[CONTENTID1]CHAPTER 03[/CONTENTID1] [CONTENTID2]Third Sip[/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID3]

A/N: Are we starting to see a pattern in the chapter titles now? :^) my biggest brain moment of the year so far !

Of course Jongin catches up to me. I smirk to myself when I see his shadow appear behind mine on the hotel’s golden marble floor and stand a little straighter. Maybe even walk with a lighter bounce in my step.

We take an escalator down where the bar is located. I’m significantly overdressed compared to most guests at the lobby who are only there to check in, and as Jongin and I cross, I can see some heads turning. Both men and women alike—because the man behind me is quite the scene. To someone with no context, we probably look like a really expensive couple.

I wouldn’t be offended by that misconception.

A hostess at the Loloan Bar greets us cordially as soon as we show up at the entrance. “We’re so happy you’ve decided to join us, Ma’am,” she says, probably sensing that I came from the event upstairs. “Although I do apologize—all the tables are full so I can only seat you at the bar if you’d like to be seated right away.”

“Bar’s fine,” I say, glancing at Jongin. He doesn’t stop me.

“Right this way then.”

The hostess leads us to two empty stools at the ritzy bar, built of classic rich wood paneling, ambient honey lighting, and rows and rows of glass bottles in various colors and sizes against a wall of mirrors. The sultry jazz music playing makes a not-so-great idea pop up in my mind.

Feeling a little mischievous, I hop onto the bar stool that’ll let Jongin sit on the side of my dress’s scandalous slit. The side that’ll let him see a lot of thigh.

Don’t ask. Don’t ask me why I did that, alright? Maybe I just want to see if I really have no effect whatsoever on him. Or maybe Tiffany’s evil words from earlier have gotten into me—that I need to do something to make him break character. Maybe I just want to see what he’s like after one drink.

Maybe I’m too pretty to get rejected again, but this thigh slit is also too flattering to let it go to waste.

I look to my side, fully expecting him to be sitting beside me already. But he’s not. He’s still standing there, looking at the seat like he’s not completely sure of what to do. I furrow my brows.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you want me to sit here, Ms. Seo?”

God, it’s not fair. It’s not fair how this dim lighting is making him look more handsome than he already is. More dark and mysterious and perfectly shaded by the way his comma-style hair falls on his forehead. How am I supposed to say no to him?

“I think I’ll be safest if you are, Mr. Kim,” I retort playfully. Yes, I am aware that this may be perceived by most perceiving adults as flirting. But , who cares? I don’t look this good every night, and I can blame it on the champagne I already had upstairs.

Something in his expression tightens. “Are you open to being approached by others? Am I to act discrete?” 

How do I say I’d let him mark me with a hickey without giving him a heart attack?

Just kidding, I’m not drunk enough for that. Seriously… I need professional help.

“I’m not sure yet,” I end up saying. I smile and pat the seat beside me. “Just sit here first, Jongin.”

He finally does so, arm lightly brushing against mine as he slides in. I try to ignore the way my stomach twists. God damn it—focus, Iseul, focus. You are an heiress. You are a funny, smart, loaded 26-year-old. You can’t be swooning at every little move your bodyguard makes.

“Are you feeling okay?” he suddenly asks, his voice a low and gentle murmur. Gentler than usual, but maybe that’s because we’re a lot closer now and he doesn’t have to speak as loud.

“Yes, why?” I half-lie. Truth is, I’m not. I don’t think I have been since I caught him looking in the elevator.

Jongin glances at me, his gaze lingering a little longer this time. Then he looks over his shoulder as if to assess the room. “Would you like to borrow my jacket again?”

My mouth goes dry at the thought of it. For a second, I seriously consider unleashing my inner .

“Why? Are people staring?”

He looks me straight in the eyes when he answers. “They are.”

My heart sputters involuntarily and I have to quickly look away. I make up my mind.

“No,” I answer firmly. “I’d like to be approached tonight.”

I don’t need anyone to think I’m with him… including myself.

He doesn’t reply. I try not to wonder why as I signal for the bartender and get myself a Cosmopolitan, of course, to match what I’m wearing. I turn to Jongin.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink? This offer is going to expire as soon as I put in mine.”

“Club soda and lime, please. On a separate tab,” he requests. “I might be driving,” he says, reminding me.

Alright, what did we say earlier tonight, Iseul? No more rejections, Iseul, no more! I sigh and shift my body away from him, glancing over my other shoulder to check out who else is at this bar. Sometimes, all you need to do as a lady is run your eyes across the room. You let your eyes rest on one particular stranger you’re interested in for a few seconds longer, then you look away. If they’re game, they’ll come to you.

I just so happen to know how to execute these steps flawlessly. Within minutes, I’ve reeled in a sharp-jawed stranger who’s already making his way towards me. Hmm, he looks pretty well-off too. I watch him approach with his drink and a small smile—visible enough to seem encouraging, but not suggestive.

“Hi,” the guy greets, suddenly already in the next seat. “Are you with him?” he asks, nodding at the man on my other side.

I shake my head. “Just this,” I reply, cocking my head at my scarlet drink.

He signals to the bartender. “Put it on my tab with the Sazerac, please.”

I eye his ruby drink with budding interest. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone order that at a bar.”

“It’s the first time I’ve ever seen anyone look so gorgeous wearing it,” he answers with a wink, referring to my dress. He slides the little crimson cocktail over to me. “Would you like to try?”

“What’s in it again?”

“Rye whiskey. Some sort of bitter. Absinthe, if I’m not mistaken.”

The bartender polishing a glass behind the counter nods his head approvingly. “Peychaud’s bitters.”

“Sounds bitter,” I comment, instantly recoiling at the thought already. I like my drinks sweet and girly—like me. “And sounds like you know your cocktails. But I’m good, thank you.”

“And I’m Taecyeon,” he says with a little smirk. “Hi, Good.”

I laugh a little, mildly impressed by how smoothly this conversation was going. It’s not every day that a man who tries to pick you up at the bar actually manages to do so without making it feel like he’s just bulldozering his way through. Taecyeon is attractive and tactful, I’ll give him that.

I bring my skinny glass to my lips and take a sip. “Iseul.”

Suddenly, the man on my other side moves. I hear Jongin’s stool scrape against the wooden floor as he gets up to leave, his club soda and lime glass empty already. He walks away like he doesn’t even know me, and I don’t stop him either. I don’t even look over my shoulder. I know that he’s leaving to watch from a better vantage point where he can see how Taecyeon uses his hands.  

Being left alone with me seems to make Taecyeon relax. “Nice to meet you, Iseul. You look stunning tonight.” His eyes drop from my face—just quickly enough to make me feel appreciated but not violated. “I’m guessing you have a party to go to or just came from one?”

“Both, actually,” I laugh. “Although I was slightly hoping I’d be able to ditch.”

Taecyeon’s eyes glitter. “If that’s what you really want, I’m sure we can work something out.”

I want to say easy, cowboy, but whatever he’s thinking is going to happen is not going to anyway, because I’m at a much bigger party than he probably thinks it is. So I just giggle and let him think that he’s got me.  

I redirect the conversation to focus on him to prevent him from prying, and soon, I’m 15 photos deep in his phone, learning that he’s a senior R&D manager at Gofood, a major packaged foods company. A part of his job consists of visiting farms where ingredients are grown.

“The best part is when the farm also raises animals,” he says, leaning in to swipe through the pictures. “Look, I was at one that had baby alpacas!”

“I wish I could pet baby alpacas in my job!” I squeal, zooming in on one of the alpaca’s fluffy faces. “It really looks like a doll!”

The Cosmopolitan mixed with the bubbly I had upstairs is beginning to work on me. We chat a bit more about the subject before I start telling him that I need to leave before 10.

“I insist you try the Sazerac first then,” he says, pushing his almost empty glass to me. “You’ve only had one drink. This thing is so watered down by now it’s not as bitter as it was before, if that’s what you were worried about.”

I look at it doubtfully. “Maybe I would’ve done that before I finished my drink, in case I needed a palate cleanser.”

Taecyeon clicks his finger at the bartender. “One Mojito, please.” To me, he says, “Palate cleanser. Don’t worry about finishing it if you need to go.”

Alright, what harm could one sip be, right? I take his cocktail glass and take sip. The cool liquid meets my mouth, and instantly my eyes fly wide open.

“It’s not that bitter!” I exclaim, pleasantly surprised. “It’s a little… syrupy?”

“There is a dash of that in the drink, I just didn’t want to spoil it for you,” Taecyeon grins a charming, boyish grin. I just know that he’s popular among the R&D ladies. “You can finish it if you want.”

The alcohol really must be starting to kick in because I don’t refuse at all.

I tilt my head back farther, and there goes my second sip. And then the third.

When I finally put the glass down, there’s a mojito already waiting in front of me. “Oh my,” I giggle again, clearly buzzed from the way I can’t stop doing it. “It’s like magic.”

“I do have a few tricks up my sleeve,” he replies. For a second, the smile he says it with alerts me, but I think it’s just the booze in my head. I take a good gulp of the mojito, and then another. Last one, last one. I’m leaving in 5 minutes.

“How do you feel?” he asks, looking at me with his chin propped on the heel of his hand.

“What?” I turn to look at him. The question strikes me a little peculiar for some reason.

“I mean, are you liking the drinks, so far?” He leans in a little and drops his voice. “Do you still want to go to your party?”

Theeere it is. It’s funny how I immediately get a vision of Jongin straightening up, getting ready to dash over if this man tries anything funny. I look at my phone. 9.35 already.

“I do, actually,” I tell Taecyeon, starting to shift in my seat. “I have to leave.”

Wow, that Sazerac must be a really strong drink. I’m feeling a lot lighter than I was, and cocktails don’t usually do this to me. He didn’t… no, he couldn’t have, could he? My Cosmopolitan was untouched by him, he was drinking from his glass too, and the mojito came straight from the bar. And I never went anywhere.

If he tampered with my drink, Jongin would’ve seen it too. Jongin has stopped it from happening before. So to be honest, I’m not sure what it feels like when your drink’s been spiked.

Convinced that it must just be a momentary surge of alcohol in my veins, I hop off the stool. But that’s when it happens. My legs don’t catch me properly, and I stumble.

“Whoa, are you okay?” Taecyeon asks, a look of concern painted on his face as he gets to his feet too. I hold up my hand and give him a long, hard look.

“Yeah, it’s just these heels,” I fib, searching his expression. Oh man, I really don’t know if he did anything. “Alright, it was really nice meeting you, Taecyeon but I have to—oh—”

I’m forced to pause abruptly, because suddenly, my chest feels tight. Like, abnormally tight. And suddenly, I feel extremely itchy and uncomfortable, like I could scratch off my own skin. I cling to the edge of the bar, my head spinning, wondering why the hell I feel like this. I don’t think anyone spikes a person’s drink to make their target feel like this.

“Iseul?” Taecyeon peers at me, appearing genuinely baffled. Did he really not do anything? Is he actually confused too? “Hey, um—”

“I have to—” I cut him off, starting to move away. I try to look for Jongin but , I feel so… choked. I literally can’t breathe. I hold my hand to my chest and will myself not to panic. Christ, I feel so dizzy that I find myself slumping against the barstool again. Where the hell is Jongi—

“Ms. Seo,” a familiar, deep voice filled with urgency materializes by my side. “Ms. Seo, are you—”

“Jongin,” I wheeze, immediately falling against his sturdy chest, probably much to the surprise of both him and Taecyeon. I look up at him. “J—Jongin, I can’t—”

“Oh no,” he whispers as soon as he sees my face. His reaction pinches my heart—what, do I look bad or something?

“We have to get you to the hospital,” he decides, and before I can protest or ask why, I feel myself getting scooped up in his arms. “You’re having an allergic reaction.”

Oh? Oh. I can only nod limply and try to focus on getting air in and out of my lungs. I let my head lol against his chest. How the did I get an allergic reaction? I’ve had every cocktail imaginable in the States, sometimes even mixed with molly—don’t tell my dad—so how did three drinks—

“Do you really know her?” Taecyeon interjects, stopping Jongin from leaving. “I can take her to the hospital too, I—”

“I’m her bodyguard,” Jongin tells him, barely raising his voice but sounding extremely threatening. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her all night. You didn’t mess with her drink, but I’m not fully convinced you didn’t do anything to yours. My colleagues will find out for me.”

I think I catch Taecyeon’s eyes widen just as Jongin rushes away, but my vision is starting to flicker at this point. “Jongin,” I whisper weakly, tapping his chest. “P-please…”

He runs out to the lobby. “I called 911 as soon as I saw you stumble, just in case,” he informs me in a rushed whisper as he jogs—quite effortlessly, might I add, even with my weight being in his arms. “It’s coming so hang in there, okay?”

I detect a note of panic in his voice, but it’s quickly overpowered by a commotion happening somewhere over my head. I think it’s from the rest of my family’s security team storming inside the bar. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling a little embarrassed.

“So—” I pant, struggling to speak, “I’m going to be in an ambulance? For… an allergic reaction?”

“People die from those things, Ms. Seo,” he says dryly, glancing down at me. “And with all due respect, please stop talking.”

Wow. Did he just shut me up? I glare at him, wanting to say something else, but I can’t. It’s too hard. I’m breathing laboriously and my eyes are getting watery.

What do I do? I have to distract myself from dying. Not being able to breathe is terrifying. My chest feels even tighter, and I feel itchy and dizzy and so ing uncomfortable. I hear myself wheeze a little. Just what the did that do to those drinks?

He really fooled me, you know. I was actually going to give him my number. Taecyeon seemed really nice, but apparently—

“The ambulance is here,” Jongin announces over the noise, and that’s when I realize we’re already outside. The ceiling above me is dark. The rear end of an ambulance starts to appear in my field of vision, and I hear Jongin speaking rapidly to the emergency workers. This really is a scene, isn’t it? I can alrea