Ten

                                    

                                          
Hanni's pov
Juggling my purse, laptop bag, and stupidly large sweet tea all while trying to hit the button to unlock my Jeep is a sight to behold, I'm sure. With everything dumped onto the front seat and myself hoisted up behind the wheel, my phone dings. Digging it out of my purse, I swipe my thumb across the screen to light it up. There's an email notification from my friend Danielle Marsh.
"Yes. Perfect timing," I say to the empty SUV as I fire it up. I called her last week to help me out with some ideas and maybe some connections for Minji to create some good press. Something a little outside the box. She runs a blog and seems to have some superpower for knowing what will blow up next, so I know she'll have some fresh ideas for me. Even though the couple things I already have lined up are great, a little outside perspective never hurts.
Tossing the phone aside, I put my blinker on and pull into traffic. I have to meet Minji at the studio so we can go over her schedule. I would love nothing more than to avoid her for the next little while, but I don't have that luxury.
I'm still kind of pissed at myself that I didn't take into consideration that the tabloids would link us. So stupid. It's my damn job. I think I knew and just tucked it away so I didn't have to think about it. I called Suga about thirty seconds after I kicked Minji out of my office and asked him if he thought they would, and he laughed long and hard until I hung up on his ass. I'm surrounded by asses.
I make it to the studio space we own in under five minutes. We tried getting space in the same building as the offices, but had to settle for this, and maybe having a little distance isn't the worst thing. Once in the underground parking garage, I juggle everything back out of the Jeep and into the elevator.
The moment the doors slide open, I hear a woman's laugh. Confused, I strain to hear as I move toward the sound, but the damn acoustics in the place are so good both in and out of the sound booths, I can't really hear a damn thing, just muffled voices and another laugh. I can hear the flirtation in this one. It's practically dripping from it.
Coming into the reception area from the hall I see Minji kicked back in one of the deep purple armchairs arranged near the picture window of the booth. Jean-clad legs planted wide in that manspread thing she do, there's a woman I've never seen before perched on the arm of her chair, draped over the back, toying with the hair at her nape. Minji's certainly not discouraging her, grinning up at her like a fool as she whispers in Minji's ear.
The woman startles when I clear my throat. I watch as Minji places a hand on her back to steady the woman, her eyes on me, that stupid grin of hers not slipping.
"You're late," she says, making no move to stand, her large hand falling to the trim waist of the girl still happily sitting beside her. You would think that she would look a little more uncertain not knowing who the hell I am. I could be Minji's wife for mercy's sake. Thank the Lord I'm not, but I could be. The thought that that doesn't even bother her or cross her mind makes me madder than it should. She doesn't even bat an eye or say anything, just looks at me and waits.
"I left you a message. I assumed when you didn't answer that you were in the studio…working." I flick my eyes to the woman. I've about had it with her just there, blinking at me. "Who are you?"
"Yuna."
I raise my brows in question.
"I'm new."
"You're fired."
"Now, Sugar-–"
I pin Minji with a look that dares her to undermine me. She holds up her hands, finally taking her hand from the girl waist and doesn't say a word. This has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the girl and the way the girl has conducted herself with a client. Well, almost nothing to do with Minji. Yuna just looks at me, mouth hanging open.