April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions (21 page)

I remain silent with a mixture of trepidation and awe. I pick up my glass of water and nervously drink it. My throat feels like the desert and rough sand. I am aware that Choi Sangwoo is watching me with that same unreadable facial expression. Maybe he expects me to run for the hills. I think about Lina and the hot shit she is in with Mayhem’s money. I can attempt to escape from all this drama, but I am reminded with a prickling sensation that I have my blood marked somewhere on a piece of paper. That damned Danny guy.
Your life just got a little more exciting,
my intuition taunts. She’s done with dinner and wants to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Are you afraid of me?” Suddenly, Sangwoo asks with a passive-aggressive tone. Unexpectedly, I transport back to my kitchen on that Sunday morning when he first asked me the very same question. At the time my answer was a precise, “No” but now I have mixed feelings.

I try not to spit out the water I have in my mouth. “No. Yes. A little bit.” I am all words of contradiction.

“You should be,” Sangwoo says, deadpan. Then, he relaxes his facial muscles and gives me a brief smile. “You really want to know who I am?

Don’t answer, it’s a trick question.
Somehow, I find myself nodding my head. I know it is all for the wrong reasons, but I am intrigued by this man and his world.

Sangwoo places both hands on top of the table. For a second, it looks as though he is preparing to clasp his hands into a prayer. “I don’t do this often, but
I wish for a more private place to speak with you.” His tone is hushed and inviting, mysterious and soothing.

My appetite disappears as Sangwoo’s spoken words end. “This isn’t private enough?”

There is no one else sitting in this vast restaurant except for us. It is as though Sangwoo had the entire restaurant on reserve. The soft trickling of classical music is spinning above our table, emitting from invisible speakers.

“I am staying in the penthouse here. There is more privacy up there.” Sangwoo removes his hands from the table. His brown eyes lower and his lips appear as though they are waiting for me expectantly.

“Penthouse?” I ask, slightly dumbfounded. Of course he would be staying at the penthouse. The thought of Choi Sangwoo staying at anything less grand just doesn’t go hand-in-hand.

Sangwoo nods his head. There is a burning infusion deep in his brown eyes. “You can choose to come with me,” he pauses and then adds, “or not. It is your choice.”

“I am getting the impression that not many girls, or people, would turn you down.” I am all tongue and cheek. Although I am enamored, I haven’t completely lost my mind.

“I don’t invite many people, or many girls, to where I am staying.” Sangwoo’s eyebrows come together with slight irritation as if I have offended him by implying that he is a manwhore. His brown eyes are telling it all.

Damn. Can his eyes burn a more intensely stare?
I need time to think about this. I am all nerves. “I need to use the bathroom,” I tell him softly.

Sangwoo gives me another smoldering look, but holds his tongue. “I will wait for you here.”

I force my legs to stand up.

Mr. Joo appears, as though he has been watching, and promptly directs me to the back of the restaurant. I incline my head to thank him and I am on my way. The bathroom hides behind another set of plush curtains. It turns out to be just as upscale. It smells like a meadow of strawberries and blossoms. There is a red sofa to the right of the interior along with gleaming sky-high mirrors.

I retrieve my cell phone from my bag and hold it up to the light. I have only one bar of signal in here. My eyebrows come together in question when I see five missed calls from Lina. I decide to check my text message inbox. Lina’s text message comes in clear
: Call me when you can, please.

Oh no. What’s going on?
I redial Lina’s number, but the call goes straight to her voicemail box. I check her call times and they are sporadic with half an hour time scales. I can’t believe I neglected my phone for so long. I quickly send Lina a text message:
I tried calling. Is everything okay?

I wait for another minute and my phone remains silent. The hovering shape inside the mirror calls for me. I am pale as a ghost; my eyes too big for my face and cheeks too gaunt for my complexion. I turn on the water to wash my face. When I am done, I dry my hands and return to the restaurant.

Choi Sangwoo is still sitting at the table. His cell phone is next to him on the surface. He looks up when I return. His brown eyes are inquisitive, but hooded.

“I would like to discuss the contract with you,” I tell him. I wonder if he
knows all along that I will give in.

“Good.” The anxious look in Sangwoo’s eyes recedes. Apparently, he isn’t able to read me completely. Slowly, he rises from his place. Sangwoo tucks his cell phone into the pocket of his dress pants with great ease. Sangwoo motions for me to follow him out of the restaurant.

W
HAT AM I DOING HERE?
I mentally kick myself as I follow Sangwoo’s heels out of the extravagant restaurant. Lina’s text message swims in my head. I am all but a sheet of sweat this point. If Mayhem is turning up the heat and threatening Lina’s family, what’s to say that he won’t do the same to my Eunhye? The thought sends my heart racing as I imagine the shock and fear that will grip my stepmother.

What if he turns out to be some sort of serial killer or a rapist?
I am putting too much trust in someone I barely know.
Why can’t I triumph my curiosity and not follow him?
I am too weak for my own good. My intuition is angry at me and refuses to discuss my foolishness.

I do my best to focus on Sangwoo’s back as he leads me to the lobby of the hotel. We arrive in front of the baroque elevators.

When the elevators open, Sangwoo and I step inside. The elevator is quiet and whisks us to the very top. The tension and expectations are palpable within the four walls of the elevator. I hold my breath as though I am waiting for the moment to implode. Just when I think I cannot take it any longer, the golden doors part to reveal a lavish lobby. Sangwoo steps out first; his body language tells me to keep a close distance. Two men are sitting outside of his door. They spring to their feet immediately. Ignoring them, Sangwoo extracts a card from the sleeve of his shirt. After Sangwoo swipes the card through the cardholder, it lights green and the doors open.

I suck in my breath.

“Come in.” Sangwoo leads the way into the beautiful penthouse suite. The décor is white and royal blue. The furnishing is simple and concise, a sofa here and a coffee table there. In the middle of the room, before the grand windows, is a state-of-the art fireplace.

Sangwoo strides over to the open kitchen area complete with a dark granite island. He opens one of the hanging cabinets and extracts a bottle of wine. “Would you like a drink? This is very light in alcoholic content. You won’t get drunk.”

Well, hell.
If I am going to sign another contract with a gang lord, I might as well have something. “Yes, please.”

A look crosses Sangwoo’s face as though he enjoys my agreement very much. He is probably taking delight in the fact that he is slowly corrupting me.
But then again, he can’t corrupt you, or seduce you, if you don’t want to be corrupted or seduced
. I shoot down my intuition and hold her hostage.

Sangwoo takes out two glasses of wine from the hanging rack. I am still standing awkwardly by his white leather couch when Sangwoo approaches. He holds the bottle of wine and glasses with great ease.

“Have a seat.” Sangwoo hands me a wine glass.

I sit, placing my tote bag on the floor next to my feet.

Sangwoo takes the seat across from me. The skyline view of the city is a kaleidoscope of colors behind him. The beautiful view is distracting, but not enough to take my partial attention away from this man.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk.” Sangwoo holds up his glass of wine as a form of a toast.

We press our glasses together. I take a sip of the wine. Surprisingly, it has a sweet and sour tone to it. I find myself grateful for the liquid courage. I drink a bit more and set my half-full glass on the table. I am feeling warm and lightheaded.

“The contract that I want to offer you will be stated first in verbal. Like with any other contract, there are three steps. The first is the offer. Next, it is an acceptance of that offer. And lastly, the consideration. Consideration is the bargained-for exchange point.” Sangwoo sets his glass of wine down on top of the pristine coffee table. He sits back on the sofa, folding his legs together at the ankles. Completely in his element, Sangwoo is all business and the eagerness that he applies to his business transactions unfold.

I can feel my heart pulsating in my veins. Is this really happening? Never in my wildest daydreams would I imagine sitting here with Sangwoo when he first walked into The Trax. Now that this is reality, I am mentally kicking myself to make sure I am fully conscious.

“I can help you with thirty thousand dollars in exchange for your service and companionship,” Sangwoo continues on. The lost expression on my face makes it easier for him. “In other words, work for me.” He is giving me bits and pieces of the contract, gauging my reaction and responses.

“Companionship?” I do my best to keep my facial expression neutral. I know I am failing because my cheeks are heating up and my tongue is a syllable away from stuttering. “Like a love contract?” I’ve never been asked out by a boy before, and Bryan does not count. Frankly, I don’t even know how people ask one another to date nowadays. But I do know this is definitely unorthodox. I have seen too many movies and read countless books not to see the good humor in the current situation. This is every bit of the cliché and corny notions that capture romantics’ attention while being shunned by the skeptics.

More than anything, this seems like a joke–a plight sense of humor that is not only overused but also overdone. How can someone, of his world and caliber, want to carry out a contract with someone like me? Granted Sangwoo is not going to give thirty thousand dollars away freely, but this hardly seems rational.

Choi Sangwoo remains deadpan and watches me carefully. The look in his eyes tells me that I am better off not mocking his words, intentions, or meaning. “Service and companionship,” he corrects me. “This is not a love contract. I don’t want to date you. This is a six-month, legal binding contract where your service and companionship is exchanged for thirty thousand dollars. Of course, you are worth more than that, but that amount seems to be our situation.”

At his compliment, I squirm in my seat. “And what exactly entails service and companionship?” I am trying the idea out although the pieces of the information confuse to me. He doesn’t want to date me, but he wants my time and company. Potato
potato.

“Service means I may have you carry out, participate in, and conduct some
work-related things for me. One day we may be in Seoul and the next day we may be in the United States. Companionship means that you may be required to accompany me to certain functions, including parties, dinners, or a movie. Technically, you will be at my disposal on the weekends for the next six months. Far from a love contract, it is more about recruiting another member to the team who is required to wear many hats. You will be working with me directly.”

Disposal? Basically work for him and be with him. I gape at Sangwoo unnaturally. This is under some impossible constituents. There is no way this man can be in his right mind. Now that I am reassessing it, Choi Sangwoo must have some insane streak in him. After all, his profession relies on dominating and overpowering other people. Sometimes, it requires being violent and taking people by force. This man has deeper and darker secrets than I can imagine. 

Taking my silence for shock, Sangwoo presses his lips into a tight line. His eyes are now hooded and extremely guarded. “Nothing is legally penned yet, so you have every right to refuse. But I do wish for you to be aware that if you do refuse, I cannot protect you from Mayhem.”

The blood flows twice as rough in my veins now. Suddenly Choi Sangwoo’s brown eyes are no longer sensual and endearing, but intimidating and calculating. Taking someone at face value can be consequential in the end.

I clear my throat, feeling my equilibrium return after the influx of thoughts. “You can have anyone you want. Why me?” I am sure he knows individuals who are more qualified.

Sangwoo rocks his head to the side as he scans me. Casually, he leans forward to pick up his glass of wine again. “You don’t know why or you don’t remember?”

I shut down his question the best way I know how. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

He watches me carefully, waiting for me to say something more. We are deep in a game, a game of I-know-the-truth-but-I-will-deny until-you-give-in-first.

Sangwoo’s brown eyes flare once more before he concedes to our silent stare-off. “I live my life not knowing if I am going to make it through tomorrow.” He waves a long fingered hand to his surroundings to convey the notion of relative emptiness. “I have everything I need, except one thing. I need someone I can trust. You’re young and inexperienced, but also intelligent and shrewd. I need someone like you on my team. I need someone like you by my side.”