Namjoon takes a sip of his tea and looks at the clock on the wall. The room, his boss’ office, feels too big and much too expensive, making him uncomfortable. Eun Jin left about fifteen minutes ago after insisting that Namjoon stayed inside to wait for the girl. It’s 3:52, and the silence is deafening. Namjoon’s phone died half an hour ago.

He has a staring contest with the clock.

Tick.

Tock.

3:53

The girl will be dropped off by 4:00, as was promised by her guardian’s representatives. It will be Namjoon’s and his crew’s job to look after her and, to be honest, he still doesn’t understand why.

After the company’s big scandal with the law and media—caught doing some shady deals. One of their business partners, SKT, decided to lend a helping hand. Throwing the media off with a distraction and pulling strings within the law enforcement. Now, what was the price for their oh-so-generous help? They only had one request—babysit their kid.

Namjoon wasn’t notified of how long nor why. He had other things to do and take care of, much more important than watching a most likely spoiled brat. The leader wonders why SKT didn’t ask for something much simpler, money, drugs, someone dead. With another burden placed onto his shoulders, the mint haired sighs, seriously needing a drink right now.

Namjoon’s thoughts race with the hand of the clock.

3:57

10 seconds left.

5 seconds.

3:58

He consoles himself with the thought that his uncle and the kid would arrive any minute now. Serious people like that rarely arrive late.

The young man closes his eyes trying to relax his mind; he’s all tense, almost to the point of feeling his right eye twitch—thinking about the kid and how the others will react to her scares him. The next couple of weeks while everyone is getting used to this will sure be fun.

As he tries to pass the time, Namjoon remembers a song, something not everyone would know, just his own fiery and burning passion for a certain unknown genre of music. He has a difficult time controlling his foot when it starts tapping to the beat of the song.

Time speeds up a little, even though he doesn’t get a tiniest bit of distraction. He is still counting seconds.

Tap. Tic. Tock.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

CLICK.

The door opens, and a woman walks in. She’s looking professional in her black suit, with her hair done in an impossibly perfect ponytail, with dark makeup and her still, emotionless expression. Namjoon stands up and bows, feeling out of place with his torn jeans and simple, white t-shirt.

She is holding a little girl’s hand.

The eight year old girl is clad in all black. With a white-collared black dress, sleeves long with white cuffs as well as small white, laced socks and petite black flats with ankle straps.