“Do you hate us?”

            “No.”

            “Do you hate your job?”

            “No.”

            I cringed at the cutting reply, my brows furrowing before I threw out the ultimate question bomb. “Are you lesbian?”

            “…”

            As I expected, she paused the brushing motion of her fingers and examined my expression, trying to gauge the seriousness of the previous question.  

            I was thrilled and eager for a moment, thinking that she would definitely flip out and give me a more human reaction (at last!) when my question involved the issue of her ual orientation. Sadly, the awaited tantrum never came. The poker-face was indestructible.

            “Well?” I pushed. Say anything, please!

            “Stop moving and sit up straight,” She ordered after a brief moment of reticence. Lowering her head, she plunged back into styling my hair again, her tone flat as usual. “You are messing up the back.”

            “So…I’m guessing you are lesbian, then?” I decided to be a rebel and pushed this topic further, “Since you don’t really want to talk about it.”

            She sighed. A sigh of exasperation.

            Oh good! I smirked with slight triumph. Some emotions at last.

            “Why are you always the one with the most questions? And the most ridiculous ones, too,” She spoke sharply without so much as a glance at my face, “I don’t mind chatting, and I certainly will be happy if you can just have a normal chat like the other members.”

            “Because you never answer me.” Stubborn woman.

            She combed through my gelled, spiky hair one last time with her fingers and stood up straight to clean up. “I’ll answer you now. U-know, I know that you know that I am one hundred percent straight. So don’t ask me immature questions like that.”

            “You know, it pisses me off when I talk to you and you don’t even look at me,” I huffed. It was officially a failed mission - I was flipping out before her nonchalant mask even cracked. “Am I that ugly?”

            “You know it’s not about that. Plus, I’m busy.” She turned her back on me now.

            Oh no, she didn’t.

            “You know I’m pissed.”

            “U-know—“

            “Can we stop saying ‘you know’?!” I interrupted her angrily, the “you knows” were seriously giving me a huge headache.

            “Look, I know you are trying to get my attention, U-know.” She eyed me, briefly tearing her attention away from tidying up her equipment. The words came slowly, as if she was talking to some snotty kid. “It’s not working at all.”

            Defeated, I said, “Well since you already figured that out, why can’t you just play along with it?”

            “I’m not into pointless, childish charades.”

            “What are you talking about?!” I raged. She’s unbelievable! “Renée, you are younger than me.”

            “And apparently, you are not really acting appropriately for your age.” She shot back.

            “Well, maybe I’ll start once you stop acting like such a stranger.”

            “We are strangers.”

            “What do you mean?!” I was really disappointed and irked now, “You’ve been TVXQ’s stylist for nearly a year now, and that’s what I get?!”

            She chuckled lightly. I was momentarily bedazzled, my anger deflating. Gosh, she’s so incredibly pretty when she smiles.

            “That’s exactly what I mean. I’m just your stylist, it’s my job. And why do you care if your stylist is a stranger to you or not? Everything’s fine as long as you are all hot-looking and I get my salary to pay the rent.”

            “Wow…really? That’s all you think about?” I asked bitterly.

            “Sorry, but really.”

            “So you hate us then?” I sulked, “I mean, unlike our previous stylists, you never tell us we are hot after styling our hair or doing our make up or picking out our wardrobe…You just…Well, you don’t really do anything except for doing your job.”

           She nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m the first and only female stylist for the band that’s managed to last for almost a year. You don’t hear me howling like an animal or shrieking ‘HOT’ despite seeing the band on a daily basis.”  

            It was like taking a bullet to the heart. “So you don’t think we are attractive, at all?”

            “No,” I thought my heart was going to shatter again before the full reply came. “I think all of you are attractive in your own ways. “

            “Then why don’t you tell us?”

            “Hmm, let’s see… Aren’t there enough girls screaming in your face already? You don’t need me to drive the point home.”

            “And even our fans don’t call us by our stage names,” I ignored the last comment and pressed. “But you do.”

            “They are fans after all.”

            “Would it kill you to call me by my real name or compliment me just once?”

            “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today,” She shook her head, a weary expression on her face. “But I have another hair-styling appointment with some celebrity from the U.S. I have to go.”

            I blocked her path. “Too bad, she’ll just have to wait.”

            “I never allow one work appointment to interfere with another professional commitment. And I definitely never allow work to get personal,” She stated icily, sending the message loud and clear, “That’s why I never make any unnecessary comments or anything. That’s how I get fired, and I need this job.” She side-stepped me and shuffled out the room, “Goodbye U-know, I’ll see you tomorrow for the photo shoot.”

            I pursed my lips and balled my hands into fists.

            In spite of the stinging comments, I wasn’t too heartbroken. Maybe temporarily wounded, but it would pass. Somehow, her unrelenting rejection furthered heightened my determination to sweep her off her feet.

            The idiotic child-play of attempting to get Renée to notice me was now officially over. Clearly, the tactic wouldn’t work. I would try an alternative approach. Either way…

            I want her.