket. I snorted in amusement; she couldn't be serious.

“Did you want to be mean and scare me, Wendy-ssi?” I held back my comment that she should have avoided the colored spreadsheet if she wanted that result. It would certainly be scarier.

Wendy placed the bread in front of my face again, this time with a brownish-red sauce on top. I accepted without hesitation, preferring to calm my stomach rather than worry about my red face.

“How could I be mean if I'm feeding you, Irene-ssi?” she asked me with a smug smile, “That’s ragu, do you know it?” I nodded, familiar with the meat-based sauce my father made on special occasions.

“What does that mean, though,” I asked holding my fingers to the asterisks, “You don’t want to negotiate the band playing these songs or you don’t want to negotiate the credits?”

“A little of both, I would say.”

“We will negotiate this, that’s for sure. Some of these songs are part of the band's repertoire, we won't give up on them just because you want to 'show power',” I declared, making quotes with my finger. “Besides, if you want to get their royalties without interference from your company, being inflexible doesn’t mean we’re going to get it over with quickly.”

“Now you’re being mean,” she pouted.

“I was wondering if I could bring someone from the band to our next meeting,” I took advantage of the topic of time to introduce this more delicate topic to the table, “It will probably be faster instead of using me as a mediator.”

“Oh,” Wendy's posture stiffened for a few seconds as she processed what I said. Her response came in a low tone, a fraction of the excitement she had before, “Sure, they can come.”

Turning my attention to the sheets in front of me, I finally discovered what lay beyond the song list. Wendy detailed all the songs and organized them into a protocol consisting of the first page with the lyrics in Korean and the second page in English. Next came the music sheets, she even separated them by instrument. However, some seemed to have an incomplete melody while others only had the lyrics.

She put the date on every song, arranging it from oldest to newest. Wendy also took the time to point out the changes in the lyrics, with the date of the modification. I told her how meticulous it was and she told me that she copied everything from her old notebooks. “Wouldn’t it be easier to make a copy of the pages instead of rewriting everything,” I asked and she laughed saying that hadn’t even crossed her mind.

While I was looking at the papers, Wendy kept giving me small pieces of bread alternating between sauces. It wasn't enough to make me feel full and waste lunch, but it served to make me wait until the main course arrived. Every now and then I would comment on a specific part of the songs the band used, and how they modified one word or another from the original in my hands. Wendy didn't seem to be bothered by the change; she even said it was better than her version.

When our plates arrived, I placed the papers on the corner of the table well away from the danger of my seafood with rice and Wendy's filet mignon with cream of mushroom. We continued talking about the songs, and how it would be easier to share credit for them if the band members agreed with the histo