April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions (20 page)

A smile touches Sangwoo’s lips, but not his eyes. “So the truth comes out. It makes sense now why you were distant in the car.”

He’s only known me for a short period of time. How can he be so versed in my behavioral cues? “You did buy The Trax, didn’t you?” I am eager, very eager to know the truth.

Sangwoo’s eyes smolder. Perhaps he’s thinking I overstepped our invisible boundaries. “I am a responsible businessman May. I usually make acquisitions based on projected capital gains, not emotions. So, the answer is no. I did not buy The Trax.” He gives me a look that lets me know jumping to conclusions can be socially costly.

Don’t I feel like a jerk? “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I just thought you might have since you’ve been around The Trax a lot lately.”
Way to go with the unwarranted explanations May.
I mentally kick myself for always jumping the gun.
There’s still something shady about him.
My intuition doesn’t wait long to chime in with her red warning sign.

Sangwoo acknowledges me with a fleeting look. “You don’t need to apologize. I can assure you. I am not the type to invest in bars and clubs. No true, reputable gang lord will be foolish enough to take part in such nonsense breeding ground. It is something our lower counterparts, the street gangs, take part of. They need the protection money.”

Sangwoo is talking in his gang jargon again and his diction mesmerizes me.

Before I can continue our conversation, two waiters approach our table. They are carrying a plethora of mouthwatering entrées. One-by-one they set the plates in a specific formation in front of us.

Choi Sangwoo is completely oblivious to the fact that I am gaping at the food. He picks up a plate with a mixture of Asia on it. The plate’s full of fried rice, freshly cooked shrimp and chicken, grilled pieces of sausages, celery, and foreign spices.

“This is a western dish known as the Jambalaya. It originated in Louisiana with Spanish and French influence. Try it.” Sangwoo’s worldly knowledge of food
doesn’t surprise me. His food source is probably only limited to the world’s best restaurants.

“Thank you,” I mumble. I am completely in over my head and out of my element here. Even the food is more regal than I am.

Sangwoo picks up a knife to his right and selects a plate with a steak, prawns, scallops, and concisely cut vegetables. In his element, Sangwoo appears comfortable and at ease.

“You know you can always come to work for me.” Sangwoo begins slicing into his steak with a knife in one hand and a fork with the other.

I nearly drop my fork at his offer. What can I possibly do in Choi Sangwoo’s line of business? “Work for you?” It is an incredible accomplishment for me to remain in my seat.

Sangwoo narrows those trademark brown eyes at me. “Do you have a problem coming to work for me?”

“. . . What would I be doing?” I am still trying to absorb his offer. Is this a prelude to the contract?

Sangwoo gives me a mysterious smirk. “Does that mean you accept?”

“Well-no . . . I–” The colors are increasing on my cheeks.
Come on May, get it together.

“Do you know anything about what I do?” Sangwoo’s eyebrows come together. When I don’t answer, he says simply, “I figured you don’t. If you do, you would have probably never taken me to your apartment when I was drunk and unconscious. And you most certainly wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

There is a sad tone to Sangwoo’s voice, as though he is afraid that I will run when I find out who he is. If only Sangwoo knows how curious I am.
They always say curiosity kills the cat, May.
The thought horrifies me. I do my best to shut down my intuition before she gets me into trouble.

“Who are you then?” I finally ask the question I have been dwelling over for the past two weeks.
I even Googled you and I couldn’t find any information.

Obviously, Choi Sangwoo is a gang leader, but there’s something unnerving about him. What does he want with me? Choi Sangwoo is from an underground world where the shadows scamper from light, from the bleak and mainstream world that I live in. I am not expecting someone of his caliber to spill his entire heart and soul to me, but I want something I can believe in.

“I . . . .” Sangwoo’s lost look is interestingly sorrowful. A tint of hesitation crosses his lips and his tone of voice softens. “I have been searching for someone like you for quite a long time now.”

I gulp on the invisible air bubble traveling in my throat. Brown Eyes has been searching for someone like me? A reminder of Dead Girl billows into my mind. I do my best to pop each bubble of thought to protect my emotions.

“When I first walked into The Trax, two weeks ago, I couldn’t believe it.” His voice is like chocolate melting into my ears. “After all this time, I’ve found you.”

I listen to Sangwoo with undivided attention and speechlessness. His words and emotional expressiveness suck me in. This is definitely difficult to take in. He’s been searching for me, but for what and why? I am silently relishing the thought.

“What do you mean you have been looking for me?” The chills are fresh now that I am repeating his statement. I am beyond curious by his cryptic messages. “Why have you been looking for me?”

Sangwoo is at a standstill in his fluid movements. He is waiting for something, waiting for me to give something up. It is a dance we are doing. “Someone
like
you,” he corrects my statement.

“Someone like me,” I repeat under the tone of a whisper.

“I believe we can greatly benefit from each other,” Sangwoo states instead of answering my question. It becomes apparent that he is not ready to explain the full extent to me. “Through our contract, of course.”

“Contract.”
Right.
I squirm in my seat, finally realizing that I am hunched forward, lapping up his every word.

“We can talk about that after dinner.” Sangwoo is back to being enigmatic and disconcerting. Sangwoo bites into his steak to indicate the end of the discussion for now.

I mirror his sentiments and eat my food; I allow the hunger to take over. I continue to eat, savoring the exotic taste and flavor. Just when I think he is going to disregard me, Sangwoo’s looking at me again with those intense brown eyes.

“Do you only live with your mother?” His food is forgotten momentarily as he asks me a question I am not prepared for. It is casual enough, but I am weary of the consequences that will result from confiding in this man.

I swallow the half-chewed shrimp in my mouth. Surprise taints my facial expression. “Yes.” Why does he want to know so much about me?

“Do you have any other relatives besides Lina?” Sangwoo presses on. His interest is piqued and directed at my family composition.

“No. Lina is my only cousin from my dad’s side,” I reply.

Sangwoo stares at me, unleashing the full intensity of his gaze. He steadies his breath for a couple of seconds. “No other relatives?”

“No,” I answer shortly. The soft rhythms in my heart pick up speed. “What about you?”

Sangwoo drops his gaze when the question directs back to him. “I had a brother,” Sangwoo replies curtly. “That’s all.”

I stare at him, waiting for more, but Sangwoo adds, “I’m not going to be a very good friend to you May. I’m far too private and the questions are going to be often one-sided. I prefer it that way.”

That’s not very fair.
Shady!
my intuition sings. But then again, Choi Sangwoo will probably always have some type of leverage over me. The fact that he had a brother doesn’t escape me. I want to ask Sangwoo what happened to his brother, but his forewarning disarms my curiosity. All I can manage to flagship my thoughts is, “You seem to know a lot about me and I don’t know anything about you, except that . . . you’re some sort of celebrity in the nation.”

Sangwoo’s brown eyes narrow. Suddenly, I feel like a schoolgirl again. “Not many people would think of me as a celebrity, May. I’m more of your ‘most wanted’ guy.”

Flashes of the TV report cross my mind. “Most wanted?”

“You haven’t noticed that I tend to disappear from one box to the next? From one building to the other, from one car to the next, never staying longer than ten minutes?” Sangwoo pitches a question I am not sure how to answer.

Now that he’s bringing it up, I am weary of it. Just the mentioning of his name garners unwanted attention. Here, at this grand hotel, just one flick of his finger and Sangwoo has the management scurrying after him. This type of power is unnerving and difficult to digest. There are probably people who will trade their left arm to be sitting from across from him. He’s probably wanted for a number of reasons.

“Like a recluse,” I state. “Can I ask, by choice or because of circumstances?”

Sangwoo shrugs; the question doesn’t bother him. “Both.”

“Are all gang leaders shrouded in mystery?” Suddenly, Mayhem’s strikingly handsome and enigmatic face invades my mind’s eye. I am momentarily crippled by the unwelcome thought of the more rambunctious and dangerous gang leader.

“Some more than others,” Sangwoo replies. Keeping his brown eyes steady, Sangwoo picks up his glass of wine. “There are some leaders that the world will never see or hear of. Then, there are those that the world will fear well beyond the legacy he chooses to leave behind.”

I am getting a verbal, guided tour of this world. My scalp tingles at the amount of information. “How does one . . . become a gang leader?”

Sangwoo gives me the opportunity to contribute to this theory building. “How do you think?”

I fidget in my seat. My cheeks are on fire from his gaze. Should I give him the Google version? I decide against it for the sake of not wanting to look like a fool. “Well, you mentioned that it is just like any other business. So, I guess you would first become a gang member and then work your way up.”

Sangwoo nods his head with those unwavering eyes. “Yes. That is one way.” He takes another sip of his wine. Then, he proceeds to run an index finger around the side of the crystal glass when he adds, “Or, you could be born into it.”

A chill ripples down the middle of my body.
Blessed-in,
my intuition hisses. Although Sangwoo said it casually, the impact of his statement creates a ripple effect the same way a rock does when it expertly skips above water. “Were you born into it?” I dare myself to ask.

There’s an edge to Sangwoo voice. “I am an heir. Yes.” Sangwoo gauges my reaction; his undivided attention is on every line of my face.

“Is Mayhem an heir?” I do my best to relax every surprised line on my face.

“No. In our world, royalty is scarce. Mayhem worked his way up. That is why his methods are a bit more unorthodox, brutal, and blatant.” Sangwoo makes a face as though an unwelcome thought crosses his mind.

Wow.
This is more complicated than I can imagine. One gang leader was born and groomed to be one while the other, the more ruthless leader, became one of his accord. It is just my luck to owe the scarier one thirty thousand dollars. I make a mental note to draw up my own contract with Lina.

“Why are you asking about him?” Sangwoo’s voice is back to its cold tenor.

Shit.
Why is he looking at me like that? I feel like I am in trouble. “Just exactly how over my head am I?” I ask Sangwoo with rendered control. “Be honest.”

Choi Sangwoo dips his head and lets out a low chuckle. He finds humor in my question and is beyond amused. “Becoming friends with one gang leader who comes from a long line of organized crime leadership, and making enemies with
another brutal gang leader doesn’t mean you are in way over your head. It just means you are drowning without a life jacket or boat to save you, Maybelline Lee.”

I try to contain the small gasp that threatens to leave my throat.

Sangwoo picks up his glass of wine again. He swirls the last remaining drops before finishing it in one take. “That is why I am going to help you. As long as you are associated with me, Mayhem will think twice before he does anything.”

“Think twice?” I ask. There is a glimmer of hope for me.

Sangwoo breaks our eye contact briefly when he answers, “He’ll think twice, but it won’t stop him from doing what he wants done.”

“Which is what?” I press on. Is there nothing that will stop Mayhem?

“Not many people borrow money from Mayhem. At least, not the ones who are smart enough.” Sangwoo pauses as though to remind me of my cousin’s poor decision making. “Yoon Jaewon is probably the second richest gang lord in all of Asia. At face value, his loans’ interest rates are low and his return rates have suitable grace periods. But he will chase his loans to the world’s end. I have seen countless people maimed and massacred because of his money. Your cousin chose the crème de la crème of loan sharks–of unforgiving gangs.” Sangwoo’s voice is steady and calm, as if the story he is telling derives from children’s literacy.

“Do you lend people money?” A mental comparison chart chalks up in my mind.

Sangwoo’s brown eyes flick to pin my gaze to his. “I do. But the difference is I only loan my money to groups, companies, and organizations. I refrain from loaning to small businesses or individuals. We’re not all out for blood, May.”