"Want sothing to drink?"
Too drained to speak, Yuni nodded as she sat and drumd her leg behind the desk.
"They’ve got juice—lots of kinds."
"Alcohol. Bring alcohol."
"Champagne okay?"
"Not a flute. Fill a water glass."
I did as instructed, filled the biggest glass with champagne, and headed back. About fifteen or sixteen paces from the desk, the teacher, who was with a client, raised his voice slightly in our direction. With the whole hall buzzing, it didn’t co off as rude.
"Yuni, could you grab the editor’s book from the office? It should be in my bag."
I stopped Yuni, who’d almost popped up on reflex, and handed over the glass.
"I’ll get it. I know where it is."
I hurried down the stairs and pulled the book from the spot where I’d stashed it earlier. Handing it to the teacher and walking back to the desk, I felt like a kid turning in howork copied from a friend. I wasn’t trying so big con, yet I was jittery enough that I could barely look that way.
"Chief Han, you read it close enough to underline? Of course you did. That tiny difference. Plenty of people buy a book and get it signed just to look good. But do you think I don’t know? Most of them never even read it. Our Chief Han doesn’t treat people like that. There’s sincerity. How am I supposed to co to Phantom and not open my wallet?"
Thankfully the teacher didn’t seem to notice the "copied howork." He even praised it.
Yuni took a long swallow, downing half the champagne like it was grape juice, then, just like Juhan earlier, widened her eyes at .
"You even underlined things in the anti?"
I nodded to her whisper, and she flashed a cool smile.
Whether he’d ant to buy from the start or was just riding the mood, the editor from that powerful magazine went so far as to ask for a recomndation—sothing to hang in the office of his daughter, who’d recently been promoted.
"It’s silly, right? Getting that happy over sothing so small? But that’s how it is here. We sell paintings, but sotis it’s really about handling people’s feelings. Put nicely, we’re in a line where salesmanship matters; put bluntly, our job is to flatter. To the point I sotis feel a twinge of futility."
Watching the editor move with the teacher to another section to check the picks, Yuni gave a wry smile.
Before I could ask what exactly lay under that smile, she was called back onto the floor. Social hour was over; ti to push the actual stars of the day—the paintings.
Left alone at the desk, embarrassed by my idle hands, I cleared our empty glasses and pointlessly straightened the remaining pamphlets. A shadow fell across the desk.
"Can I get a pamphlet?"
I looked up. The man from the passenger seat was smiling.
The smile itself was fresh, but there was sothing about it that made the viewer bristle—probably that distinctive light tone and lounging manner.
I handed him a pamphlet, but he didn’t seem especially interested in it.
"I just moved up to the thirty-second floor. Going from a standalone house with a yard to a high-rise feels boxed in and bleak. Could you recomnd a piece? Your na is..."
Like he was looking for a na tag, his eyes wandered around my chest.
"Seo Ihyeon."
Studying with laughter in his eyes, he gave a small shake of the head.
"Even your na’s my taste."
It sounded like a mutter to himself, the tone saying, This is inconvenient.
He’d had a co-hither air since we t at the entrance, but it looked half a joke. He hadn’t made any direct proposition, and I couldn’t find a reason to react. He didn’t seem to expect one, either. From start to now, he talked to himself and amused himself.
"I want you to recomnd one piece. What would be good? Sothing I can relax with."
"I’m just a part-tir helping out today..."
"It’s fine. Recomnd one. I’ll just use it for reference."
The representative and Yuni were tied up with clients. The teacher and Juhan were nowhere in sight—probably working another section. I wasn’t keen, but since he knew I was temporary and still asked, it didn’t seem like saying yes would cause trouble.
"Where do you want to put it?"
"Mm... if you’re recomnding it, I want it in the bedroom..."
He stressed "bedroom" aningfully and smiled. I left the desk, looking past the light, TV-drama playboy face.
About fifty works hung in the show.
This was a group exhibition by six or seven of the gallery’s artists. So showed two pieces, others ten or more. I’d prepped all night yesterday, so I had their images and rough positions mapped in my head.
Without hesitation, I led the way and stopped before a square canvas, fifty-three centiters on a side.
Cubist oddity in interpretation, with a cheerful, comic tone in the brushwork—yet the palette ran dark and heavy.
"This one? This?"
As if he couldn’t see why, he asked again. I nodded twice, firmly.
He glanced between the painting and , then turned and looked around as if for soone. Spotting the representative talking with three or four people in front of a large pop-art piece, he called out.
"Koon, co here a sec."
Excusing himself from his little circle, the representative ca over.
I’m not short, but I’m not small either. The passenger’s mouth was about level with my nose, and the representative’s mouth was at the passenger’s nose. Well past one-ninety.
Up close again, he wore the sa look—like everything was a hassle. Fair enough: that honeyed, lover-of-all smile would be an unnecessary option in front of the passenger and .
Standing crooked with one hand in his pants pocket, he prodded the passenger with a look to get to the point.
"I asked for a recomndation for sothing to hang in the bedroom, and he picked my piece. What do you think of that?"
The representative’s gaze moved to . We’d only known each other two days, but it was the longest he’d ever looked at in that span. It was also the first look that was neither indifferent nor hostile.
Not the gaze of a lion leader watching a strange animal skulk around the edges, asuring whether it threatened the pride—but eyes holding as a single person, straight on.
His look swept carefully, like he was taking in information about through my eyes, then slid away. Only then did the coincidence hit —the piece I’d picked turned out to be the passenger’s work.
"How does this fit ?"
"I didn’t know you were the artist."
"Sure. I’m not saying otherwise. I’m asking why you recomnded this to ."
The passenger seed delighted by all of this.
"Could you be honest? Please."
Was he that starved for soone to be candid—to tack on "please"? Over his shoulder, I took in the piece again, fixing it in my eyes.
I’d never really cared what other people thought of a painting—I just got absorbed and drew alone. But I rembered how that one win and the feedback then had made feel. I could understand him.
"It looks like it’s showing everything honestly, but... it isn’t."
"Isn’t what?"
"Sohow it feels similar."
" and the painting?"
"Yes."
"Not honest? and the painting?"
He leaned in and peppered with questions, and I found myself stepping back.
"Not quite that. More like... wanting to be honest but not able to be. If you see it as laying that state bare without trimming it, then that’s also a kind of honesty..."
At my elaboration, the mischief left the passenger’s face, and the representative laughed out loud. Brief, but a real laugh.
"Sorry. I’m not good with words... And it’s just a personal take, so don’t mind it too much."
The passenger looked flustered for a second, then bent at the waist to peer even closer at my face with an intrigued look. He’d already slipped back into that easy expression.
"What are you doing after this? I heard it ends at six."
The sudden topic shift was hard to follow.
"Cleanup..."
For the first ti he dropped the exaggerated silly grin and looked disappointed. He tapped the representative’s arm, asking for backup.
"That’s a hard no, right?"
The representative studied my face, as if the answer were printed there. I didn’t look away.
What faced was a very beautiful color. For a mont I forgot these were human eyes and just fell into the living beauty of that color, taking a slow look at the left eye first, then the right.
The next instant, the man’s focus slipped cleanly off mine.
"Hard no or not—do you even want to try that with soone ten years younger than you?"
Clicking his tongue, the representative said that and turned his back, heading to where he’d been.
The passenger started on about knowing a place that served the best dumpling soup in Seoul, asking to make ti if not today. I let it wash past and thought: had I ever told the representative my age?
■ ■ ■
"Did you really underline the editor’s book?"
Juhan and I set six or so leftover champagne bottles on the big conference table in the office. The representative uncorked one, poured, and asked the teacher—mischief in his grin.
"When would I have had ti lately? It’s been out less than two weeks. Think about how we spent those two weeks."
Taking the glass and wetting his lips, the teacher perched his tired legs—tired from standing all day—on the table and answered.
"Then what?"
"What, Ihyeon?"
As if he’d been curious anyway, the teacher turned to .
"I thought it shouldn’t look too new... So in the taxi I smudged it a bit, underlined... folded a few corners... like that."
Strictly speaking, the instruction had only been to go buy the book. But he’d ntioned he was actually reading it, and it felt too shaless to hand over a brand-new copy just bought for the signature. Now that it had beco a topic, I got tense, worried I’d done sothing unasked.
We’d wrapped a successful party and were basking in not-bad numbers when, for a second, the warm mood grated and froze. The source of the chill was, of course, the representative. As I’d felt yesterday, he had a knack for steering the air with nothing but the angle of his eyes or a change in expression. People adjusted to him because they had to; and that wasn’t only because he was the owner.
"Couldn’t he have been offended that you handled his book carelessly? Underlining and folding pages... A lot of people hate that."
Almost to himself, the representative muttered as he sipped champagne.
"I only thought ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ it needed to look actually read. I’m sorry."
"Why are you sorry, Ihyeon? Koon, what’s with you? Aren’t you going too far?"
The teacher set his glass down with a sharp clink.
"I didn’t say anything. I asked if he’d considered the other side."
Shrugging, he pretended to drink to avoid the teacher’s eyes.
I didn’t feel the icy hostility from yesterday, but the slant in his attitude was intact. The teacher seed a little angry—a rare thing.
"Representative Ryu is a results guy, a numbers guy. If the editor’s mood was good thanks to Ihyeon and it boosted sales, give him a bonus if you want, but why pick a fight? I brought him in—do you not like him?"
His eyes turned slowly to . I couldn’t know what the teacher and the representative were to each other privately, or how close they were, but I could tell he trusted the teacher completely. At least with the teacher he didn’t wear that bored look or the villain’s grin. Not even the mass-produced candy smile, that harmless chanical sweetness.
"Like or dislike? He’s helping for a bit and leaving. You know I’m not comfortable working with strangers. If Chief Han says give a bonus, I will."
"That’s not the point. Ugh... I thought you’d changed a little, but you’re the sa."
Shaking his head, the teacher drained his glass, checked the ti, and stood.
After this, the representative and the teacher had an after-party with the VVIPs among the VIPs.
"People don’t change after twenty-five," he said in a teasing tone, and the representative squeezed his shoulder lightly like a playful show of affection, then pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to Yuni.
"Good work today. When you finish cleaning up, go have fun."
Sorting the remaining pamphlets, Yuni darted over and snatched the card, eyes shining.
"Company card? Or your personal?"
He pushed a fingertip to her forehead and frowned.
"Why are you all so obsessed with that? You like spending my money that much?"
"Yes. It feels like love."
"There’s no love in a company card. Don’t talk nonsense."
The catering gear and leftovers had already been packed up and hauled away. Once we tidied the interior and exterior a bit, the day would be done. I headed up to the second-floor hall to start cleanup, and Juhan, looking apologetic, spoke hesitantly.
"Our representative... was a bit much, right?"
"Don’t worry about it," Yuni added. "He’s not just like that with you. That’s just how he is with new people."
I smiled to say it was fine and folded the legs of a temporary table set on its side.
"When I first ca here, it was worse. I was so pissed I thought about scratching his car with a nail and ghosting. Seriously. I really considered it."
Given how he treats Juhan now, it was hard to imagine. But from Juhan’s face, it didn’t feel like a made-up story to comfort .
"But if I’d tried, he’s the type who’d track down no matter what and make pay. I gave up on the nail plan. I figured he’d find , strip naked, and scratch my whole body with a nail."
Juhan scrunched his face and shuddered theatrically, like the representative had literally threatened him.
"I don’t know... You ever think the real reason was you coming on to him like an idiot?" Yuni called from inside, sticking SOLD OUT stickers on the pieces that had gone today.
"Hey, who ca on to who—i-it was the pheromones! How am I supposed to resist Golden Alpha pheromones?"
"What are you talking about? Why would he open pheromones in front of you? And you’re a Beta."
Having just given a long lecture about the representative’s superb pheromone control as a Golden Alpha, Juhan sneaked an embarrassed glance at , his excuse sounding thin even to himself.
"What I’m saying is, his basic personality is trashy. It’s not that he especially hates you. That’s the point. He’s combative by default, not because he dislikes soone. He treats everyone like that—until he likes them."
I didn’t know if that was comforting, but it did seem true that he wasn’t picking on in particular.
Lifting the folded table with and carrying it to the railing, Juhan added:
"And at his level, if he wanted to, he could blast pheromones at a Beta and make it stick."
Leaning against the partition that divided the sections, Yuni pinched her brow.
"What is this, a superhero finisher? Blast and make it stick?"
"If you really use it on purpose, it could be a finisher. Hey, you know what’s stronger than pheromones?"
He looked from Yuni to and back again. Neither of us answered. Juhan tipped up his chin and struck a slightly smug pose.
"Taste. Taste beats pheromones. I got a little high on the Golden Alpha haze at first, but once I ca to my senses, he wasn’t my type. My type is..."
He launched into a fiery dissertation on his preference: a man at the border between youth and middle age, late thirties, face lines just starting to soften, slipping into a kind of inertia.
From their chatter so far, I guessed Juhan’s partners were probably n. He didn’t seem to hide it, even in front of soone not that close. And I had no desire to push him behind so line for that.
Yuni had clearly heard it dozens of tis; she shook her head and, as if there were no need to humor him, grabbed my wrist and led down the stairs.
Thinking about it, there was no reason to hate or not hate soone I’d only seen twice. As the teacher, Juhan, and Yuni said, it was just the man’s standard way with strangers.
I got curious. How would it feel to be soone he "especially" hated?
From the crowd that had shown up earlier, I found myself thinking there were probably plenty of people who’d take even his hatred—if it ant becoming "special" to him.
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