I had thought it was a dinner just for me and the Director, but on the two-lane road leading to the restaurant’s entrance, a white SUV with a sleek design reminiscent of a slick sports car was parked close to the sidewalk, its hazard lights blinking. If I remembered correctly, one of the two cars of his I’d seen so far was the same model.
The driver who stepped out of the car for the valet was, indeed, him. The parking attendant, who had rushed over to the driver’s side to take the key, was so startled by his height that he reflexively looked up, then quickly lowered his gaze, realizing he’d been rude to a guest.
Though it was a quiet roadside in a residential area just off the main street, his presence was so unique that it instantly drew the attention of everyone nearby—a middle-aged woman walking her dog, a foreign man with a baby carrier strapped to his chest on his way home from grocery shopping, a young couple who looked to be on a weekend date… It wasn’t just a matter of his height, which seemed to easily surpass 190 centimeters, a rarity in Korea.
Listen, you won’t believe the handsome guy I saw on the street today.—It was certain that anyone who saw him would say something like that to their family or friends. Once he entered your field of vision, he was impossible to just casually glance over; he was so far from ‘ordinary’ that you couldn’t help but turn your head and fix your gaze on him at least once. Seeing him outside of Phantom made that fact even clearer.
When the Director gave a light honk, he, who had been walking around the back of the car toward the entrance, turned to look our way. The Director waved, and he slowed his pace, offering a smile.
“Let’s bleed CEO Liu dry today.”
Watching him stop on the sidewalk, as if waiting for us, the Director laughed like a playful villain.
“Is the CEO joining us for dinner?”
“Huh? Did I not tell you? Ah… I just said we were getting dinner, so you probably didn’t think of it. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter at all.”
The Director looked so apologetic that I waved my hands and vehemently denied it.
“This is how my mind is these days. I just think about it in my head and assume I’ve said it out loud.”
It was understandable. Lately, the Director had been engrossed in finalizing the list of artworks, their prices, and their arrangement for the Hong Kong Art Fair. While Yuni-noona and Juhan-hyung were handling the administrative side of the exhibition, the most crucial element was the art itself.
As the lowest-ranking member of the gallery, practically an intern helping with menial tasks, I couldn’t know the exact process or principles of the work. However, based on the conversations and phone calls I overheard at the office or at home, it was a task that required considerable information-gathering and, based on that, a high level of strategy.
Under the premise that no one knows which artist, which artwork, will blow up when and how, she was struggling not only to examine the trends of the global art market but also to predict its movements one step ahead. At the Phantom office these days, the Director spent most of her work hours in meetings with him. Sometimes their opinions aligned, and sometimes they didn’t. He and the Director spoke with many people on the phone—in Korean, English, Cantonese, and Mandarin. Sometimes they were delighted and grateful; other times, they would place a hand on their hip, pinch the bridge of their nose, and get angry.
As the fair date approached, a sense of tension filled the gallery, but I could feel that all the people of Phantom members were embracing that tension as excitement. Even I, who had no direct involvement in the business trip, felt a little uplifted, like a child before a picnic or a field day.
Anyway, given the circumstances, it was more than understandable that she had forgotten to mention that this dinner was a full Phantom team dinner. She had been so busy lately that I was glad I had decided to move in back then, as I could at least help her out directly with small things.
In a way, it was a relief.
Just as the Director was busy, he probably wasn’t free either. He wouldn’t have the leisure to dwell on and dig into the fact that a subordinate had had a panic attack in his living room (and the subsequent, first-aid-like night of sleep they shared).
But at other times, everything that had happened at his house that night felt like a dream. A short dream I’d had while dozing off for a moment in the sunlight on the sofa. The kind of dream where you look at the clock and see only five minutes have passed, yet it feels like you’ve dreamt a very long story over a very long time.
He exchanged a smiling greeting with the Director, but for my greeting, there was only a perfunctory, brief nod. As we followed the restaurant staff through the entrance and toward the building, the two of them discussed the art fair, and as I quietly trailed behind them, I felt as if my relationship with him had returned to the very beginning.
I’m not complaining that I wanted him to pay attention to me.
Just like back then, when he had effortlessly isolated me from his sphere of influence simply by controlling his gaze and attitude, he now seemed to be treating me with all the familiarity we had built, however thin, completely stripped away. He seemed like a completely different person, making it hard to recall the kindness of that night… when he had brought me porridge, given me his sweatshirt, and, uncharacteristically for him, willingly granted my stubborn request to stay with me.
It was much better than him acting awkward after we slept together, and thanks to that, I didn’t have to be flustered either. But the fact that those events had truly been nothing more than an emergency measure to him was, regardless of my crush on him, admittedly somewhat of a shock.
A first sexual experience must be a powerful memory for anyone. Not just for me. Not just because I have a crush on him.
Whenever I recalled the sensation of his breath warming my ear, his hot lips, my hand would flinch toward my ear without me realizing. I wondered if he, my partner in that act, ever had similar moments. I was curious. If, in the middle of his day, a memory of my reaction that night would suddenly surface, causing his hand to pause as it turned a page, brushed his teeth, or handled his phone.
His back, as he exchanged pleasantries with the restaurant owner who had come all the way to the building’s entrance to greet him, as if this wasn’t his first visit, seemed to be saying ‘No.’
It was just a curiosity; it didn’t mean I was hoping he was sharing the same aftereffects as me. In the first place, he was showing an attitude that would make it difficult for even the most optimistic person to hold such an expectation.
We were guided to a private room with a plaque above the door that read ‘Samcheolli.’ The restaurant was a renovated old single-family house, and since the overall structure was mostly untouched, the interior felt as simple and cozy as entering the guest room of a family home. From our room on the second floor, we could look down on a small but well-tended garden. The thought that it contrasted with his garden made me laugh silently to myself.
“CEO Liu said you were sick and needed a nourishing meal, so he suggested we come here.”
The Director, sitting across from him and next to me, said as she flipped through the menu.
He didn’t particularly deny it. He just gazed out the window at the garden, as if he hadn’t even heard the Director’s words.
“I’m all better now… Thank you for your concern.”
“He might have more grit than he looks, but he’s very thin. Kwon Juhan and Baek Yuni are both like skewers, too. Are they all on a diet or something?”
The Director burst out laughing at his serious comment, which he made with a frown as if he couldn’t understand it.
“You know how much Juhan eats and you still say that? He eats like a kid who’s been starved for three days. Yuni has a small appetite, but she eats a normal amount. What can we do if they’re all just the type who don’t gain weight no matter how much they eat?”
It was surprising that he had arranged this dinner specifically because he was still mindful of my collapse, but it wasn’t a special kindness meant only for me. It was likely that I was barely included as an extension of his kindness toward Juhan-hyung and Yuni-noona. I wanted to hide the part of myself that was about to be disappointed by that fact. Wanting to be special compared to others… this wasn’t me.
“Juhan-hyung and Yuni-noona are late… Should I try calling them?”
“……”
In the grating silence that momentarily filled the room, my hand, which had been pulling my phone out of my jeans pocket, froze awkwardly.
“I didn’t call them today. This is to get your strength back, so eat without worrying. If Kwon Juhan were here, you wouldn’t even get a taste of the eel.”
The Director, adding a bit of playfulness to her tone, quickly called a server and ordered the food. It seemed to be a regular spot for them, as he and the Director ordered from the menu without any hesitation.
While we waited for the food, the two of them had to talk about work, so I felt like a third-grader stuck among adults during a holiday gathering, with no cousins my age.
The Director was arguing that they should push a different artist as the main feature at this art fair, appealing to the fact that Shushu’s work had a greater response domestically than overseas. He didn’t directly oppose her, but he didn’t seem to be easily convinced either.
Grilled eel with garlic and braised short ribs were placed in the center for everyone to share, and a nourishing soup with abalone and octopus was served to each of us. The soup, served in a thick earthenware bowl with a wide mouth that looked easy to eat from, had a faint, medicinal scent, as if it contained jujubes and ginseng.
“I don’t care about the other things, but make sure you finish all of that. Think of it as medicine, not food.”
He said this in a slightly stern tone, pointing to the earthenware bowl in front of me, yet he barely touched his own portion.
Their conversation resumed, and I focused on my meal. I tried to focus. But it was my first time eating alone with the two of them, without Noona and Hyung, so I couldn’t even really taste the food. It was, after all, a dinner between the top executives and a bottom-rung intern.
As if he were monitoring whether I was eating well, he would glance into my earthenware bowl in the middle of their conversation, so I had no choice but to steadily empty my dish.
“Look at this kid. No matter how mature he is, a kid’s a kid.”
Just as I put down my spoon, thinking I had done my best, the Director pointed at my bowl and laughed. In the bowl from which I had diligently fished out the abalone and octopus, jujubes and ginseng were floating around. He was looking at me and smiling, too.
At least it was no longer the indifferent face he used to wear, but my face flushed at my own ‘childlike behavior,’ as she’d put it, that had slipped out without me even realizing it.
“Do you really want to do that to someone ten years younger than you?”—Something he had once said to Inwoo-hyung suddenly came to mind. That statement implied that he didn’t see someone ten years younger as ‘that kind of partner.’ If that was the case, then either I was an exception to him, or… the events of that night were strictly nothing more than an emergency measure. One of the two.
How did my thoughts wander all the way here from the embarrassment of leaving the jujubes and ginseng? There was no context to my train of thought.
The empty and less-than-empty dishes were all cleared away, and simple refreshments were set in their place. There were a few types of beautifully colored traditional sweets and warm tea. The tea, which seemed to be a blend of flowers and fruit, was the perfect temperature to drink in the lightly air-conditioned room.
“About Seo Yeehyeon… I had a bit of a discussion with Director Han.”
No hint of caution or hesitation could be found in his voice. It was as if he had simply been waiting for my meal to end, and now there was no reason for him to delay any longer.
Leave a Reply