[CONTENTID1]CHAPTER 04[/CONTENTID1] [CONTENTID2]Fourth Meeting[/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID3]

Fact: My bodyguard is not a cyborg. He does not have a speech impairment. He does not hate me, nor is he a misanthrope. He is actually perfectly capable of talking—and for one fleeting moment in a hospital room, flirting too.

When the heart rate monitor outed the badump-badump in my chest again, I nearly died. I wasn’t going to let Jongin know that he has that much of an effect on me, obviously. So what did I do?

I faked a breathing complication, of course. I didn’t even know what I was going for. I basically held a hand to my heart and went ‘oh!’ and started wheezing like I have chest pains again. I didn’t even know if that made any medical sense!

Yes, I know that faking a serious medical symptom probably goes against a few laws. So after Jongin rushed out and the nurse bolted in, I immediately acted like I had miraculously recovered and that I was once again able to breathe normally.

Which I was. I felt totally fine at that point. Just mortally embarrassed.

In the end, Jongin and I both told the nurse that nothing weird happened in the 20 minutes that the IV drip was being administered, so they deemed the dose suitable. But because of my little Oscar-worthy stunt at the end, they made me stay in the hospital until Saturday just to be monitored for a little longer.

That’s why I’m here now, eating hospital breakfast, listening to my father bark about how irresponsible and childish I am while my mother sighs disapprovingly at me for causing a scene. Apparently, a few other important people heard about my great escape to the bar downstairs. But since it ended in a medical emergency, it couldn’t have tarnished my father’s reputation by that much, right?

“For the last time, I was going to go back upstairs before 10! How was I going to know if I was going to get drugged and be allergic to whatever was in the drops he added?” I cry in frustration.

Turns out, Taecyeon did add some flavour enhancing drops that was slightly laced with ketamine into his drink before approaching me. That’s why his drink tasted better than I expected and yes—it was actually only a very small amount. I haven’t heard the full report from our other bodyguards, but I assume he frequently uses small doses of ketamine on himself and people just to break down inhibitions—not fully take advantage of someone.

The only problem is that I turned out to be allergic to some compound in those flavour drops he probably got off-the-market, and that my family has an army of bodyguards.

That’s why you don’t mess with drinks. Period.

“I’m not mad at that part of what happened, Iseul. Why did you go to the hotel’s bar in the first place? Wasn’t there already one at the party—where you could talk to more useful people too?”

Right, yeah. It remains a fact that I did try to sneak away from a party and that was not the best decision I’ve ever made. I could say that I genuinely felt exhausted, that I really preferred to spend my Friday nights alone at home unwinding instead of networking, but…

“I’m sorry,” I say instead, hanging my head low. I’d rather just get this over with. “I’ll be more responsible next time.”

My mom side-eyes me with another sigh. Rubbing my father’s arm, she says, “Just let it go, honey. She’s running a company at 26, she might’ve been feeling a little worn out yesterday. Seo Iseul, you learned your lesson already, right? Do not ever do something as stupid as that again. You offended Youngmin by escaping from his gala, so we had to tell him that the Loloan Bar is your favourite bar in the city and that you knew someone there.”

Of course they had an official PR response already. “Fine, fine,” I mutter, looking out the window. But then I remember something. “By the way, dad—what was that about Youngmin introducing you to people from the Prime Minister’s office? Are you planning to run for Prime Minister in two years?”

My dad clears his throat loudly, darting his eyes to the door. Oh, right. The guards may be eavesdropping outside.

“When did I ever say that? No, Youngmin introduced me to them because that’s what we do at parties like last night—meet people relevant to your career. Something you obviously need to learn more about.”

I sigh and recline back against the headboard. It’s fine. This is fine. It was my mistake anyway. Since Taecyeon had already added those flavour drops, nothing was really Jongin’s fault. At least my dad isn’t irrationally livid at him… though he did get an earful for letting me go to the bar.

“This is the last time you will ever let her escape from important events, Jongin.”

“Yes, Boss,” Jongin answers with soldier-like seriousness. Great. He definitely means it.

Around one, my mom starts complaining about how starving she is. “Call us when you get discharged this afternoon, Iseul,” my dad instructs, getting up. “Your mother needs to prepare for her talk at the Department of Fashion Design at Sungkyungkwan University in the afternoon. Jongin?”

Upon hearing his name called, Jongin enters again. A small part of me dies, remembering how my heart rate jumped like a little yesterday. I busy myself with my phone as my father raps out a few orders.

“Make sure she gets the lab results for a full list of everything she’s allergic too. And don’t get her outside food before she’s discharged, alright?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Alright. Don’t forget to call us, Iseul!”

Jongin follows my parents out, which I’m quite relieved about because I’m still not over what happened last night. He’s not dumb. I’m sure he knows what that meant. He just hasn’t said anything about it because he’s professional and polite.

The door shuts behind him and alone in the room, I sigh in relief. I do not want to be alone with Jongin while I’m still plugged to all this stupid equipment. And I cannot say I want to be more friendly but then be all awkward with him, so I have about 4 hours to get my together and make myself act normal. Because in 4 hours, I’m going to exit this hospital and get back to my daily life with him.

Mulya Hotels and Resorts has a number of strategic projects lined up for our second quarter, so I’m back at full speed on Monday. The new resort and spa in Jeju. The new amenities in our Pyeongchang ski resort. Entering a bid for a contract in Niseko, Japan. Proposals for future projects in Ha Long Bay, Phuket, and Labuan Bajo. I admit I’ve been neglecting our Mulya Gives Back program due to all these new projects, but oh well—I’m making our company money, and that’s what I’m evaluated on.

Thankfully, all this work means I don’t have time to overthink what happened in the hospital room again. Even when I’m in the car with Jongin, I’m heads down in proposals and email threads. And when we finally head back to my condo, I’m mostly too tired to think at all.

“Oh thank the week’s done,” I groan, finally climbing onto the backseat of my car at 10 PM on a Friday night. My company driver had requested to take off early so it’s just Jongin and me tonight. Lucky .

“Home, Ms. Seo?” Jongin asks from the wheel.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Wait, actually…”

We’ve just finished a fancy dinner with some important people from Niseko, but thanks to those microscopic fine dining portions, my stomach is still rumbling.

Jongin eyes me through the rearview mirror. “Yes?”

“I want to get more food,” I pout. “Have you eaten?”

“I did, while you were at the meeting,” he answers.

“Do you want to get more food?”

“That’s not—“ he clears his throat, probably remembering our new speaking arrangements, “I’m personally not hungry anymore, but we can get more food if you’d like.”

I beam. Is this what new mothers feel when their babies start to talk?

“What’s on the way home, do you remember?” I ask as he starts to drive.

“Uh…” he trails off, focusing on the two-way intersection ahead, “there are a few options I believe. Ken’s Sushi? Oh, but you just Japanese. Chungchun Corndogs? Kim’s Kitchen? You used to get their chicken a lot when you first moved into the apartment.”

I look at him, impressed yet again. “You remember quite a lot, don’t you?”

“It’s my job, Ms. Seo.”

He’s not wrong, but one of these days I’m really going to strangle the cyborg in his body with my bare hands.

“Have you ever had Kim’s Kitchen?”

“No, but—”

“Are you vegetarian?”

“No, but that doesn’t—”  

“Kim’s Kitchen’s fried chicken it is,” I decide, snapping my fingers. “We’re going to eat there because it tastes better fresh.”

“I’ll just be keeping an eye on you from another table as usual, Ms. Seo.”

“Okay then, suit yourself,” I sing, already making up my mind to order him at least a drink anyway if he ends up doing that.

Jongin eyes me warily through the rearview mirror but takes us to the restaurant without another protest. Turns out Kim’s Kitchen closes at 2 AM, so they’re packed with university students and young working adults even this late at night.

“Jongin,” I say as we wait to be seated, feeling a little smug, “exactly which table are you going to be keeping an eye on me from?”

He scans the room for a few seconds. “Are you sure you want to eat here? Looks like it’s going to get pretty rowdy.”

“Their food tastes so much better fresh.”  

“Alright then. I guess I can keep an eye on you from outside.”

I whip around, placing both hands on my hips indignantly. “What, you got binoculars or something?” I snap. A waitress is already starting to direct us to a table for two. “Come on, I don’t like eating alone,” I whine. Especially at a place like this.

He doesn’t respond and I instantly feel a pang of guilt.

“Actually,” I hesitate, “if you’d rather not sit with me while I eat, you don’t have to. I don’t want to force you to and you’re right, you can probably watch me from outside. The windows here are really large.”

He assesses the place quietly for a second. “But you said you didn’t want to eat alone?”

“I’d rather not, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable either,” I mumble.

“You really won’t feel uncomfortable if I sit with you here?”

“No,” I answer, heat creeping into my cheeks when I say that. “I’m not used to eating alone.”

“Okay then,” he agrees, pulling out the chair in front of me, “there’s no need for you to be.”

WHY??? Why does he talk like that?!?! Is he trying to give me a heart attack?!

A waiter takes our order and after triple-checking that Jongin really doesn’t want me to get him anything, I end up getting the flavours I want—Spicy Green Onion and Cheesling.

We wait in silence with nothing to do while the restaurant prepares our order. I have to do something other than constantly look to and from his face, because I can’t get caught staring but god damn does he look good, so I hurriedly grasp on the nearest conversation lever I can use.

“So, um… How did we end up resolving the Taecyeon issue again?”

“He’s currently in police custody,” Jongin replies. “Until the end, he maintained that he had no intention of assaulting you, which aligns with the very low level of ketamine in his flavouring drops. Apparently, it was self-made using some ingredients he stole from his workplace. Because of that and the drugs we found him using, he’s facing 36 months in prison and a substantial fine.”

“Wait, what? Prison?” I pause, before checking myself. “I mean, I get that this guy tried to somewhat drug me, but he didn’t actually mean to… you know…”  

“He was found to be in possession of ketamine, which is illegal in this country. The sentence he received did not have anything to do with his intentions towards you because like you said, he did not exactly have any malicious intent towards you. At least none that would hold up in court.”

I nod. “Right, right. I understand. It just sounds a little unfair… So many people get away with so much worse, both in terms of drug use and malicious intent, but it all just slipped past undetected because they didn’t approach someone with an undiscovered allergy and a bodyguard.”

Jongin gazes at me intently. “When you put it like that, it does sound unfair.”

“You’ll probably think I’m extremely weird and stupid but… I feel a little guilty. He was nice,” I laugh a little sadly. “And technically, it wasn’t my drink he drugged…”

“It was his drink, which he made you drink from too afterward,” Jongin refutes. “He drugged your drink.”

“Okay yeah, you’re right. And almost made me die. I don’t know why I feel so bad about him going to prison.” I run a hand through my hair, messing it up in frustration.

Jongin looks at me in silence, as if considering something. “Did you really find him that nice?”

“I’ve just met much worse. I can’t help but think that you know, this is all so morally grey. Even if the person he approaches never ends up taking his drink, he’d probably still be able to take them home anyway. Since he only put it in his drink, I don’t think he was… you know, he wasn’t fully trying to drug anyone—”

“Don’t,” Jongin interrupts. “Maybe that was not his main intent, but his intentions still weren’t completely pure.”  

“You’re right, you’re right.” I look at my lap. I don’t know why the am I sympathizing with this dude so much, but I think it’s basically that—the fact that so many people get away with so much worse.

“Do you…” Jongin starts, clearly needing a lot of effort to get the question out, “do you really think that?”

“What?”

“That even without the substances, he would’ve been able to take people home anyway.”

For some reason, the way he asks it makes me feel like an organism under a microscope. Is he asking if I’d…

“I mean,” I say, squirming in my seat and trying not to read too deep into it, “I don’t think it’s impossible.”

Jongin nods. “I’m only asking because if you do think so, that would make the assumption of him not deliberately trying to target the drugs at women much more reliable. If that’s the case, prosecuting him for possession of them is probably all that he really deserves. But if not, then… he’s really not nice.”

“Yeah, I agree,” I quickly start nodding too. “You’re right. I don’t know why I was being so excusing of him…”

“I guess it’s understandable if you compare it to many other cases.”

Just then, the chicken arrives. Jongin’s eyes bulge slightly when the waitress sets the two large plates in front of us, and I look up from the food just in time to catch it.

“What?” I ask, splitting my chopsticks apart.

“Nothing,” he quickly says. “It’s just a little more than I expected.”

I laugh. Thank God for this change of topic—I’d rather have something lighter to talk about. “I’d usually just get half, but in case you change your mind, you’d still have the option to.”

“I’d be breaking protocol to eat while I’m working, Ms. Seo,” he answers like some programmed machine. It doesn’t even surprise me anymore.

“I figured as much. Well, I wouldn’t mind having this again tomorrow,” I shrug, preparing to dig in. But just as I lift my chopsticks, one of them falls to the ground.

“Oh crap,” I grumble, bending down to get it. This is so embarrassing—I can’t seem like a klutz right now! Snatching the fallen chopstick from the ground, I quickly straighten up again while shaking some hair away from my face. But then—

“Oh!” I exclaim as the back of my head bangs on something. It feels like the corner of the table, but it’s kind of weird because it’s not actually sharp—

“Are you alright?” Jongin asks once I’ve resurfaced back up, sounding concerned. But I’m too surprised to answer. Because right now, my bodyguard is leaning across the table with a hand placed over the corner of the table that I assume I’ve just bumped on. 

“Did you—” I look at his hand, stunned. “Did you just move your hand fast enough to save me from denting my own skull?”

He looks at his hand. “Seems like it.”

“That’s amazing. How did you do that? How fast are your reflexes?”

He smiles a little and hands me a new pair of chopsticks which I realize is supposed to be his. “I could tell you were going to bump into the corner of the table as you were starting to get up.”

“Really? How?” I say, fascinated. I pop a piece of chicken in my mouth.

“Yes, Ms. Seo. By paying attention to you. I’m your bodyguard.”

“Quite literally this time, huh?” I joke.

His face lights up with another small smile. These smiles are beginning to feel like jewels—small and pretty and hard to find. But once you get one, you know they’re precious. I scour my brain for something else to say, but just then, I notice the three girls at the table beside us giggling, all while eyeing Jongin.

“Whoa, did you see what he did?”

“That’s so cool…”

“Ah, I wish I had a boyfriend like that too…”

I look at Jongin with a small smile. “Oh no, one of them might try bumping their head on the table soon,” I tease. “Someone’s popular with the ladies.”

Jongin shrugs dismissively. He seems a lot more interested in wrapping the chopsticks that I’ve dropped in several sheets of tissue.

“And you seem used to it,” I add, unable to stop myself from commenting on his nonchalance. This has to be the reaction of someone who is used to something already.

“It wouldn’t matter if they did,” he finally says, lifting his eyes to look at me at long last. “Right now, I’m just here with you.”

Okay God, I think I need a time machine.

Because apparently, I’ve created a monster.

A wickedly flirty one at that—flirty whenever he wants to be. Which I can’t tell when. Ever since Jongin started talking more, he still sounds perfectly professional all the time, but every now and then, he’ll drop these little bombs that make my heart go pop!

And I swear I’m starting to feel like a bubble wrap by how often I’m popping lately!!!

I’d jump off a bridge if anyone ever found out, but after I get home, I spend three hours trying to stalk Jongin on the internet. I have like 23 tabs and a can of Diet Coke open, and I feel possessed. I just need to know more about this man.

I know there won’t be anything about what he did with the NIS or the client before me. But before that is what I’m trying to find. I need to find fetus Jongin. Military era Jongin, university Jongin, high school Jongin, anything. I need to know what he was like before that composed, steel-cased exterior.

Also, I need to know if he’s actually popular with the ladies. Don’t ask why. Just don’t.

“Aisshhh!” I groan, rolling around on my California King-sized bed. “Kim Jongin, how do you not have a single pixel of presence on the internet!!”

I’ve clicked on 57 different Kim Jongin profiles across 4 different social media platforms, and I still have only as much information as I started with. Did he have to get complete rid of any social media before joining the NIS?

“That has to be it,” I murmur, clicking on another profile only to find yet another random Jongin. Alright, that was my final straw. I slam my laptop shut and go to bed, where I proceed to toss and turn for the next hour.

Not because I’m still bothered by how I can’t seem to find anything about him—but because I hate the fact that I’m actually losing sleep over him. This doesn’t even happen with the guys my family sets me up with.

So what does it mean? I don’t—I mean, I wouldn’t say I have feelings for Jongin. But it’s not like I feel nothing either.

I don’t dress up to impress him, but I like it when his eyes linger a little longer on me. I don’t imagine myself as his girlfriend, but I do want to know about the girls he’s dated in the past. He isn’t the first person I remember in the morning, but right now… he’s the last one I think of before bed.

. . .

This won’t do. Tomorrow, I have to make myself focus on me again. Tomorrow, I’m going shopping!

The next day, I tour the Apgujeong Rodeo like it’s a competitive sport. In fact, I’ve memorized all the stores in that strip of luxury boutiques. There’s Louis Vuitton, Moncler, Michael Kors right across, and then Armani, Gucci, Dior, Burberry. Jongin follows me into each one, rotating in and out of European designer stores and with more and more bags in his arms as I swipe my card with no mercy.

It’s half past 6 by the time I’m at Yves Saint Laurent, bagging a few exclusive pieces from their upcoming Spring/Summer 2023 collection that hasn’t even debuted at any of the fashion weeks yet. Compensation for yesterday’s dress incident, they said.

The clothes I ended up buying amounted to two large bags at the cashier. I take them from the beaming cashier, and just as I turn around to leave—

“Oh!” A man’s voice exclaims as I stumble backward, narrowly dodging walking headfirst into him. “Didn’t think I’d run into you again so quickly.”

“Baekhyun,” I state, recognizing him as soon as I take a proper look at his face. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. Did you leave early last night? I don’t think I ever saw you again at the gala,” he replies, flipping open his wallet as the cashier wraps up a monogrammed black belt for him.

“Sort of,” I answer vaguely, not sure of how much I want to tell him about yesterday yet.

“I don’t blame you for running away,” he says with a grin, “but I was hoping to chat more about Wharton with you. So—asking in a totally casual way—do you have any plans for dinner yet? A friend begged me to fill in for a reservation he has at the new two-Michelin star restaurant around the corner. It’s a table for 2 which he suddenly couldn’t make and doesn’t want to pay the atrocious no-show fee for.”

I think about it for a bit. Thing is, I don’t have plans tonight, I don’t feel like begging my bodyguard to eat with me again, and I’m pretty ing hungry from all this shopping.

So despite not having a particularly stellar first impression of Baekhyun from the gala, I say, “Sure, let’s do it.”

When I tell Jongin of my change of plans, I swear I see a cloud of disapproval color his face. But of course, he doesn’t really have a say in this.

Unsurprisingly, the food at the restaurant Baekhyun takes us to is delicious. What does exceed my expectations happens to be my company.

Baekhyun is the rarest kind of chaebol son—the ones that don’t take themselves too seriously. Maybe it’s because he’s still working his way up. He’s got enough confidence in his background to make him attractive, but not enough to make it his entire personality. We end up talking all throughout dinner—Harvard, Yale, working at family-owned companies and the differences between earning your way up and accepting it, and the similarities of being born into such high-profile families.

“So what’s the story behind your bodyguard again?” he asks at some point, eyes pinned to something above my head which I’m guessing would be a frowning Jongin. “He looks like a really tough guy who wants to send me to God.”

“I out and had to get carried home by the police once, my father was not going to risk that happening again.” I chuckle. “And don’t worry, he looks at everyone like that.”

Baekhyun’s eyes bulge. “How much did you drink?”

“Maybe nearly enough to cause a global supply shortage, but in my defense, it’s been a while since I went out with my SNU friends.”

“Do you still get to do those things now that you have a very serious bodyguard?” Baekhyun questions, saying the last part jokingly.

“I don’t get to do those things anymore because of my very serious job,” I reply as we dig into dessert, “not my bodyguard.”

“You think he’ll ever let me near you again?” Baekhyun asks, and I immediately put a pause on scraping off dainty bits of the chocolate mousse cake. I look up at him.

“Why? You want to take me out again?” I tease.

“Yes. On a properly planned date.” Baekhyun flashes me a handsome close-lipped smile, and suddenly his eyes look the most earnest they’ve been all night. “I like you. You’re really nice to talk to and I’d love the chance to get to know you better, if your bodyguard permits.”

My problem is that I’m fatally att