Chapter Three

Park Hyun Bin has a lot of attractive traits about him. Everything on his face is perfectly arranged, symmetrical. His dark hair is shorter on the sides and longer at the top, currently slicked back. 

He's tall and lean. I've seen his shirtless photos before, and he has a perfect six pack beneath his crisp white shirt.

His eyes are penetrating. And, right now, they're studying me from across the large mahogany table.

"Ms. Tsindoli," he begins, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands together. "What's your dream?"

It catches me off guard.

I thought we were going to talk about my new job, not my dreams.

What's my dream?

Oh, I do know what that is. But isn't it so simple? I don't want to make a bad first impression. My mother has always accused me of being unambitious. What if Mr. Park doesn't think I'm ambitious enough?

I've always been crazy about making outfits since I was like eight. By the time I became a trained fashion designer, my only ambition was to create designs that people will love. What else was there to wish for?

"Don't be shy," Mr. Park urges. "I'm not expecting some grand answer. Just the truth."

I nod, my hands fisting into my bag. "I want to create designs that people will love," I reply. "That's my dream."

"Good," he says, then leans forward. "Now, all you have to do is make outfits people will love to see on my artists. I expect nothing short of that, Ms. Tsindoli."

I gulp and nod.

"Phix's new album is coming out in four months' time. We need the costumes to be ready in three months for the music videos. Beginning today, you'll be busy. I want you to give your all to this project. As they may have been briefed yesterday, decisions affecting the artists are run through the group leaders before any final decisions are made. Keep that in mind."

"Yes sir," I reply.

"How long you last here depends on your performance, Ms. Tsindoli. I don't tolerate mediocrity."

I nod. "Yes sir."

"You can leave now."

I can? The dismissal is too abrupt, so it takes a few seconds to sink. When it does, I shoot from the chair.

"I'll do my best, sir. Have a great day," I say.

He nods, waving me off with his hand. I turn and head to the door, hands clasping my bag.

Bella would kill me if she knew how this turned out. I-

I cut off my stream of thought when my ankle suddenly twists and I go flying forward, facing the door. I barely have time to process what's happening, and the bag I'm holding keeps me from reaching out to support myself against the door before my face slams into it. 

The the rest of my body crumbles to the floor in an awkward position. I extricate my hands from my bag straps and support myself on the floor.

My face is howling in pain. 

So is my ankle.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" Mr. Park's voice reaches me.

Then there's a hand on each of my arms, pulling me upwards. I go willingly, my hands rubbing my forehead.

That hurt.

"Have a seat," Mr. Park is saying, and I find myself back in the chair.

I'm in pain, so maybe that's why the embarrassment is not hitting. Yet. I feel a light touch on my ankle and look down. Mr. Park is kneeling in front of me, studying my left ankle.

He gently removes my sneakers. 

I now get what happened. 

My wedged sneakers don't fit tight. My foot took a wrong turn and my ankle twisted, sending me flying.

Guess this is what I get for insisting on wearing oversized shoes simply because I love how they look and couldn't find an identical pair in my exact size. 

My leg jerks involuntarily when I feel his cool touch on my foot. One big hand is cradling my bare foot, while the other is feeling the area around my ankle.

He looks up and I find myself staring at him from a dangerously close place. He smiles. "You don't seem to have twisted anything, you'll be fine." Then his brow crowds. "But you've hit your forehead pretty hard."

I feel my forehead again. My fingers detect a large bump, and I look away in embarrassment. Great, I think it's now kicking in.

"I advise that you rid of these shoes," he says, holding the sneaker he removed from my feet a few moments ago. "It's a size too big."

I nod, biting my lip. 

His left hand holds my leg while his other one guides my foot into the shoe. Never thought I would see the day when Park Hyun Bin, ex-idol with millions of fans countrywide and internationally, put my shoes on.

Then he does something that sends all my nerve endings firing.

His left hand that's on my leg is directly on my skin, underneath the loose hem of my jeans.

I'm not sure whether he's aware of what he's doing, but that hand is moving up and down, rubbing my leg. The action sends a funny feeling throughout my body.

Mr. Park finally gets the shoe back on and comes to his feet. He slaps his hands together. "Is the ankle painful? Can you walk?"

Calm down, I admonish myself internally. He didn't do that intentionally.

I get to my feet and press down on the floor. "Yeah, I can make it."

"Great, now you just need to get something for your forehead. I'll ask Rebecca to help you out."

"Thank you," I mumble.

I avoid looking directly at him because I know the bump on my face looks hideous.

"You're a great designer, Emma. I'll be looking forward to your creations," he says as he leads me out of the office, incident-free this time.

It's not until I'm at my new workstation that it occurs to me he used my first name.

                                            ***

I've been writing my name on a blank page on my notebook for the past ten minutes or so.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

It's funny how I've heard it all my life, but suddenly, it sounds like some type of exotic name only because Park Hyun Bin said it.

I think the hit on my forehead got to my brain. I'm holding a bag of ice against it, courtesy of Rebecca.

"How was your meeting with the big boss?"

I close my notebook and look up to find Fiona, another designer on my team, leaning against the entrance to my cubicle. Her expression changes when she notices the ice pack on my face.

"What happened?"

I purse my lips and move the ice pack away for a moment.

"Ew, that must have hurt. Did you walk into a wall or something?"

I don't like her tone. It's judgmental. As if I walked into a wall on purpose.

"Door," I mumble.

"Yep, you look like the clumsy type," she notes. "So, how did the meeting go?"

"Fine."

"What did he ask you?"

"Hello ladies!"

I'm grateful for the sudden interruption. It's Hyunmin, another member of our team. He's carrying a drink carrier from Starbucks. I instantly crave coffee. With the nose dive my mood took, maybe the caffeine will be of help.

"Emma, I don't know what you like, but there's a good mix in here. You get to choose first."

"Do you have a caffe latte?"

"You better have two," Fiona says.

Hyunmin gently shoves her to the side. "Not your day today. Sure, Emma. Here. Can I always get you that?"

"Uh, you don't have to-"

"It's his thing, so unless you don't like coffee, don't bother with politeness," Fiona inputs.

I smile at Hyunmin and take the mug he's offering. "Thank you, and yes, this is my favorite."

"Got you," he beams, then turns to Fiona. "How about a mocha?"

He leads her away, much to my relief.

We have a team meeting at noon, where we go over the new album concept. I discover there's yet another project in the works. The company's second anniversary is two months away and there's going to be a concert. Everything is going fine until Jeon Seo-yun, the team leader, tells me that I'm in charge of the anniversary day costumes.

Seo-yun is also the wardrobe manager for both groups. She's the oldest among us, and the most experienced. She worked at Mr. Park's old agency when he was an artist.

There are already sketches, so she tells me that I just need to begin with the mood boards.

It's a big responsibility to get handed on the second day of work, but I guess this is what's called hitting the ground running. Two months is enough time to work on the costumes.

That evening, I skip towards my apartment building, eager to get down and continue studying the setting for the performances that are scheduled for the anniversary celebration.

I take the stairs to the third floor, where my apartment is. Another day, another 'out of order' sign on the elevator.

I'm digging for my keys as I get to the third floor landing, so I don't immediately notice the person standing outside my door.

When I retrieve my keys and look up, they fall from my fingers.

Outside my door, a suitcase in tow, is my mother.