The Babysitting Contract | j.jk

03 • champagne

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My flip flops slap against concrete as I jog past the iron gates that enclose the Jeon's property, rounding the delicate marble fountain that gurgles softly in the evening air. Scooping my hair off my shoulders and into a knot on top of my head, I pause to splash some water on my face. How it's this hot this late in September is literally beyond me. I feel like I'm going to fry to death.

No one answers the door when I ring so I let myself in. I doubt anyone really cares, especially since they'd have to scrape my melted self off the front steps if I waited outside any longer.

"Hello?"

My voice echoes around the vast entrance hall. When there's no reply, I begin to make my way through the house, peeking into rooms as I pass. The manor is unusually quiet and dark. Though the Jeon's is like my second home, it still feels like I'm intruding.

I begin to wonder if this is some sort of sick prank Jeongguk is pulling at my expense when I hear the faint sound of music and conversation. The notes of jazz and classical tunes reach full volume as I near the kitchen. Not knowing what to expect but enjoying the music all the same, I waltz into the kitchen.

I immediately stop in my tracks.

The floor to ceiling glass doors that open onto the modern patio are flung wide, allowing for the flow of servers and finger foods to stream in and out. The kitchen itself is a bustling mess; pots and pans are stirred on the stove, veggies are cut and diced, bowls are added to and stirred and flutes of champagne are refilled with bubbles.

The delicious smells of spices and sizzling meat are overwhelming, but not nearly as much as the sight of what awaits me in the backyard.

The lavish patio houses a small but luxurious party. Fairy lights are strung up, basking the space in a golden glow, and clusters of gold and silver balloons give a celebratory feel to the space. A long marble table to my left is teeming with steaming dishes and cool beverages as far as the eye can see.

In my jean shorts and tank top I feel incredibly underdressed, especially upon catching sight of the party-goers.

Mrs. Jeon, radiant as ever, is clad in a gorgeous red dress and jewels to match. She stands proudly next to a man I've never seen before, who's light hair is slicked back and tall form dressed smartly in a tuxedo. She stares up at him, eyes filled with hopeless adoration as he says something to one of the servers, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Even Iseul is dressed in a suit (albeit his grey one is now crinkled and stained with what I think to be Koolaid).

I stand dumbly in the doorway, watching the scene with wide eyes. What in the world is happening? Did I walk into an alternate universe? Jeongguk said his mom wanted to talk, not that she was throwing a freaking gala in her backyard.

And it seems like a pretty major detail for him to forget, especially when it would've been easy enough to have said something like, oh hey, before I forget, make sure to wear your best tiara and prettiest pearls because we're dining like royalty tonight!

Speak of the devil.

Jeongguk himself looks breathtakingly handsome. He's draped across a plush couch, simulating an air of relaxation as he swirls a flute of champagne and weighs the tone of conversations around him. His freshly pressed white button-down is opened at the top, exposing an expanse of tan skin, and his black pants and suit jacket are both tailored to perfection.

He looks like a wealthy young billionaire who pleasures women for a living.

I'd like the pleasure of my fist in his face.