The Haze

다섯

5

Being Hunted

...

K-dramas, I've learnt, are one of the best things to exist on this earth. I mean in what other situation would a strong, independent 27 year old woman, be allowed to crumple into her sofa in tears, because the handsome chef just got shot, before he confessed his feelings to his lover? 

I had just finished clearing all the tissues in a sniffled mess, when Mrs Jeon had entered.

I honestly don't know how to tell her that her constant barging ins are completely inappropriate, everyday I pray that she doesn't walk in while I'm in the bathroom, or worse, when I'm prancing around the living room miming k-pop songs with the TV remote in hand.

She had hastily stepped into the room, followed by a tall, albeit very good looking, man. 

Her son, Jung-kook, looked incredibly shy as he stumbled in, being pulled by his persistent mother. The two of us put on a show of greeting each other in our flustered states, as Mrs Jeon smiled up at us both.

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8 weeks in, 25 books read, only 7 accepted. 

When I fall asleep at night, all I see is hundreds of words on pages, and then some. 

I'm not complaining though, at least I can actually  sleep now. Compared to back in London, this is a blessing. 

Most of the time the words are in English, however, ever since I started Korean language classes 6 weeks ago, the dreaded lines and circles are coming in a close second, haunting my dreams here and there.

Again, not complaining.

Over the last month I've found myself falling into a routine. Besides work and language classes, I often wander around to get acquainted to this new city, or I find myself gallivanting with Jinseo, Kiah and occasionally some of our other coworkers. 

I find myself hardly feeling the despair and grief of leaving England now, if anything, sometimes I wonder why I hadn't left earlier.

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"Miss Alim, Mr Park wants to see you in his office."

It's Dr you twit- "Yes sir, thank you."

As Mr Jang's head bobs away into the distance I hastily scan through the list of names and faces in my head, however nothing rings a bell for a Mr Park.

Jin-Seo must notice my furrowed eyebrows, "Mr Park is the CEO."

Oh. Park Jung-Woo.

Ki-Ah whistles in amusement, "you must have caught his attention."

My eyes widen as I turn to face her, "w-why what do you mean?"

Jin-Seo is quick to interject, flapping her hand at the younger while she pushes her glasses back up her nose, "she's just being over dramatic as usual, he probably just wants to meet you."

Her ever-reassuring expression does nothing to calm me as I stand and make my way to the head's office, eye-brows taking their permanent configuration: Confused and terrified.

The trip there gave me ample time to create the perfect image of the man that's fuelling my current state of anxiety. 

A short fat man in his sixties, perhaps a beard, maybe even a cigar sat between calloused fingers, suit so tight no one knows why he bothers to button it in the first place. 

Quite a picture, my mind had painted.

Have they found out why I moved? Do they know what I did? Why does he want to see me?

I'm midway in wondering what kinds of concessions Korean prisons allow when I knock on the hard glass door without realising. The door opens to reveal what I didn't expect.

A woman. Mr Park is a woman? Wait, what-

"Mr Park is on a call, please have a seat until he finishes." She smiles before leaving. Ah, his assistant.

I puff my cheeks out as I sit on one of grey armchairs in the centre of the room, trying hard not to dig my nails into the smooth leather. The room itself is huge, floor to ceiling windows on two out of four walls, the kitchen and reclining chair indicating that this Mr Park often eats and sleeps here. At the other end is a wooden desk, adorned with both a laptop and a desktop computer. 

It's then that I realise the figure stood out on the glass balcony.

Not fat or short, 

wearing a dark navy suit, 

dark brown hair styled back, 

lips moving as he speaks into the phone. 

My heart starts hammering for a different reason this time. 

He ends the call and turns to come inside. I stand as he steps in, bowing my head as no words come out.

Defiantly not in his sixties, no beard. Instead my eyes wonder to high cheekbones, plump lips, piercing eyes and a strong jaw. 

His tall frame towers over mine as he extends out his hand, no calloused fingers.

"Miss Alim, annyeonghaseyo [hello]."  

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ohhhh the boss man's hot

poor Luna :(  

How are you guys liking her so far????