“I will do it,” she repeated, her voice louder now, the tension rolling off her shoulders.

Lee Soo Man smiled at her before shifting his gaze to Myungsoo, “Are you okay with that, Myungsoo-ssi?” he asked, his eyes holding a sparkle of warning. The other man shifted in his chair, his discomfort clearly visible, as he spoke the words that would serve as a slap to Jemma.

“Sir…she is a woman.”

Jemma rapidly turned to look at the man, stunned at his words. It wasn’t the first time she had heard this used as an accusation, as if being a woman was something bad, made her less capable than a man, less intelligent. She had heard it countless times from variety show producers, men in their shiny black suits telling her to call the “real manager” or completely ignoring her, however no one had ever dared tell her that in the company. True, she didn’t have many social contacts inside the company – people were an obstacle she avoided at any cost, be it friends or family – but whenever she did, she was treated with respect. Her fists balled, and while concentrating on her breathing instead, she was itching to slap the man sitting beside her. Jemma would never give him the pleasure of losing her cool however, so she just sat there, waiting for Soo Man’s reply.

“I know, which is precisely why I am assigning her to the boys,” the CEO said, his eyes sparkling dangerously, “You were complaining earlier this week that you wish you had more support from the company. And we are providing it in the form of Jemma, who happens to be one of our best managers,” he said, a note of finality in his voice, “Jemma, you will have to relocate in another officetel, above the boys’ dorms. That’s all.”

She nodded, rising from her chair and bowing. Myungsoo followed behind, brows furrowed. Neither of them said anything until they were in the elevator.

“So,” he began a little uncertain, “I…I’m sorry about what I said in Soo Man’s office,” Myungsoo gave her a sidelong glance, “It’s just…”

Jemma interrupted him mechanically, “I know what you’re going to say and it’s nothing I haven’t heard a million times over before, so save it. Just accept this and let me do my job,” she said without a hint of emotion. Truthfully, she didn’t feel anything concerning his words, instead was mentally preparing a packing list.

“Do you…do you want to meet the other managers tonight? We are going to a beef restaurant, maybe you would like to meet them,” he asked a bit uncertain, baffled at her emotionless response.

She handed him her card just as they hit the ground floor and the elevator doors opened, “Text me the time and the place,” and with that she left.

Once in the car, she pulled out her mobile phone to find the address of her new officetel. Attached to the email was also the apartment password and the building owner’s contact information. A second email arrived seconds later, containing information about the group, ranging from previous media exposure, such as variety shows and radio programs, to personal strengths and weaknesses to food preferences and allergies. She made a note to look over them later and started the engine.

To say that she was relieved for not losing her job was an exaggeration. A job was a job. There was always another one, she knew that from experience. Wasn’t there a saying “Lose some, win some,” she wondered, listening to the car engine purr. The small van, provided by the company as well, was nothing special but smoothly did the job it was supposed to, not much unlike Jemma herself. Plain and simple on the outside, fuel efficient and fast – sometimes she wondered what differentiated her from the car she drove. A beating heart, lungs that never ceased to expand and deflate…but wasn’t the car’s engine the same? Never ceasing to work, always ready to go whenever was needed? There was more to both under the hood, but hardly anyone ever bothered to look at that, as long as the machine was smoothly running, everything was fine. No internal turmoil mattered, as long as the job was done.

Making a quick stop to pick up some boxes, Jemma returned to the officetel and looked around. The scarcely decorated apartment felt empty, as she unplugged her highly prized coffee machine and wrapped it in bubble wrap before putting it in the box. Any utensils she had bought in the five years she had lived there – and there weren’t many of them – also quickly followed. Next she moved to the bathroom, absent mindedly throwing things in a large trash bag to throw out. Empty bottles of shampoo and conditioner, some old makeup, old magazines, they all went into the bag. It’s not to say that she was messy or a hoarder, but Jemma hardly ever spent any time at home to have the opportunity to tidy up. She knew a cleaning lady came once a week, but she had never seen the woman personally - except for when she hir