[CONTENTID1] Chapter 08 [/CONTENTID1] [CONTENTID2] Eighth Dress [/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID3]

“This is a mistake, babes, a mistake! like this only works in theory!”

I laugh, twirling in front of my mirror one last time, making the skirt of my hydrangea blue dress fan out. It looks like a summer flower in full bloom and I freaking love it. Alright, we are ready to go out and break hearts today! “Challenge accepted, baby.”

Tiffany’s exhale is loud enough to set off typhoon warnings. “So you’re actually thinking you’d be able to use Junmyeon to forget about Jongin and make him realize that he does have some sort of feelings for you?”

“And keep my parents happy and quiet,” I finish with a self-satisfied smile.

“And nothing about using a human being just to rile another one up pricks your conscience?”

“Gently use, Tiff. Just gently.” I roll my eyes, grabbing my wallet from the dining table. “There will be limits to how far I’ll go with this plan. Like, I won’t sleep with him or actually get into a committed relationship just to get a reaction out of the other one, you know? It’ll probably just be a few dates here and there… a kiss if I do feel like it… I don’t know. Relax. I’ll set limits! They’ll be perfectly sensible and dignified.”

Slipping on a pair of white Jimmy Choo heels, I rummage around my little purse to ensure I have everything I need. Keys, wallet, passport—yes, passport, just in case, because you know how rich boys are—

“Whatever,” Tiffany snorts. “I look forward to witnessing your spectacular failure in Phuket in two weeks.”

“Get ready to be blown away by my spectacular charm, Tiff, and how well I can use it,” I retort. “Anyway, talk to you later. Phase 1 of my masterplan started 10 minutes ago.”

I hang up first. As soon as I open my front door, I come face to face with the target of said plan. I give him the extra sugary smile I reserve for when I’m about to disrupt the peace in his life. “Sorry, got carried away picking out a dress. You think Junmyeon will like this?”

“I wouldn’t know what to assume on Mr Kim’s behalf, Ms. Seo,” Jongin replies, but his eyes flit down like piercing, dark lightning. I toss my hair behind me, giving him more bare shoulder, and wave a hand dismissively.

“Of course. Let’s just go.”

The point of that was never to get an actual response. I know I’ll never get one since he’s fully relapsed into Cyborg Mode thanks to that… incident between us—the point was just to get him to properly notice me.

And remember that all this is for another guy.

Speaking of that incident…

Yes, it still . Even a week after it happened. As you can see, it’s like he’s been factory reset, and he’s now uptight, reserved, and frustratingly formal once more. I’m pretty sure he deleted the agreement we reached in the ER from his memory already. But as you can also see, I have a plan. Yes, it may sound petty and evil, but like I said to Tiffany, it will be sensible and dignified.

I don’t need a full-blown confession from Jongin. I just want to make him lose composure and prove that his feelings for me are undeniable. And I just need to reset mine to neutral.

And you know what? The beauty of this plan is that it’ll always be a net positive for me. Because whatever I achieve with Jongin, it’ll still get my parents off my back for a while.

“To the Skytower Hotel, correct?” he asks once we’re in my car, him in the driver seat as always.

“Yes, that’s right.”

And nothing else was spoken the entire car ride. You see how damaging that night is? Because of how he is now, I too find it impossible to start a casual conversation with him!

I end up asking him to turn on the radio. Finally meeting Junmyeon at Altitude Restaurant on the 54th floor of the hotel is a relief, because it means I’m finally freed from my prison of silence, even though my company is someone I don’t feel any particular interest towards.

“You know, when my father told me you agreed to this date, I was quite surprised,” Junmyeon says, sipping on his wine. “If I recall correctly, your parting words the last time we met didn’t exactly convey that you’d want to meet me again.”

My cheeks heat up, remembering how I did say something like I hope your car blows up and die to him. “Um,” I begin, sipping on my own wine as a waiter in our first course, “at first, I wasn’t going to agree either, but my dad was pretty insistent, especially because he’s really good friends with your father. Is your father also actively trying to get you married, by the way?” I ask, turning the conversation back to him.

“Yes, in every spare moment that he has.”

“Really?” I lean in, acting interested. “And why does he have to do that? Accomplished lawyer, conveniently loaded, conventionally attractive… why do you need that extra push from your dad?”

“I could ask the same for you,” Junmyeon answers. “In fact, why are you even resorting to seeing a guy you seemed to deeply detest the last time you two met?”

I have to smile at that. “Maybe I felt compelled to give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe something else persuaded me. Why? Are you wishing I’d vehemently refuse this date?”

“Not really.” He takes another sip of wine. “I always appreciate another chance to get misunderstandings out of the way.”

I narrow my eyes. “If we’re just going to be talking about him all throughout today’s lunch, I think I’d better walk out before I barf.”

“That depends on how quickly you believe me when I tell you I’m not friends with that guy, Iseul,” Junmyeon says, stressing the last few words. “I don’t like him, and like I said, I only know of him because our families operate in the same social circles and thus have many mutual connections. If you don’t believe me, you can have your bodyguard do a background check.”

I don’t say oh, I’ve done that already. Two days ago, to be exact, because there’s no way I’m hanging out with this guy before triple-checking his relationship with Byun Baekhyun. So far, he seems to be genuinely clean, which is why I’m here.

“If you don’t really know him, how can you say you don’t like him?” I ask as the waiter takes away our empty plates, leaving us with a moment of privacy before the next course arrives.

One of the corners of Junmyeon’s lips lifts into a smile. “I thought you said you’d barf if we talk about him all throughout lunch?”

I shrug. “It was more a question about you than him.”

The smile falls off Junmyeon’s lips, and I see a darker shadow pass over his face. “Stuff I’ve heard from mutual friends. He’s been known to act shady around women, but none of them have ever been able to produce as concrete evidence as you.”

My entire body goes rigid. Even the slightest reference to what that sick bastard did still makes my blood go cold, and when it does, my brain can’t come up with a response right away.

“Well,” I add after a longer than usual pause, “I guess it’s about time someone did.”

Thankfully, Junmyeon is gentlemanly and sensible enough to know when a subject change is needed. He smoothly steers the conversation over to more pleasant grounds, talking about work, our education history, and even things like favourite movies and hobbies.

By all definitions, what I’m on today is a proper, proper date. A solid 7/10. Seven because Junmyeon isn’t a pain to talk to, and he’s less openly flirty or suggestive than Baekhyun which I now take as a good sign. Seven but not any higher because honestly… a lunch date at a hotel restaurant is just so, so basic.

And why did this guy pick a Sunday? Aren’t Sundays for church, family, and mentally preparing for Monday? Did he really have work all Saturday?

“As an executive in the hospitality industry, do you find yourself subconsciously comparing the service, food, and ambiance of every hotel you visit to yours?” Junmyeon asks, seeming genuinely curious.

“Subconsciously and consciously. It’s like I have this mental checklist I go through—like the capacity of meeting rooms and ballrooms, number of floors, types of restaurants… and of course, all the amenities, like if they have a gym, pool, business center...”

“What about a helipad?” Junmyeon suddenly asks, leaning past his empty glass of wine. “Wait, does any of Mulya Group’s hotels have a helipad?”

“Um, a respectable chunk,” I answer. “Are you drunk?”

“Nope. I just asked because this hotel has one.” He grins. “And I have a helicopter sitting on it. Ready to take us to Japan.”

Water almost shoots out of my nostrils. “Um, like, right now, you mean?” I choke.

“Yep.” His grin widens, and he signals the waiter to bring him the bill. “Preferably in the next five minutes if we want to make it in time for the Japanese Grand Prix.”

“The Japanese—” I repeat, shaking my head. “Wait. Pause. I think we skipped past a couple steps because what’s that you just said now? Grand Prix? Doesn’t that have to do with… car racing? Which requires tickets, and…”

The rest of the words die in my mouth when he produces two tickets, both with stuff like ‘F1’ and ‘Suzuka Circuit’ stamped on them. And there, smack in the middle, are the words Paddock Club: Admit one in bright bold letters. I blink at it, wondering if they might suddenly disappear.

Am I seeing things?

Is this guy seriously taking me on a helicopter ride to Japan for an F1 race on a first date?

“Are those the tickets?” I ask, gingerly lifting a finger. “Tickets to see the Formula One Japanese Grand Prix?”

“The one and only,” Junmyeon winks, flicking them with a flourish. “You didn’t think the best I could do is a 4-course lunch, right?”

Until we get to the helipad and see not one, but two choppers up there, I was still having trouble believing him. But it’s real—Junmyeon did get a helicopter to take us and our bodyguards to Japan.

I’m forced to revise my earlier score. This date, objectively speaking, deserves a solid 8. It will only increase further to a 9 if things in Japan actually go and end well, but it’ll never be a 10 because it cannot be—not when I still don’t have any romantic feelings for the man.

Junmyeon helps me climb in and hands me a pair of headphones. “Here,” he says, and I can tell he’s pleased with himself for getting me all wide-eyed with wonder like this. “You’ve probably been on one of these things before, right?”

I have, but before I can tell him that, a familiar voice interrupts.

“Excuse me Mr. Kim, where in Japan are we going, exactly?” Jongin yells over the loud noise, suddenly materializing on my side of the cabin. “Ideally I would’ve been informed in advance so I can do a surveillance check—”

“Just to the F1 Grand Prix,” Junmyeon cuts him off, waving dismissively. “Don’t worry about it, my men know I was planning to go so they’ve run a background check of the Paddock Club attendance list already. The venue itself will also be heavily guarded with security. It’ll be fine!” Without waiting for a response, he turns to the helicopter pilot. “Come on, let’s go!”

“Are you buckled up?” Jongin asks me. I nod. He tests my seatbelt by pulling on it a little. 

“I’ll be fine, Jongin, I’ve been on one of these things before.”

He mumbles something I can’t quite catch in response. “What?” I shout, leaning forwards.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. “I’ll see you when you get there.”

And in less than ten minutes, we are airborne.

I quickly forget about Jongin’s response that I missed once we’re soaring high above the city. I’ve never actually ridden a helicopter over Seoul—just once in Switzerland, and the other over the Grand Canyon—so as much as I hate to admit it, I’m sorely tempted to press my nose up against the window and point at everything.

“You’re liking it so far, aren’t you?” I hear Junmyeon ask, smirking a little smugly.

“Are you actually trying to win me over here?” I shoot back. “Why would you go this far on a first date?”

“First of all, I would also like to have fun on the dates I’m forced to go on, thank you very much,” he says loftily. “I’m actually a real fan of motor sports and fast cars, so none of this is just for show, alright? No offense, but I’ve done this for a few other girls too because F1 races always take place on weekends.”

“I see. So this is purely just for your enjoyment then—not mine.” I smirk.

“But a surprise trip to Japan would surely be more enjoyable than other dates you’ve had right? Don’t you get bored of just being wined and dined all the time?”

“I have to admit this is the first time I’ve been flown to a different country on a helicopter just to watch a race, alright,” I laugh. “Some guys have taken me overseas, but never on the first date, and they always give me a warning.”

“That’s why it’s called a first date, isn’t it?” he smiles. “First time for everything.”

An hour later, we’re in Japan, and the Grand Prix is turning out to be a lot crazier than I expected. We land at the helipad of a nearby hotel that has been taken over by F1 fans, and everywhere from the hotel lobby to the circuit is pure chaos.

Hundreds of thousands of fans, mostly middle-aged white men, are cheering and thumping their chests enthusiastically for their favourite teams. They stampede all over the grounds, chanting war cries for Mercedes, Ferrari, Red Bull Racing, and others… and is that orange smoke in the distance? Do people bring smoke bombs to these races? But then how will you even see what’s happening?!

Too busy being overwhelmed, I don’t even realize that most of them are drunk until one guy bumps into me, almost spilling beer all over my Reformation dress.

“Max Verstappen wins the Japanese Grand Prix!”  he roars at my clueless face.

I stumble backwards.  “What the—”

Before I can finish my sentence, a protective arm finds its way around my shoulders. My brain short-circuits again, trying to process why is this arm holding me and why is a familiar scent lingering so close to me and—

“Keep walking!”

The man cowers and immediately tries to get as far away as possible from Jongin. Jongin shoots one last deadly glare at the man before turning to me to ask, “Are you alright?”

I nod even though my breathing’s still a little shaky. “Yeah, he just—I don’t know why he screamed at me—”

“They’re all drunk,” he says, looking pissed as hell. “One guy tried to lift a random girl’s skirt up. Anyone tries to do that to you, you tell me so I can break their arm, alright?”

So, so many things about this situation are making me too stunned to speak. Mutely, I nod, forcing myself not to fixate on how he literally has his arm around me right now. On how this is the closest we’ve been to each other since that mess of a night. On how this is the most emotion he’s shown around me in weeks, and how hot he looks when he’s pissed and overprotective—

Shut up, Iseul. Shut up. , what happened to resetting your feelings?

“Iseul, you alright?” Junmyeon has now turned around to check on me too, but Jongin is having none of it.

“Where are we going?” he practically barks. “Are we going to be watching the race with all these drunken people? I don’t think it’s safe for Ms. Seo—”

“Relax Mr. Kim, we aren’t.” Junmyeon gives him a cool but measured smile. He points at a massive building by the track, which I soon realize is where the team garages and pit stops are. Above that, there are people leaning over the railing of the second floor as well as the roof.

“We’re going up there—to the Paddock Club. Or as I like to call it, the rich people seats.” His eyes drop to where Jongin’s arm is secured protectively around me. “Careful,” he says mildly, “not too tightly on my date, please.”

If that request hits any of Jongin’s nerves, he doesn’t let it show at all. “Of course not,” he answers calmly. “Just doing my job of protecting her, Mr. Kim.”

And when Junmyeon offers me his arm instead, he lets me slip out of his.

I try not to think about it as I enter the Paddock Club with Junmyeon. As he presents the security guard our tickets, and as we walk to a cocktail table on the balcony that overlooks the track without our bodyguards. We clink champagne flutes and drink them to the sound of revving engines and blistering speed.

The Paddock Club is the ‘rich people seats’ indeed. It’s filled with, artists, models, and the girlfriends and families of the F1 drivers, Junmyeon tells me. In the heart of his interests and away from a quiet restaurant, he becomes more alive and animated. This man absolutely won’t stop talking.

“See, that’s Lewis Hamilton. He drives for Mercedes, and he’s really good. He’s a 7-time world champion, you know? He’s coming in for his pit stop now, which is gonna happen right below us… oh no, never mind, it’s over there. Anyway, a pit stop is when they change their tires, and usually, a good one is around 2.5 seconds. It looks like he’s switching to the hard compound tires now—NO! NO! What the ?! Did Charles Leclerc get hit?!”

I have to laugh at that because boy, this man is invested in racing. “Drink, drink,” I chuckle, handing him another cocktail. “And don’t forget to breathe.”

“Yeah, okay,” he mutters, taking it even though his eyes are still glued to the track below us. “, Charles did get hit. They’re gonna change his front wing, and it’s going to cost him around 45 seconds… that’s 10 places, and he needs to be P2 at least to keep his points lead.”

“I’m going to nod and pretend I understand,” I say, nodding sagely. I’m not even looking at the track anymore, because what the hell—it’s just the same 20 cars passing us by over and over again! For 40 laps, which is 40 times, and I don’t even know any of these drivers, so all of them are the same to me!  

40 out of 53 laps, which means 13 more laps to go now. And if each driver’s lap time is about 1:40, that means this race will end at approximately—

“Sorry, are you finding this boring?” Junmyeon asks with a self-conscious smile. “Am I geeking out too much?”

“No, no!” I quickly deny. “It’s a good experience and I’m glad you’re telling me all these things. I just—maybe because I don’t know who to root for in this thing, I just don’t…”

“Oh, go for Charles. Definitely Charles. The red Ferrari with a number 16 on it,” he points at one of the cars on the pit lane who is finally starting to take off again. “And don’t worry. If the race isn’t all that thrilling to you, I’m sure the after party will be.”

“After party?!” I squawk.

He looks at me, surprised. “Didn’t I—oh, right, sorry! There’s always a party after the race, and all Paddock Club members are invited! It’ll be so fun, don’t worry!”

“You didn’t—you didn’t tell me we were going to party here as well!”

He raises an eyebrow. “I thought it’d be a nice Phase 2 of the surprise. Did you have other plans tonight?”

“Not really, I just like to know the full extent of what I’m getting myself into, you know?” I cross my arms. “What if I don’t feel like partying tonight? What if I don’t feel like partying with you?”

“If you don’t feel like going, we can skip it, but I just thought it’d be a good time because it’s hosted by Christian Louboutin and it’s always very classy, I promise.” He holds his right hand up, as if taking an oath. “It’s not the sleazy, club-y kind of party, and I’m not gonna try to grind on you. If I do, just tell my dad that I did.”

“But our parents probably want us to bone,” I mutter under my breath.

“What’s that, sorry?”

“Nothing. But if I knew we’d be partying, I might’ve dressed differently or brought an outfit to change into!” I cry, gesturing at my calf-length dress.

“We’ll go shopping after this! I have to get a suit to change into too. Anything you choose is on me.”  

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary.”

“Sorry for not telling you in advance.” Junmyeon drops his gaze to the floor, looking guiltily at his feet. “Um, so… would you rather we skip the after party?”

Truthfully, I know that would be a dumb decision. An F1 after party should be one hell of an experience, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get to go to another one in my life—since I’m not paying for Paddock Club tickets myself. So I consider the proposition and finally settle on two terms.

“Two conditions,” I say, holding up a matching number of fingers. “One, I want to be back home by twelve since I have work tomorrow, and so do you.”

Junmyeon’s face floods with relief. “Done.”

“And two…” I look over my shoulder and find the man lurking in corner of the room, keeping a trained gaze on me. Our eyes lock for a second, and immediately, he takes the smallest step forward. From the way I suddenly turned to look at him, Jongin’s probably thinking there’s something wrong.

“You tell my bodyguard about this.”

As predicted, Jongin looks wholly annoyed after Junmyeon tells him the latest developments of his itinerary for us. This is exactly why I made the man do the talking.

“Understood, Mr. Kim, but I would still need time to consult the guest list and make sure it looks clear.”

“Mr. Kim, it’s an invite-only party for the rich and famous. The guest list will be the last of your worries, I promise.”

“Yet the last time Ms. Seo was at a party like that, a car blew up,” Jongin retorts without missing a beat.

Junmyeon’s jaw clenches. “I’ve already had my bodyguard look at the invite list because I remember that incident, Mr. Kim. I was there too.”

Jongin looks like he’s about to say something else but ultimately decides against it. “Very well then. Where do we go now?”

Junmyeon claps once. “Now we go shopping!”

We end up in AEON Mall Suzuka, the biggest mall in the city where the F1 circuit is. Because both of us need to do our own shopping and have limited time, Junmyeon quickly suggests that we split up.

“Iseul, I don’t want to bore you with 20 nearly identical black suits. What do you think about splitting up? I’ll go find a suit with my bodyguard, and you can search for a dress with yours.” 

“Sounds good,” I say, even though being alone with Cyborg Jongin has been sounding less and less good ever since that awkward night. Besides, how am I supposed to carry out my masterplan without Junmyeon around?

It already that I haven’t done anything much throughout the day. So maybe this after party is exactly what I need, because there should be a plethora of ways to rile Jongin up when alcohol, dancing, and party dresses are involved…

That thought gives me the fuel I need to put my whole head and heart into shopping for a dress. Formula One is one of the most expensive sports in the world and a lot of important people from it are going to be there—this dress can’t just be good, it has to be magnificent.

With that in mind, I begin my mission.

Rotating in and out of my favourite stores, I try on dress after dress, shifting between different shades and patterns and fabrics like a high-end chameleon. The store assistants compliment me every time, gushing ‘Everything looks so good on you, Miss!’ with fervor in attempt to make me swipe my card. But I don’t plan to stop until I find The Dress, and up to this point, I have yet to find it.

Suddenly, it’s 6.30 already. Junmyeon had said that he first wants us to have dinner at the same hotel the after party is going to be hosted before the official event starts at 8.30. Which means we should probably start eating at around 7, and the fact that I’m still stuck in a Brandon Maxwell fitting room with 3 more dresses to try is a little concerning.

Jongin’s voice rings loudly from outside the fitting room area. “Ms. Seo, it’s nearly 6.40 now—”

“I know!” I cry, sliding out of my current dress and trying on another one that hangs off the hooks. “Wait.”

I slip into the next dress—the eighth one I’ve tried on in this store. This time, it’s a toffee-coloured ensemble with a balconette neckline and off-shoulder straps that drapes loosely around my upper arms. The corset top gives me more cleavage and curves than I actually have, and the skirt that gathers to my hip is also giving just the right amount of y.

I have a thing for dresses with thigh