Work Text:
She doesn’t want to be some old man’s executive assistant. She’s furious that it’s come to this.
She just needs to make money so she can afford to finish her studies and become a lawyer. And so she can, you know, afford rent and food and an occasional modest shopping trip for essential clothing items. She’ll work here for a year and save as much as she can, and then she’ll have work experience on her resume. Work experience at one of the biggest consultancies in the country. It won’t hurt. It’ll be easy enough to talk about in interviews and social settings when people ask her why she took a year off school.
She uses her credit card to buy some office-appropriate clothing, hangs everything up in her closet so it won’t wrinkle. She tries to get a good night’s sleep before her first day.
She doesn’t know why she’s crying. This is good. It’s the best case scenario if she can’t continue school.
Her father would tell her she’s making a mistake. Laugh at her. But that’s not very fair. If he were alive he’d have found a way to pay her tuition for her in this situation. She’d have had to ask, and he’d have never let her live it down. But still.
She double checks that her alarm is set. No sense thinking about things that won’t happen. No sense stressing about what might happen tomorrow. She’ll show up and do well and that’ll be that.
… … …
She does find it odd that she hasn’t met the man she’s going to be working with. She doesn’t even know what he does, what his title is or anything like that. The job posting was for an EA, and the interview process was lengthy, but they’d been very tight-lipped about who she’d actually be supporting, other than to slip and give pronouns. Not that it matters. She’ll do the job regardless of who it’s for. Probably easier if it’s not someone awful.
When she arrives and the woman she’s replacing meets her at security on the ground floor of the office tower, Cha Young smiles cheerfully and says hello.
“Sajang-nim’s office is on the 18th floor. He comes in at 8:30, so you should be here at 8:00 at the latest. He’s a creature of habit.”
“Wait. Sajang-nim?” Cha Young asks as they step into the elevator, her new ID badge hanging from a lanyard on her neck, ruining the look of her outfit. Maybe she’ll get one of those things so she can attach it to her pants instead, have the little zippy cord so she can swipe it and it snaps back. “Mr. Cassano?”
The woman nods. Hyun Ki is her name. She’s gotten married and she’s starting a family. Cha Young remembers thinking she was kind in the interview process. She told Cha Young she thought she’d do very well at this job, given her propensity for efficiency and clear annoyance at wasting time.
“He will not often ask you to do menial things, like fetch his coffee. Only in a pinch. And he may ask you to order lunch, but only for meetings when he’s hosting clients or VIPs.”
“Okay. Any favourite spots?”
That’s a dumb question. She can’t take notes right now in the elevator with five other people.
But the woman smiles. “All in a folder on the computer. I’ll show you. I’m here another week. You’ll be good.” There’s a pause, then the elevator empties out on the 17th floor and they’re alone. “He’ll like you.”
Cha Young doesn’t know why that sounds rare. Doesn’t know why it puts her at ease. It doesn’t really matter if he likes her as long as he thinks she’s good at her job, right?
… … …
Her first meeting with him goes…fine.
He’s a bit cold. Busy. Staring at files in his hand that Hyun Ki just passed to him.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, then finally looks up, and Cha Young knows what he looks like, because he’s not a small deal and he’s pretty renowned if you follow anything about business at all. But she wasn’t prepared for how handsome he is in person. “Welcome.”
She bows deeply, “Thank you. I’m excited to work with you.”
A hint of a smile, then he looks back at Hyun Ki. “Make sure Ms. Hong has access to the company card and all our travel booking platforms.”
Hyun Ki laughs, like this is some kind of inside joke. “Of course. History won’t repeat, sajang-nim.”
He takes a seat at his desk, looks at them both as they stand across from him. “We meet tomorrow to discuss scheduling, correct?”
Cha Young nods. He looks at her expectantly. “Yes.”
He looks back down, says, “Have a good first day,” and that feels like a dismissal.
She and Hyun Ki step out of his office. Hyun Ki goes back in 30 minutes later. Cha Young is completing mandatory trainings and feels left out. She’s not learning anything other than how to not sexually harrass someone in the workplace, which, frankly, she was already fairly sorted on.
… … …
Her second day, they meet to discuss scheduling, managing his inbox and his calls. It’s a two hour meeting during which she takes thorough notes and thinks to herself this should live in a document somewhere, since it’d be a better use of his time to do whatever it is he normally does than to sit here and detail which emails to archive, which calls to screen, and how he likes his calendar colour coded.
“Any family to be aware of?” she asks absently, finishing her note about allowing calls from someone called Mr. Cho. The room goes silent. No one answers her. She looks up. Mr. Cassano is staring at her. “I just mean, should I screen calls or pass them through if you’re available?”
“No family to worry about,” he answers, sounds tense.
Shit. She’s stumbled into the wrong territory.
“Let’s talk about corporate events?” she suggests tactfully, moving on to the next item on the list.
There is a small bit of happiness on his face. Appreciation, she thinks.
… … …
Day three, she’s reading through the ridiculous binder of company policies and drinking tea at her desk when he comes in from a meeting. Hyun Ki is on lunch and Cha Young feels herself panic.
It looks like she’s sitting here doing nothing.
“Sorry. I’m just…HR asked me to go through this.”
He laughs softly, pushes a hand through his hair as if it isn’t perfect.
“I’m not bothered. HR policies are important, if tedious.” She smiles at him. “Any calls while I was out?”
She nods. “One from the security agency; I took a message and instant messaged it to your work laptop like you asked.” He nods. “And one from the office of the Chairman of the company you were reading about yesterday. I put them off a bit. Figured you’d want more time with the proposal.”
He pulls back, impressed. “Good instincts.”
Honestly, it feels like the basics. “I didn’t commit to a meeting time, but said we’d be in touch when you were ready to discuss.”
“Good.”
He’s smiling when he goes back into his office.
… … …
Hyun Ki is officially gone, and Cha Young is alone at the admittedly lovely little desk outside his office when he comes in on Monday morning.
He has two coffee cups in his hand.
“Your real first day,” he says, handing her one. She’s surprised and feels her eyes go wide. “Welcome.”
She smiles up at him, takes the cup, then picks up her tablet and follows him into his office. “Your schedule for the day, sajang-nim?”
“Please,” he says as he hangs up his overcoat and sets his briefcase down, settles in behind his desk.
… … …
She thinks the way they file personal expenses is archaic, and so when he’s on a business trip to Tokyo for two days and she has a little time on her hands, she writes up a proposal for a new process and presents two different options once he’s back, both of which are better than what’s currently in place.
“This is the job of my finance department, Ms. Hong,” he says, but he doesn’t sound displeased.
“Your finance department should be required to plant an entire forest to make up for the paper they’re wasting.”
He glances up from his desk, eyebrow arched. Shit. She’s overstepped the boundary by a mile.
But then he looks back down and seems like he’s holding back a laugh when he says, “Maybe that can be their next team building outing.” A joke? She can’t help chuckling. “This is clever work.”
Oh, that sounds nice. This voice. Those words. “It would be an easy switch. I’m good with communications if you want me to draw up a memo of the change.”
He smiles gently. “I do have to run it by my director of finance.” Shit. Right. “Please schedule a meeting.” She does an excited little dance before she can catch herself, and he leans back in his chair, trying not to laugh. “What was that?”
“Nothing! I’ll set it up. Anything else?”
“No, Ms. Hong. That’s all.”
He’s amused. He looks hot that way.
… … …
After something like six weeks, she has a dream about him.
It is…not the kind of dream she should be having about her boss.
It doesn't feel like her fault. She was reapplying her lipstick at her desk at the end of the day, preparing to go out with friends from school because she’s put it off long enough and they’re starting to get suspicious. He’d stepped out of his office and asked what her plans were, told her to have a nice evening and weekend.
Then she’d had too much to drink and gone to her apartment and fallen into bed in her bra and underwear with her face just barely wiped clean of makeup. Next she knew, she was waking from a dream during which he’d kissed her neck and told her she was pretty and pushed her skirt up as she sat on his desk.
She messages a few people on dating apps, assumes any one of them will be more appropriate matches than her fucking boss.
… … …
“How old are you?” he asks out of the blue one night when they’re working late preparing for a company-wide presentation taking place the next day. Mr. Cassano said they needed dinner, suggested she order whatever she wanted and to get him something from the same place.
They’re sitting on opposite sides of his desk, both typing away in a shared document, refining talking points. His jacket is off, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up.
She’s trying not to notice.
“23. Why? How old are you?”
“34.” What difference does having this information make? She doesn’t know. Yet. “You’re incredibly bright.”
Oh. Oh. She can feel her cheeks pinking. She knows, is the thing. She doesn’t need him to tell her. She still likes that he has. It’s nice to hear. Not that she’s ever thought he didn’t like the work he was doing. There have been a few things he’s corrected her on or requested she change, but they’ve all made sense to her, and he’s got a surprisingly decent way of delivering that type of feedback.
He’s not terribly closed off with praise, but it’s always been about her work.
Not her.
“Young people can be bright.”
He laughs. “I’m aware. And I’ll ignore the implication that you think I’m old.” As if her opinion matters to him. And she doesn’t think he’s old. But he doesn’t let her correct him. “When I was 23 I was acting foolish in Italy.”
“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?” she asks, teasing, twists her lips to make sure her smile isn’t too wide.
“I’m just pointing out that I have an entire internal communications team who isn’t able to write talking points that make sense, and yet you’re here at 9:00pm on a Wednesday making things work.”
She shrugs. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head. “No. It’s not your job.”
She bites her lip. Does he want her to go?
“I can stop taking on these things if it’s a problem.”
He lets out a little sigh like she’s not understanding him. “It’s not a problem. I’m very impressed by you.”
She needs to turn this back around. As much as she likes the attention and the compliments, she doesn’t know what to do with them.
“Remember that when the next bonus cycle kicks off.” He laughs softly, nods like he’ll take it under advisement. “And when I graduate with my law degree.”
She doesn’t even know if she means that.
“That’s what you want to be? A lawyer?”
She nods. He hums. She’s desperate to know what that means, but does not ask.
… … …
He starts including her in meetings with Legal. All of them. She sits to his right and takes notes. He briefs her beforehand so she’ll understand what’s going on. He sends her in his stead to free up time, trusts her to report back to him.
Once, during a meeting about privacy policies, he turns to her and asks, “What do you think?” and she can tell the 12 lawyers in the room are very confused as to why he’s asking his executive assistant her opinion on anything, let alone this.
Naturally, she dazzles them with her knowledge of the topic and suggestions on a way forward based on what they’ve already shared.
She never mentions it to Mr. Cassano. That he’s clearly doing this solely for her benefit and no one else’s. She could thank him, but that would force him to acknowledge it. Right now it’s just work. It can only be work. He’s being generous. Giving her valuable experience.
She types up her notes and files them and tries not to feel terribly smug that her former classmates are still sitting in lecture halls while she’s doing actual work. Even if it does make her feel better.
… … …
An event populates in his calendar that she didn’t put there.
On a Friday night at 9pm.
Drinks with a woman.
Cha Young bites her nail and knows she can’t ask him about this. It’s none of her business. It has nothing to do with her.
She looks the woman up on her phone when he’s in a meeting she’s not attending.
She’s pretty. A doctor. His age or close to it. A divorcee, if the news reports are accurate. She turns her phone over when he steps out of his office and bids Mr. Han goodbye.
Mr. Cassano is tense. Cha Young offers Mr. Han a tight smile.
“Ms. Hong?” he beckons.
She follows Mr. Cassano into his office, closes the door after she sees the elevator doors close. She’s done this enough times in the last four months that she knows not to begin discussing the meeting until they’re sure the departing party has actually left.
“Screen all calls from Mr. Han or Wusang.” She nods, doesn’t write it down, knowing, too, that some things shouldn’t be documented. “They want us on Babel’s side and I don’t trust them.”
She freezes, lump forming in her throat embarrassingly quickly, tears stinging her eyes. After two years, she should not be so upset by this. She wasn’t aware of a connection between Wusang and Babel; they must have brought on a new firm after…after…
“Ms. Hong?” he prompts when he doesn’t get a response.
“Yes. Yes. Fine.” He tilts his head at her. That’s not her normal acknowledgement of his request. She blinks quickly. “Is that all?”
“Are you…”
“Oh, and your Friday evening. You hadn’t set it as a private event in your calendar. I changed that. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing you wanted everyone to see.”
She’s babbling. She should stop.
“Ms. Hong.”
She stops on her way to the door. Can he please just not ask questions?
“Yes?”
He must be able to tell that her keeping her back to him is a clear sign that he should not pry.
“Thank you.”
She hesitates just a moment before she leaves and closes the door behind her.
She takes five minutes in the bathroom to control her breathing and not cry and thinking bout her dead dad and the conglomerate that had him murdered. She should tell Mr. Cassano about the clear conflict of interest. She should.
She doesn’t know how.
… … …
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks quietly, and she would love to answer, but she doesn’t know what he’s… “Your father.”
They’re in the back of his car, his driver up front doing what he does best and pretending he isn’t listening.
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
Mr. Cassano scoffs. It’s not as mean as it could be. “It’s why you were upset.”
“Yes.”
He pauses. They’re 20 minutes out from a meeting with a media company looking to expand into new markets.
“So we feel similarly about Babel.”
She laughs bitterly, giving him a hard look. Meaner than anything she’d ever dream of showing him before now.
“However much you hate them, I promise I hate them more.”
He reaches between them, pats her hand on the seat, pulls away just as quickly.
Work-appropriate comfort from the man she thinks, increasingly, might be more open with her than he is with anyone else.
… … …
She takes her birthday off work. When Mr. Cassano asks, casually, why she’ll be out of the office the following day, she teases him that he’s not allowed to ask her that, per HR policy. He rolls his eyes, smiles at her.
“It’s my birthday,” she says when he’s settling into reading the emails she’s flagged for him.
He smiles, looks at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She laughs. “Why? Would you have gotten me a present?”
He’s biting back a grin, looks back to his screen. “What’s the point of having all this money if I can’t buy people gifts?”
Cha Young rolls her eyes at him. Neither of them has really commented on the fact that often when he’s in his office just working, she sits in here with him, her desk phone forwarded to her cell phone so she can answer if need be.
“Should I send you a list?”
It sounds incredibly hot when he says, a little perturbed, “I don’t need a list, Ms. Hong.” There’s a brief pause. She’s positive he knows she’s looking at him. “I know what you want.”
She focuses on her laptop’s screen. She does notice when he looks over at her, a pleased little look on his face at having rendered her speechless.
It’s just that she would’ve gotten herself fired if she’d said any of the things she wanted to.
… … …
She wakes up on her birthday when someone buzzes up to her apartment with a delivery.
She wraps herself in her robe and meets the delivery person at the door. When she opens it, there’s an absolutely stunning bouquet of flowers. She’s also handed a slim wooden box with the logo of a very expensive champagne brand on the front, and a manila folder.
The card tucked in with the flowers just has his name on it. As if she had any doubt who this was from.
She sets the flowers on her coffee table, rips open the seal of the envelope.
She drops the papers when her hands start shaking. It takes her two tries to dial his direct office line. He seems to know it’s her. Maybe he’s memorized her number the way she’s memorized his.
“Happy birthday.”
“You bought the Guemga Plaza?”
“Why do you sound angry?” he laughs, and that’s…
“What are you…”
When she doesn't finish, he takes a moment, breathes on the other end of the line.
“What you want is to destroy them. I can help you do that. They want more than anything to redevelop that plaza for their new headquarters.” She knows. It’s part of the reason her father is dead. “I have the resources and connections to make sure that never happens.”
She breathes, “Vincenzo,” and it’s horribly unprofessional, and she’s never actually even said his first name out loud until now.
Well, she has. Alone at night in her bed. But that’s different.
“Why would you do that for me?” she asks, and shouldn’t have. She shouldn’t have. Any possible answer is scary.
“I know how it feels to be in your shoes, and I had someone do something similar.” She takes a deep breath, tries to stop herself from crying. “And I…care. About you.”
Oh god.
She simply says, “Thank you,” and lets him say, “You’re welcome.”
He tells her to enjoy the rest of her day.
She sits on her sofa with her cup of coffee, can smell the roses from the bouquet before her, and thinks that she really ought to stop having this many inappropriate feelings for her boss.
He couldn’t have bought the building on a day’s notice. That’s not how that works.
She double checks the paperwork. It’s dated just a week after he learned about her father’s death.
She cannot stop thinking he would’ve just kept it a quiet secret if it hadn’t been her birthday. That he would’ve just held the property and not let Babel get what they wanted, all without saying a word to her. Done it for her without needing her thanks.
It’s one thing for him to spend tens of millions of won on her birthday present. It’s another for him to do it with no expectation at all.
… … …
She writes him a thank you note. Slips it in with his stack of mail before she leaves his office after their morning sync. He doesn’t mention it, but she knows he’s seen it.
A thank you feels like a weird thing to do. Like, thanks, I guess, for doing an absolutely absurd thing in some kind of revenge plot I didn’t ask for.
But he smiles at her a little softly as he leaves for his lunch meeting. Tells her he’ll be back by 2. Tells her he’ll see her then.
… … …
“How did that date go?” she asks him nonchalantly as they eat takeout together, her perched on top of his desk. They’re taking a break from reviewing the proposed org structure changes to the strategy team. She doesn’t think he needs her help, but he asked her for her opinion.
“What date?”
He’s genuinely confused. She tries not to smile. She’s been dropping hints for a couple weeks. Asked him if all his social engagements live in this calendar - they do - and if there were any further engagements to add through the rest of the month - there weren’t.
“I think she was a doctor?”
He breathes a laugh, remembering. “It was pleasant.” She raises her brow. “She was trying to get back at her ex-husband. I didn’t mind being seen out with her so it would get back to him.”
Cha Young grins, looks right at him. “Vincenzo Cassano, a pawn in a lovers’ quarrel?”
“Not a pawn if I helped her orchestrate it. Her ex-husband is, pardon the expression, a piece of shit.”
Cha Young laughs loudly. “Really? You’re worried about language? You think I don’t know the meaning of all those Italian words you mutter in here when you’re mad?”
He meets her eyes, looks a little embarrassed. It is very clear he didn’t think she knew.
“Why do you ask?” He dabs his mouth with his napkin, reaches for his water glass. “About the date?”
Right. She prepared for this. Because it’s weird that she asked and she knows him well enough to know he’d want to understand why.
“I keep your schedule and help organize your life. If there were additional things to work around, I’d want to know so I could be helpful.”
He’s looking at her like he knows that’s bullshit.
But he still lets her get away with it. Because of course he does. What else would he do? Push her even harder on why she’s interested in his love life? To what end? What answer would he be pushing for? What would he do once he had it?
She tidies up their food containers and goes back to sit across from him, wakes her computer. He’s watching her. She ignores it.
“What about you?”
Oh god.
“What do you mean?”
She knows what he means.
“Dates. Relationships.” He picks up his pen, tries to look indifferent. It’s fucking cute. It’s dangerous and telling.
“How would I have time to date someone when I'm always with you?”
His eyes shift towards her, then away. He doesn’t respond.
She smiles to herself, feeling like for once she’s gotten one up on him.
He offers to drop her off at home at the end of the night. By now it’s no big deal at all for her to be driven around in the backseat with him. He knows where she lives. This isn’t the first time. When she yawns as they pull up, he smiles softly at her - affectionate - and tells her to get some sleep and that he’ll see her in the morning.
She gets into bed after washing her face and brushing her teeth, skin slipping against the expensive sheets she bought herself as her one true indulgence after getting this job. She’s wet when she reaches between her thighs, and knows she has been since he looked at her like that in his office. Like he was fucking relieved she’s not with other men.
… … …
She helps plan the holiday party. Mostly because people keep pestering him to approve things, the folks on the committee slipping party questions in during unrelated meetings with him, as if he needs to worry about planning this thing.
After one such instance, he rubs his temple and says, “Can you…”
So yeah. Now she’s liaising with the social committee and practically giving final sign off on all decisions, making it seem like it’s him doing it and not her. He trusts her and she has good taste. When she says the latter to him, he finds it funny, laughs, even though she was being quite earnest, really.
The dress she buys herself is navy and velvet and nipped in at the waist. A flattering neckline and long sleeved so it’s absolutely work appropriate but still elegant and pretty.
Mr. Cassano arranged for a car to pick her up. Because she’s got the employee recognition gifts with her. As if she can’t carry a tote bag of envelopes with gift cards in them in a cab.
She does not expect him to be in the car when she steps in. That he’ll overhear his driver telling her she looks lovely. That she’ll witness him taking her in this way. Part of her wonders if this is why he did this. So he can look at her before anyone else can.
Stupidly, as they approach the venue she says, “What will people think, seeing us arrive together?”
He adjusts his tie needlessly, fiddles with his shirt cuffs. “I think people are rather used to seeing us together, Ms. Hong.”
Not really an answer. She doesn’t push him. She just steps out of the car and they walk into the place together. They go their separate ways almost immediately. She’s got to check in with the caterers and hand off the gifts. He’s pulled away by the head of Marketing to take a photo with her team.
(They’re seated at the same table, at his request. Well, the way he’d put it was, “I won’t make it an hour into the evening otherwise,” which…)
Halfway through dinner she crosses her legs and ends up bumping his ankle with her foot. He’s mid-conversation with the head of Finance’s wife, so Cha Young doesn’t apologies, just moves away and nods when the woman next to her - who she thinks, actually, is the most vapid person she’s ever met - says something about how being vegan is actually so noble because so few people do it. Which Cha Young desperately wants to argue, but can’t. Not because she doesn’t have a good argument, but because she’s got to be on good behaviour.
Then after dessert, Mr. Cassano puts his hand on her shoulder after he stands, asks her if she’d like another glass of champagne. She accepts, wishes she could tell him to take her with him away from these people.
The head of Legal is singing her praises when Mr. Cassano returns, hand on her back between her shoulder blades as he slides back into his seat. They all know by now that she’s studying law. She feels embarrassed by the line of conversation, always afraid someone will ask why she’s working and not in school. No one does. Not even the tactless woman to her right.
Mr. Cassano makes his speech - they wrote it together - and looks very handsome and charming and positions himself as a trustful leader. Then he helps give out the recognition prizes for top performers. It’s quite nice.
When she’s ready to leave, she finds him to say goodbye, apologizes as she interrupts his conversation. She does it very much on purpose. She knows he does not ever want to be talking to those men for very long.
“You’re off the clock,” he says with a grin, one hand in his pocket as he walks her to the exit. “You shouldn’t need to save me that way.”
“Oh, that wasn’t about you,” she teases. “I really like taking you away from old men. It’s a rush.”
She doesn’t know what he’s thinking when he says, “You’ll always be far better company, so steal me away all you want.”
If the silence that immediately follows is any indication, he wasn’t thinking.
His car is at the curb. She can see it from the entrance. She wants to protest, knows his driver will have to take her home then come all the way back.
“Arriving together is one thing,” he says, as if he can read her mind. “Leaving together is another.”
She cannot believe he said that. She knows her cheeks go pink. He clears his throat, takes a step back. She wants to reach for him, to tell him no, she’s not upset or offended. This isn’t unwanted attention. It’s not something she’s never thought about.
“Good evening, Ms. Hong.” There’s a little smile on his lips. It’s unsure, though. Like maybe he doesn’t understand how badly she wants him.
Grasping for something to say that will not betray that fact, she says, “Don’t stay out too late, old man.”
He laughs, nods his head, pushes the door open so she can leave.
She doesn’t want to go alone.
… … …
If she’s such good company, why doesn’t he want her, too?
… … …
Monday morning, all people can talk about is the party. There are some photos posted on the company-wide messaging system. She smiles when she sees them, happy people seemed to have a good time and no one made fools of themselves. At least not at the venue. Whatever they did at the afterparties was their own business.
There’s one of him with all the C-Suite, people behind them all giving bunny ears. It’s stupid and goofy and childish but it’s the kind of fun people should have, you know? Making fun of the boss during the one night of the year it’s appropriate to do so.
Cha Young makes sure he sees it, because she’s positive people will mention it to him and he’ll have to know what they’re talking about, to be in on the joke.
There are no photos of the two of them. She doesn’t want to be disappointed.
… … …
Her holiday bonus is 15 million won.
She blinks rapidly at the email she receives telling her so.
She marches into his office even though he’s on the phone. Hands on her hips, looking at him.
He cuts the call short, looks confused. Maybe a little irritated.
“15 million won?”
He sighs. “You do excellent work.” She lets out a laugh. It’s humourless. Bitter. What is he doing? “You’ve given me time back so I can work fewer hours. Made things more efficient.” She tilts her head. Yeah, okay, all that’s true, but no one else is getting a bonus this large. Not below the director level. “It’s about the work that you do.”
She asks, “What else would it be about?” and it comes out less harsh than she intended. Which is probably a good thing - she can’t tell off her boss.
But he’s just looking at her, eyes on hers, expression soft. He swallows.
He doesn’t give her an answer, and she leaves.
… … …
She spends her holiday break missing him. Drinking with friends to drown out the missing him. Enjoying her vibrator to distract from missing him. Checking her work email so she has a connection to him.
He calls her during the day on New Year's Eve.
“What are you doing tonight?”
Oh god.
“I don’t know.” She should be going out with friends. She made the commitment. She’ll cancel it immediately if he gives a better offer. “What should I do tonight?”
There’s a pause, a breath.
“We shouldn’t,” he says, but it sounds more like ‘we’re going to’ rather than ‘I won’t’. “I’ll pick you up at 7:00.”
She presses her hand hard against her thigh. “What should I wear?”
He clears his throat like he usually does when she surprises him. “We’ll stay in.”
Oh fuck.
She finds pretty underwear and a matching bra, pulls them on under her pants and soft sweater. She slips a condom into her purse after deliberating about it. She doesn’t want to be…She can’t assume it’s going to happen; he might just want to stay in because no one can see them out. But if this is her opportunity to fuck him and it gets thrown off because she wasn’t prepared, she’ll cry. She swipes on the lipstick she thinks is his favourite on her, sprays a little perfume, fixes her hair.
He isn’t late to pick her up.
He’s driving.
“Everyone gets the holidays off,” he explains
That’s…sweet.
“I thought you’d go to Italy.” She’s annoyed he’s a good driver, considering he doesn’t do it. But she doesn’t know that, does she? He might do it when he’s not working. What does she know? “For the holidays?”
“No.”
She doesn’t know what to say to that. It reminds her of her first week, when she’d asked about family and he’d been a bit short, caught off guard. She figures she needs to diffuse the tension somehow.
“The holidays are difficult,” she admits. He glances her way, then back to the road. “Since my parents passed.” He nods. She’s never talked about her mother, but he must have found information when he looked up her father. If you google either her or her dad, eomma’s obituary comes up. “Especially since I don’t have the house anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Abeoji had a lot of debts.” she admits, feels ashamed even though she shouldn’t. It’s not her fault. “I sold the house to settle them quickly instead of getting buried under interest.”
He says, “That’s smart,” and it’s such a fucking morbid compliment it actually makes her smile.
“Anyway. It’s fine. After my mom died we didn’t really do much over the holidays anyway. I’m not missing much.”
He hums. He doesn’t believe her. He’s right not to.
“I thought you’d have plans tonight.”
She grins, leans towards him. “You called anyway.”
He draws a breath, accelerates to pass someone. “I’m used to seeing you more often.”
So he’s missed her, too.
She knows his address, of course, but she’s never been to his house. And she doesn’t know why she wasn’t expecting something like this. Big and modern and tastefully decorated. A three car garage that doesn’t even house the sedan his driver usually shuttles him around in. The lights are dim when they walk in, and he offers her a drink and heads straight to a proper wet bar in the living area, pretty bottles lined up on a back counter with glassware on little hooks.
She sets her bag down on the coffee table. He’s watching her.
“I can’t believe people live like this.”
He laughs. “It’s not that impressive.” He’s biting back a smile when he measures something and pours it into a crystal glass. “The villa in Italy is much nicer.”
She rolls her eyes, goes to the big glass doors that lead out to a terrace, the view of the city from here nearly unobstructed. She wonders if the terrace is heated. It’s snowing lightly now, but it might be nice to…
“Here,” he says quietly, pressing a drink into her hand, then holds up his own. “Cheers.”
Is it too soon to kiss him?
Apparently. They finish their drinks, and they’re close to one another on the sofa, and she teases him for the fact that in his downtime he’s still wearing slacks and a dress shirt. He reaches over and pushes her hair gently away from her brow as he smiles softly at her. She swallows.
He says again, “We shouldn’t do this.”
“Do what?”
His hand rests on her neck, thumb right up under her jaw. “Blur the lines.”
She gives him a look, shifts closer. “I think the lines have been blurred for months, sajang-nim.”
“You’re not wrong.” She swallows. It’s not even 9:00pm. “But that’s different than this.”
“And yet you invited me over.” His breathing is even, but deliberately so. Like he has to try. To think about it. It’s an effort. “And you’re touching me.”
He meets her eyes again. “I could stop.”
“Don’t stop.”
His thumb presses. She thinks he likes that she’s practically begging, voice breathless. “Cha Young-ah.” Fuck. That makes her whimper. She doesn’t like the sound until she realizes he does. “You have to tell me what you want.”
She understands what he’s saying. He’s concerned about taking advantage of her, about the power dynamics, about feeling like he’s making her say yes to something she doesn’t want. As if she’s been subtle. As if she’s not been wanting more for months.
She moves, gets onto his lap, her cheeks heating when she realizes exactly what she’s doing.
She takes his face in her hands, watches his eyes slip closed as she settles her weight against him.
“I want you to do whatever you want to me.”
A low groan rips from his throat, his hand moving up her back to push her closer.
This is a bad idea and they definitely shouldn’t, he’s right about that, but then he’s following her to his bedroom, her lips kissed swollen and hair a mess from his hands, and she doesn’t care.
… … …
“Please.”
“Please what?” he asks, tilts her hips just so, smirks down at her like he knows just what he’s doing to her.
“Please let me come. I want to come.” He’s so deep inside her and she’s so fucking close.
“I’m not stopping you.” Arrogant. Sexy. “Come.” She moans when he presses his hips hard against her. “That’s it. Now.”
Jesus Christ, she may never be the same.
… … …
He walks into work their first day back and they both manage to act like just two days ago she wasn’t spread out naked on his bed with his face between her thighs.
It’s an absolute relief that nothing changes. It makes her feel mature. Like she is an adult who can handle adult relationships. Because she’s never truly had one. And it helps that they spoke about it in the morning, his hand drawing her hair back off her face and her looking at him and asking what he wants from this.
He wants her. Likes her. Thought he could fight it. Did fight it. And it’s complicated, because they can’t be terribly open about it. They couldn’t make promises. But at least it’s nice to know he doesn’t view getting her into bed as something he just needed to see if he could do. Some conquest.
“Your schedule?” she asks, and he nods and holds his office door open for her.
They don’t kiss or touch or do anything different than usual, except he smiles a little softer at her and she looks back at him before she leaves, just so their eyes can meet.
… … …
On Friday night, she’s on her knees between his thighs as he sits on his bed, his hand on her jaw, and he’s saying, “Relax a little for me. Like that. Yes,” and tipping his head back.
Monday morning, he’s calling out to her from his office, asking what’s causing the delay on the documents the acquisitions team was supposed to send over.
… … …
A month in, they’re in his office and no one else is around but the cleaning staff who know not to bother him when he works late.
He says, “Come here,” and pushes his chair back, rests his hand on the inside of her knee and looks up at her. “Is this okay?”
Cha Young laughs, leans down, kisses him and then sits atop his desk. He gives her a look, brow raised like she’s being naughty, like that isn’t just what he wanted when he beckoned her.
“Do you want to know how many times I’ve thought of this?”
Oh, he looks so smug, asks, “How many?”
She parts her knees. “Every day since June, sajang-nim.”
He breathes a laugh, lips against her inner thigh, mutters, “Don’t call me that right now.”
One of their rules. She forgot. Blame the setting.
… … …
She speaks out of turn during a client meeting. They’re in talks with a small tech firm about this acquisition, and the CTO says something that contradicts what was in the earnings report that was sent over, so she points it out.
Everyone looks at her like she’s out of line. Which she might be. Except Vincenzo is not bothered. Looks proud, even.
“Please leave the discussion to the appropriate parties,” the lawyer sitting across from her says.
Vincenzo looks over at the man slowly. “Ms. Hong works in the office of the President. She knows these documents better than I do. If she has something to say, you’ll listen without condescension.” The tension is high. Cha Young holds her breath. “Are we clear?”
There’s a chorus of, yes, sirs, and he asks her to continue.
… … …
“Babel wants to meet.”
She stops dressing, wonders why he waited until now to say something. Waited until she’s got to leave to meet her father’s old paralegal for breakfast because it’s been a long time and it feels right to keep in touch with him.
She looks over her shoulder. He’s lying shirtless against his pillows, hair soft over his forehead, the scar over his left peck showing. The one she hasn’t had the courage to ask about. It looks deep. Traumatic.
“Okay.”
“Cha Young-ah.”
She reaches for her shirt. “What do you want me to say?”
He laughs humourlessly. “What do you want me to do?”
She clenches her jaw, unsure why she’s so bothered all of a sudden. “It’s business. If you stand to make a bunch of money, you should do it.”
“What?” he asks, then sits up, reaches for her, tugs her by her wrist so she’ll stop moving and sit down. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m not even considering it. I can string them along until we all die, for all I care.”
“Then what…”
His thumb is smooth over her pulse. He must be able to feel how fast her heart is beating. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. Take meetings with no intentions of giving them what they want, use my network to block their other projects. Tell me what to do.”
Fucking hell. Those are some magic words.
She thinks about it for a moment. Thinks about it even as he raises her hand to his mouth, presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, moves his lips up her arm. She’s got to leave. She can’t stay. He shouldn’t start something now.
“Set up a meeting,” she says, voice a little weak from what he’s doing with his lips. She pulls her arm away, presses her palm against his mouth, which makes him laugh. “Tell them no to their faces, but leave the door open enough that they think there’s hope. Ask them for documentation and proposals it’ll take them ages to make look legitimate and clean. Make those documents non-negotiable if they want you to cooperate.”
Something in his eyes shifts. She pulls her hand away. “Are you a bit ruthless?”
It’s not that.
“I’m furious.” He blinks. That look on his face is too hot to ignore. “I want them to suffer. I want them to dig themselves a hole so deep they can’t get out of it. I want them to do it to themselves because they’re so fucking greedy.”
He pauses a moment. “You’re sexy.”
She pushes at his cheek, laughs, stands up. He leans back against the bed, seemingly determined to look so goddamned good she doesn’t want to go.
“Will you help me, Cassano sajang-nim?”
His eyes go dark.
“Nothing would make me happier, cara.”
“Nothing?”
Oh. Oh, she didn’t expect that to put a sweet look on his face.
“Few things.”
She kisses his forehead and leaves before she says something she can’t take back.
… … …
Babel pushes the meeting twice. The first time, she knows they’re playing games. The second, she’s so irritated that she snaps a little at Jang Han Seok’s EA. She wants this in writing, not passed in phone calls. So she asks for an email follow up with updated suggested dates and times.
They ask Vincenzo to go to their office.
“You know what they’re doing,” she says, heated, as he signs the stack of cheques she brought in with her when she came to update him and brief him for his 3:00.
“I do.”
Is that all?
“And you’re going to let them?”
He glances up, probably due to her tone more than anything, and still his hand, pen poised over the paper on his desk.
“Please trust that I know what I’m doing.” She does, she just wants to know what it is he’s planning. She nods. He returns to signing. “Every time they push it, I have another of their permits cancelled.”
She didn’t know that. How did he…?
She sputters a bit. She’s impressed. “You knew they’d do this. Try to control everything.”
“Of course I did.”
He stacks the papers, taps them gently on the desk, passes them to her and holds out his hand for the next batch. His eyes are absolutely devious. He’s enjoying this.
“And when they finally leave one on the books, I’ll be the one cancelling it. Every week we don’t meet is another week their building isn’t going forward.”
“So one way or another, you’re fucking them.” He chokes out a laugh, looks up at her, leans back in his seat. “Sorry, sajang-nim.”
He goes back to signing, just says, “Something I’m very good at.”
Oh, she could kill him.
But she powers through, preps him for his meeting, asks if he needs anything else before they go to the boardroom. He makes them each a coffee and she walks beside him to the meeting, sits down next to him and realizes she’s stolen his pen by mistake. He notices. Smiles to himself. Doesn’t say anything about it. Their fingers brush after the hour is up when she passes it back to him with an apology.
The next morning it’s on her desk, parallel to her notepad where she leaves it tidy and orderly each evening. Interesting that he didn’t say anything last night at his place. Then again she’d challenged him on that statement he’d made earlier in the day and he’d seemed rather determined to prove himself right.
… … …
“Why not your place?” he asks when she’s literally on top of him in just some cute underwear and he’s down a shirt and his pants are open and she’s kissing his chest, right along that scar.
She stops, smiles up at him. “Would you like me to stop so we can go across town?”
He lifts his brow in challenge. “Will you take me?”
Oh, interesting words. She slips down quickly, pulls his length free from his pants, closes her lips around the head just a tease before pulling off.
“Yes.”
“Cha Young-ah,” he moans, and she wants so badly to laugh at him. This is the only time he’s a little pathetic. Wanting so badly that he whines and begs. It’s very hot. “To your house.”
“It’s a small apartment.” She twists her wrist gently, gives him a little kiss, then another, then her tongue…He puts his hand in her hair and pulls so she’ll stop, move away. “I like it here.”
“I want to see where you sleep.” His hand doesn’t let go of her hair. She doesn’t mind. They both like this. “Otherwise this feels like just sex.”
Oh. Oh. She rests her cheek on his hip, his hand going slack, and smiles up at him. It’s not that she assumed it was just sex. Certainly she hasn’t thought that in weeks and weeks.
“You like me,” she accuses. Slides her hand gently up his shaft for good measure.
His hand caresses her head, her neck, her cheek. “Very much.”
“Let me finish this and then we can go if you want.”
He chuckles, tugs again so she’ll look at him and not his cock. “Finish this? Like it’s a task at work?”
She grins seductively up at him. “No, because you won’t let me go down on you at the office.”
“You’re killing me.”
“Careful,” she says, licks a gentle stripe across his hip. “Your old man heart might give out if I get on my knees under your desk.”
He sits up, gets his hands on her and maneuvers them quickly so she’s on her back and they’re lying across his bed.
“Not tonight,” he says, which…it’s hard to understand what he’s talking about when he’s pressing right up against her thigh and pushing her knee up like that. He knows she loves it when he manhandles her a little. “We’re not going anywhere tonight.”
“No? You want to keep me right here?”
His hand moves between her legs, and he smirks down at her. “Right here.”
She nods a little desperately and thankfully doesn’t have to beg him for more.
… … …
“Someone is getting fucking fired!”
Yeah. Yeah, understandable honestly. He leaves the conference room and she’s never seen him so mad, not ever. But losing the equivalent of $80 million euro because someone didn’t make sure all the paperwork was submitted is kind of a big deal.
She follows him back down the hall towards his office and feels scared she’s done something wrong. Is this her fault? In full or in part? Should she have caught something she missed?
She gets a few looks of sympathy from people working at their desks. She’s a little uncomfortable. She doesn’t know what to do around people who are this upset. Doesn’t know what to do with him when he’s this way.
She closes his office door quietly and watches him go to the window, tug at his tie and seemingly deliberately not look at her.
She waits a whole minute - times it by the clock he keeps on his bookshelf - and then says, “Sajang-nim.”
“How?” He turns quickly, hands landing on the back of his leather chair as he looks at her darkly. “How have I got such incompetent employees that they’d miss this?”
Her throat feels tight. Is he talking about her?
“I’ll call Legal in.”
He stares at her, and she thinks she sees the moment he realizes she’s afraid she’s let him down.
“I’m not mad at you.” It sounds sincere. Truthful. Still tense and angry, but at least not directed at you. “You’re my EA. I don’t expect you to run the fucking company.”
Right. Right, she’s just some 24 year old girl with a part of a law degree and too much ambition.
“Anyone else you’d like to speak to?”
His brow furrows. “What?”
She isn’t going to be needy and emotional about her own shit when he’s facing a bit of a crisis.
“Who else do you want to speak to?”
He rounds the desk. “You.” It’s soft and insistent, and he crosses his arms and leans back against the desk. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t be upset with yourself.”
“Right. I’m your EA.”
She looks right at him and he stares a second and then seems to realize what he’s done.
“You’re not just…” He closes his eyes, sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that. You do more than half the people here. This isn’t your fault.”
“Okay.” He wants to touch her. She can tell. She wants that, too. “Who are you going to fire?”
He chuckles. “I haven’t decided yet. Maybe a few of them. Talk to Finance and see if we can recover…” She turns her notepad around to show him that it’s already written down. “Good girl.”
Their eyes meet and a beat passes between them. He’s never called her that here.
Before she steps away, she says, “Come over later,” and he smiles for the first time in an hour.
She can hear him yelling the rest of the afternoon. To the people in his office and to people on the phone.
When he shows up at her door later and steps into her apartment for the first time, he lets out a long breath like he feels good. Better. Calmer. She pulls him to her bed and they talk and he rests his head on her chest while they’re still fully clothed.
He apologizes for earlier. She says she’s just insecure. He says something about what he’s going to do when she goes back to school. She says nothing.
… … …
She can’t believe she didn’t know he’s a lawyer. How did she not know that?
“I’m not,” he says, laughing, like the point isn’t that he has a law degree. “I don’t even have a license anymore.”
She kicks him gently. He’s making them breakfast, a frittata, he tells her, like his mother used to make him.
“But you practiced.”
He continues sauteing onions. Hesitates. “Yes.” He sighs, then. “It’s complicated. I worked with the family.”
“What does that mean?”
He doesn’t look at her. He won’t, she can tell, until he’s come out with whatever it is. “It was a dangerous business,” he says. “A dangerous family business in Italy.” She blinks, feels her heart sink. He glances her way. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She nods weakly. “Yes.”
“There was a very dangerous incident and ensuing threats. My father wanted me far away from it. So I ended up back here.”
Without thinking, she says, “You’re not hiding very well, if you’re using your own name.”
But he just laughs at her, pinches her thigh and then stands between her knees. He’d made a comment earlier about her sitting atop his kitchen counter. But he also hadn’t let her get down. So.
“The score was settled years ago. But I’d established things here, and then connected with my birth mother. I didn’t want to leave.”
She knew he was adopted. He’d told her that. Told her he was raised Catholic and lived in a nice home in Milan with two working parents and vacations every summer. Knew they passed when he was young and he went to live with an uncle, was adopted a second time. She didn’t know he was born in Seoul.
“You didn’t want to be a lawyer here?”
He shrugs, sips his coffee. “I liked the idea of starting my own business, doing what I do well.”
That makes sense. He’s an excellent advisor. His background in the law seems almost obvious now. He’s excellent at aggregating information and making recommendations. He’s even better at directing people and being a boss. People trust him. Like him. Even when he’s yelling and cursing about firing people. Because he does that so rarely that people know when it happens, it’s warranted.
She reaches over, slides her fingertips along the scar she can see where his shirt is loosely buttoned.
“Will you tell me about this someday?”
He looks at her terribly softly at the question and how it’s worded. She knows he’s shared a lot just now. She doesn’t want to push him. And they have time for her to hear more stories. Even if she’s dying to know more about the mafia right now.
She grins wickedly as he goes back to the stove. “And about when you were my age, fucking anything in a skirt?”
He laughs again. Genuine amusement. “You’ve let your imagination run, I see.” She shrugs. She can practically see him as a hot, wealthy young man. Not a hot, wealthy older one. “I promise it didn’t go like that.”
Honestly, she wouldn’t care if it had. She watches him now, moving around his kitchen and always, somehow, ending up with his body angling towards hers. Casual brushes of his hip against her knee, his fingers against her calf, his hand pushing her hair back as he waits for the next step in this cooking process. Kissing the coffee foam from her upper lip before she can lick it away.
Who the fuck cares who he slept with before this?
“Can I help?” she asks again, watching as he cracks eggs into a bowl.
“No.” He’s smiling privately, not looking at her. Then glances over, abandons his task, pushes her thighs apart with his palms and noses along her jaw until his mouth is against her ear. “Pretty little thing. Just keep me company.”
She’s so fucking predictable to like that so much. Swings her legs out from the counter when he retreats to go continue. She feels a little young and foolish just watching, knowing that even if he’d asked her to help she’s kind of useless in the kitchen.
When his coffee cup is empty, she busies herself making him another. She knows how he takes it. How he likes it. And then when the frittata is baking, she sits across his lap on the sofa and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck as he tells her how he got that scar.
He’s telling her so much about himself. She knows that isn’t easy. She should offer something up.
“What do you want to know?” she asks, and tries not to be distracted by his finger dragging over the top of her thigh.
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
Too deep. That’s too deep.
“I dyed my hair blonde in high school.” He practically snorts, surprised, and looks at her hair like he might be able to tell, or like he’s trying to picture it. “It’s only just a good length and this healthy. It was shorter at the time but as it grew I had to keep cutting the damaged bits off.”
Something passes across his face. “How long ago was this?”
Oh. Right. “Don’t be weird about our age difference now.”
A little laugh: “I’m just realizing how recent high school was for you.”
She rolls her eyes at him. “You’re not actually old.”
He hesitates. That look is back. She hates that look. He shifts a bit beneath her. He won’t look at her face. So she makes him, curves her hand around his jaw beneath his chin and pulls.
“You’re very young.”
She decides to tease, “Isn’t that what all men want? A little trophy?” His jaw clenches beneath her hand. She’s upset him. “I’m an entire woman, Vincenzo-ssi. You don’t have to feel any guilt. But if you do…”
She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t want to say it out loud. Doesn’t want him to end this over something as trivial as a decade.
“And I’m your boss.”
His conscience is really doing a number on him, isn’t it?
“If you weren’t, would you still want me?”
His brow furrows quickly, gaze locking on hers. She has her answer before he even speaks. “Of course I would. What kind of question is that?”
“No need to feel guilty,” she says, fingers stroking his face “is all. If this isn’t about the power. If it’s about…” Ugh. “Feelings.”
He kisses her very gently, sweetly. Her stomach rumbles, so he flattens his palm against it.
“Wise beyond your years in all regards,” he says. Her favourite kind of compliment.
… … …
His mother is sick, he tells her. He’s emotional when he returns from a personal errand he didn’t tell her about. When she steps into his office behind him, his back is to her and he wipes at his eye.
“Sajang-nim?”
The deliberate way he says, “Cha Young-ah,” tells her this is the kind of moment he needs her support as his partner - or whatever they’re calling it - and not his employee.
She puts her hand on his back carefully when he sits at his desk and bows his head, tells her what the doctors said.
It’s familiar in a way that makes her heart twist in her chest. She remembers. With her mother. She does not want to project any of her grief onto him when his mother is still here and has a chance.
This is a bad day for this, from a work perspective. He’s meeting with one of the biggest media companies in the country. A massive contract if they can get it. Him and the head of Business Strategy and the President and four secretaries from the other company.
He can’t miss it.
“I can push the meeting if you need me to,” she says. His shoulders drop with the realization that meeting is today. “But if you want my opinion, you shouldn’t. You should take some deep breaths and drink some water and do what you do best.”
He looks up at her. She ignores that his eyes are red. Ignores that he’s looking at her like he’s never seen someone more perfect.
“Where did we find you?” he asks reverently. She smiles back, unable to stop herself after such praise. “You’re right.”
She squeezes his shoulder. “I know.”
He takes a deep breath, catches her hand before she can walk away, presses his lips to her palm before he lets her go.
… … …
She sips wine in his bed while he’s out at a dinner meeting. He’d told her flat out he likes the idea of coming home and having her. Which was hot and sentimental all at once.
He’d also given her some more information to read on his family in Italy. Which she’s fascinated by in a way that is probably alarming, if not telling just how badly she craves drama and excitement. It does make her understand why he’s so quick and adept at planning and plotting to destroy Babel. What is a conglomerate if not just a more legitimate version of the mafia?
It also makes her understand why he’s so impressed with her willingness to go along with the plan.
And more than anything, it gives her a sense of how invested he is in her if he’s willing to tell her these secrets. If he trusts her with them.
And then he comes home and doesn’t even bother taking off his suit jacket before he’s pushing up her nightgown and putting his mouth between her legs. Making her whine and nearly beg him when he pulls away even when it’s just to tell her, “This is all I could think about all night. You waiting for me to come home and fuck you.”
She’s more desperate to come than she is desperate to correct him and say she wasn’t like, sitting here aching for him with nothing better to do than want.
“Please,” she whispers, tips her hips, whines when he doesn’t immediately give her what she wants. “Please, I need...”
A low laugh; pitying, almost, if it wasn’t so warm.
“I know what you need.”
She believes him. Has no reason not to.
… … …
The morning of the meeting with Babel, she spends 40 minutes trying to decide what to wear.
How do you dress for such an occasion? To sit across from the people who ordered your father’s murder? Should she wear the closest thing she has to a power suit? Maybe a lower cut blouse than usual because the one time she met Jang Han Seok years ago, he looked at her like she was some kind of meal to devour? A skirt? Pants?
In the end, she opts for something that makes her look both innocent and inconspicuous. A long sleeved white shirt buttoned up to the collar, pale pink suit. She does her makeup, swipes on her lipstick, a little lighter shade than she’d normally wear.
When Vincenzo comes in, he bids her good morning like this is any other day. Of course, other people at the company are aware of the meeting. Other teams have been involved here. Also his personal advisors. He’s told her that his relationship with Mr. Cho is ‘extensive and mutually beneficial’. Mr. Cho has been acting as his proxy with the tenants of the plaza. Tenants Cha Young knows too well to go visit; they’ll want to talk about her father, for one thing, and they’ll ask her questions about Vincenzo, for another.
Vincenzo wears a dark blue suit, burgundy tie. His hair is freshly cut and he really does just look so fucking pretty sometimes she wants to hate him.
She goes to prep the conference room, sets Vincenzo’s folio at his seat and her notepad and pen at the seat to his right. Like usual. By his right hand, just where he’s told her he likes her. She fills the pretty crystal water pitchers and makes sure there are enough glasses, sets them on the tray in the kitchen and walks them to the room.
“If you need to excuse yourself at any point, make up whatever lie you need to.”
She turns and Vincenzo is standing there, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. She wonders how long he’s been watching. Wonders if he saw her have to bend over the table like that to reach for a blank piece of paper someone left behind in a previous meeting.
“I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re not.”
“I’ll be fine,” she almost snaps. He raises a brow. Fuck. He’s right. If someone heard her… ”Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
And she’s fine. They do introductions. Choi Myung Hee, the worst kind of lawyer Cha Young has ever known, the kind of lawyer her father told her never to become. When she’d joked the woman seemed impressive and effective, he’d promised he’d cut her off - disown her - if she ever ended up like that. And Mr. Han, who’s a spineless social climbing yes man Cha Young thinks is so pathetic he’s nearly not worth her time. There’s Jang Han Seo, who seems to be more of a mascot than anything else, a prop for his brother to cart around as if his very presence is some kind of proof that Jang Han Seok isn’t a fucking awful person.
And the man himself, claiming the seat right across from her. He sits down first, as if everyone else needed to wait for him to do so.
She knows what Vincenzo’s doing when he remains standing after they’re all seated. She uncaps her pen - the one he gave her that has his name on the side and writes so smoothly - and sits quietly, poised to take minutes.
Their offer is simple and blunt. Vincenzo told her they’d do this.
(“They’ll come in and name a number, far higher than what I paid. They’ll start the negotiation high, assuming I’ll only push it 10, maybe 15% higher before giving in.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re stupid. And they don’t understand yet that I don’t care about the money.”
“You think they’d overpay by that much?”
“I think they’ve made promises to a bunch of people and need the building secured to make good on them.”)
They look stunned when Vincenzo declines.
Doesn’t begin a negotiation or suggest another path. Just declines.
She watches Jang Han Seok’s jaw clench. He’s furious. The grin on his face is terrifying, considering. She wonders what he’s capable of.
Voices raise. Tempers flare. They ask why he wanted this meeting in the first place if he wasn’t willing to play ball. He just grins, arms crossed as he continues to stand, and reminds them he didn’t want the meeting, they did. He didn’t know what it was about. Which is a blatant lie just to get them mad.
“Name your number,” Jang Han Seok says, jut of his chin, like no price is too high and he could just whip out his chequebook and pay it.
Cha Young is familiar enough with Babel’s finances at this point to know that’s not true. It’s incredibly fun to watch him posture as though everyone in the room isn’t aware of it. Just pure hubris.
“It’s not a number,” Vincenzo says, rests one hand on the back of her chair, not nearly touching her. Just casual. Just for her, for the two of them. Mr. Cho is to her right. Their heads of Legal and Finance rounding out this side of the table. “I just like the charm.”
She looks down, makes a note. Charming. Hears Mr. Cho let out a small breath of a laugh.
“Then what are we doing here?” Choi Myung Hee asks. She stands. Cha Young - and certainly everyone else in the room - sees it as what it is; a desperate grab for even footing when there really just is none. “It’s bad business to keep it just to be petty.”
Vincenzo tilts his head, looks at her like she’s stupid. Cha Young is giddy on the inside. Can’t wait to debrief with him later, alone at one of their houses, reward him for being such a brat. This is going exactly how he said it would. He knew they’d underestimate him. Name call. Assume he’s stupid.
“I’ve underpaid for a building in an up-and-coming area. The businesses it houses are key to the local community, and there’s affordable housing otherwise lacking in the area. I can put the difference between what I paid and the market rate into revitalizing the interior and exterior, investing in the building’s growth and inevitably making more money in the long run. How is that bad business?”
The only person across the table who doesn’t look pissed is Jang Han Seo, who seems to be hiding a smile behind his hand. Cha Young doesn’t write that down, but she makes a mental note of it.
Vincenzo, apparently, isn’t done. “Unless your idea of bad business is just…anything that isn’t what you want.”
“We’re done here,” Jang Han Seok states, standing in a jerky motion. She thinks he looks like a complete moron in his hoodie and blazer, like some facsimile of an American social media CEO. “We have connections in government buildings, too. We can make it very painful to get anything done.”
Vincenzo hums, leans a hand on the table next to her, looks at her notes. “That sounds threatening, Ms. Hong. Please make note.”
God, he’s such a bitch. She might love him.
Everyone stands, then, like Vincenzo’s words and not Han Seok’s have signaled the meeting is over. She caps her pen and is about to stand.
“Ms. Hong,” Choi Myung Hee says, a biting smile on her face when Cha Young looks up. Then a simple, “I knew your father,” and all that implies.
Cha Young feels her shoulders go rigid. Notices Vincenzo doesn’t move away from her side. Hears him tell Mr. Cho to go to his office and they’ll discuss, tells the other heads to walk their guests down to Security.
She feels her breathing change. Feels the lump in her throat. The tears swim on her lower lash line.
“You’re okay,” he says quietly. They must be alone. They must be. He lowers his left hand onto the table, places it next to hers where she’s pressing her palm into the wood. He’s practically leaning over her. Protective. Comforting. Not touching because that would be inappropriate, no matter how much they both want it. “I’m right here.”
“She just fucking confessed,” she hisses, and that is…not what happened. Not really. The people who know would understand. It’s not as though it would mean anything to the authorities.
Vincenzo moves his thumb closer. She slides her pinky overtop and squeezes gently before pulling away and pushing her chair back when he moves so she can do so.
“Need a moment?” he asks.
“No,” she says lowly, pushing her hair over one shoulder and gathering her things and his. “Let’s hope she doesn’t think you’re doing this for me.”
He neither confirms nor denies that’s all this is. It doesn’t matter one way or another. If it’s all for her, he’s wonderful. If it’s not, he’s even better. Smarter.
They debrief with Mr. Cho. She sits to the side while the two talk, doesn’t offer opinions, doesn’t say what she thinks. It doesn't matter. Every opinion she has is spoken or confirmed by Vincenzo anyway.
“So we go forward with the plan,” Mr. Cho says, slipping his phone into his pocket when he stands to leave. “Responsible building owners. Make the improvements.”
Vincenzo says, “Start with the apartments,” and is resolutely not looking at her.
It had been an argument. One of the few they’ve ever had. He’d not wanted to prioritize the top floors since the return on investment is lower. She’d said if he’s worried solely about the return on investment, he’s as bad as Babel. Which was a low blow and she didn’t mean it. Which he’d known and didn’t appreciate.
The ensuing debate lasted an hour and 45 minutes and ended with him conceding she was right, even though he didn’t particularly want to be anyone’s landlord. She’d said, “That’s what you have Mr. Cho for.”
He’d said, “I assure you, it’s not,” on a laugh and pulled her towards him before she could pull that thread any harder.
When Mr. Cho is gone, she asks, “What now?”
Vincenzo leans back in his seat, which looks like an invitation, honestly, and one she is not going to accept no matter how badly she’d like to be pressed up against him right now.
“Essentially the same thing in perpetuity or until they make a mistake I can exploit.”
She takes a deep breath, mentally starts preparing herself for future meetings like the one they just had.
… … …
The day she receives confirmation of her re-enrollment in her studies, Vincenzo moves her onto her stomach on his bed, legs parted only as much as needed so he can press into her. Her hands grip the linens and it feels so intense and good and right that she wonders if her spine might be bonding to his chest with the way he’s leaning over her, so fully connected it feels like it should always be this way. Wants him as close as he can be. Wants his voice in her ear.
“Tell me,” she says, which is not the first time. They both do this. Both good with words. Both very aware of it.
“You take me so well, love,” he says, lips wet against her, hips slowing enough to make her whine. “So fucking good for me, aren’t you?”
She tries to move, but he holds her hip down, laughs in her ear and then leans back. She can feel the sweat drying on her back and she turns to look at him. He gives her such a soft smile her head spins even as he fucks her.
Love love love.
… … …
They don’t talk about her last day or what will happen after it. She has to formally hand him her notice, which feels absolutely absurd to her. She understands why; HR needs record of it. But putting time in his calendar and going into his office with the paper in an envelope and an email scheduled to follow feels very weird.
“I’m sad to lose you, Ms. Hong.”
She swallows, stares at him. He’s doing this on purpose. Reminiscent of their conversation over dinner on Saturday.
(“I’m scared this changes when I’m not sitting outside your door anymore,” she’d confessed, pushing her food around in her bowl.”
“Why?” he’d asked. “Do you want it to?”
“No.” Quick. Too quick.
His smile, gentle and easy. “If nothing it makes it more simple. Does it not?”
She grins at him, lets her foot bump his leg beneath the table. “Simply dating a 24 year old, not a 24 year old employee?”
He’d muttered, “Stop,” like she’s exhausting, which had made her laugh and put her hand on his thigh.)
“Maybe when I’m a lawyer you can hire me.”
They've not talked about this. Never.
“I’d rather you not end up back on my payroll.” He doesn’t look at her. He slips her resignation letter into the folder on his desk. It’s sort of funny; she’s the one who’ll end up delivering it to HR anyway. “Because I intend to maintain a personal relationship with you as long as you want it.”
She doesn’t preen. Doesn’t react. Well, that’s not true. She must. Because he takes one look at her and looks really very smug.
So yeah, she says, “You know I want it,” because it’ll make the tips of his ears red and it’s a cute thing to see.
He takes a long breath, lets it out slowly, pulls his shoulders back.
“My schedule for the day?”
She smiles, nods at him and opens her tablet.