Page 5 of A World Apart (Between Worlds #1)

“ Y ou’re laughing at me,” I accused, holding my injured hip with one hand and propping my fist on the other.

Becka arranged her face to look as contrite as possible, but then immediately ruined it, her face crumpling as she snorted like the undignified arsehole she is.

Crossly, I kicked her desk, rattling the aesthetically coloured cup of pens she had pleasingly arranged.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she gasped, holding up a hand to wave me off. Huffing, I threw myself into the chair opposite her desk and immediately regretted it as it twinged my hip.

“Clean yourself up, you’re a disgrace,” I groused at her, chucking a packet of tissues at her that I pinched from on top of her desk. She plucked them out of the air easily enough before they hit her in the face.

She made several more ‘hmm-hmm’ sounds as she took a tissue and delicately wiped it under her eyes, her shoulders shaking every so often. Just as I think she’s done; she looked over at me and started all over again.

“Literally, go jump out the window,” I rolled my eyes at her at her, crossing my arms over my chest .

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, wiping a tear off her cheek with the tissue, “It’s just so you . You’re such a fucking mess.”

I held up my middle finger in response.

Eventually though, Becka settled. I wasn’t actually mad. I mean; to be fair, I am an absolute mess. It really does go without saying, and had Becka righteously embarrassed herself in front of, say, Liam Hemsworth, I would be equally inconsolable.

“Okay, but in all seriousness,” Becka said, clearing her throat, “are you actually alright? Those barriers are solid.” I leaned backwards in the chair and pulled aside my clothes slightly to reveal where I’d smacked the crap out of my hip.

Becka hissed and winced in sympathy. It was a reddish splotch right now, but it would bruise up nicely later.

“I’m fine, just mortally embarrassed.”

Becka leaned back in her chair, lifting her steaming mug to her lips. It would be some herbal concoction that she swore didn’t taste like compost, but totally did taste like compost. She only had one cup of coffee per day. I couldn’t relate, I practically swam in coffee.

“Tell me what happened next,” she prompted, “describe the entire scene. Was TK an absolute ass?” We abbreviated names when we were in semi-public like this, although there were only two other people in the vicinity and honestly, they’d probably agree that Trevor Kyle was an absolute ass.

I recounted the entire interaction, including Celine’s face.

“That woman badly needs to get laid,” Becka interrupted. I continued and ended with how sweet he had been to help me with the box into studio 2.

“We stan a respectful king,” she said approvingly, and I nodded.

“So,” Becka leaned forward conspiratorially, prompting me to copy her. Together we were basically leaning over the desk. I could smell her hot drink. Peppermint. Vile.

“How did he smell?” She leered at me, but I could only blink in confusion.

“I-I have no idea,” I confessed sheepishly.

“You mean to tell me that you were that close ? nay ? you touched the idol you’ve been crushing on for decades-” I rolled my eyes at her gross exaggeration, “and you didn’t take the opportunity to smell the guy? ”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Just what, exactly, did you guys talk about in those Savage Garden fan groups?”

Becka waved my question away. “Pssh, the 90s were a lawless time. Don’t change the subject.”

“You are the oldest young person I’ve ever met,” I accused. She blew me a kiss.

“Oh, heads up,” she said and nodded her head in the direction of the corridor behind us. Turning quickly in my seat, I saw Jeremy emerge from the Ops corridor and head towards the elevators.

“Oops, better dash,” I hissed, getting up and out of the chair as discreetly as I could.

“Come back up here at lunch, I may have a job for you,” Becka said, winking at me in such a way that my heart lurched uncomfortably.

My mind couldn’t help immediately wondering what Becka would ‘need’ me to do, but given the look on her face, it didn’t take a huge leap to assume it was something to do with ‘the idol’.

But I couldn’t allow myself the leisure of speculation, given the current urgency of beating Jeremy downstairs.

“I both love and hate you,” I hissed, throwing a look over my shoulder.

“Quite right.” She laughed quietly as I slipped out of the room and army-ran towards the stairs.

I managed to beat the lift down the stairs, nearly breaking my neck in the process, and met Jeremy in the lobby. He’d come to check up on me and point out some more tasks for me. It was mindless work, but I figured it counted towards my step goal for the day and so I didn’t mind it too much.

I especially didn’t mind that most of my trips took me past Studio 3, which is where he was.

On every pass, I walked extra slow ? on account of the heavy box I was carrying, of course ? so I could glimpse in the porthole-style window.

No sound made its way out into the corridor, except for the occasional few bars of a beat or backing track.

From what I’d been able to see, he wasn’t in the booth yet.

He seemed to be talking to the producer ? Trevor Kyle.

Every time I walked past, I could only see the top of his head, he was sitting in a chair facing away from the window. The manager and tall man (gotta be a bodyguard, the man is built like a standing-up submarine) were sitting on one of the sofas against the far-left wall.

I may or may not have walked past studio 3 a good dozen times, but I’d down-play it if ever asked.

Lunchtime

As Becka had cryptically requested, I made my way back up to her office when lunchtime rolled around. I stood in front of her desk, arms crossed, tapping my foot on the floor, but it was more to do with nerves than annoyance.

“You rang?” I sassed. Becka scoffed.

“I need you to go down to reception and get the Uber Eats delivery that should be arriving in a few minutes,” she said.

I frowned. “Can’t you get one of the reception girls to bring it up?” That’s normally what she did, when she ordered in.

“Trust me, babes, you want to get this order.”

I unfolded my arms and instead put my hands on my hips.

“Ok, you’ve got my attention.”

“And then I need you to deliver it to Studio 3”. She grinned at me. She knew what she was doing.

“ His studio?” I cleared my throat.

Becka laughed at me. “You haven’t said his name even once, have you? I noticed it when you were telling me the story this morning.” I narrowed my eyes at her and pursed my lips.

“ Jihoon .” I forced out, but despite my best effort, I could feel my face and neck grow hot. That didn’t stop Becka from laughing at me again.

“Yes well, he , his team, and TK need to eat, so…” she made a shooing gesture with her hand as she turned back to her laptop, “off you pop.”

“I love and hate you in equal measure,” I hissed, but grinned. She didn’t look back up at me as she blew me a kiss.

I walked towards the elevator, but decided to take the stairs instead, to work off the nervous energy coursing through me. I had to play it cool, I decided. Aloof. Like it was no big deal. Only cool cucumbers here. I repeated this mantra the whole way down to the reception.

By the time I’d opened the door to the airy lobby, I had almost convinced myself that I was capable of being as cool as I told myself I was going to be.

The receptionist was sat at the imposing desk, but she was on the phone, talking into her headset and paying absolutely no attention to me.

“Um, I’m here to take this-” I gestured at the multiple bags and boxes stacked up on the counter, the tell-tale symbol of the restaurant stamped all over them, but she impatiently waved me off, not bothering to look at me.

I shrugged and began to artfully weave my arms through the bag handles and carefully balance the boxes within the cradle of my arms. I considered myself something of a master at this, from years of practice of refusing to make more than one trip from the car to the front door with all the shopping. Mama didn’t raise no two-trip chump.

I’d just arranged myself to my satisfaction and was making my way over to the elevator when ? “You, stop!” A voice stopped me in my tracks. Annoyed, I turned back to the reception desk, my arms aching with being so overburdened.

“You can’t take it up like that!” The receptionist looked scandalised.

She was a well-coiffed woman in her mid-40s and I’d seen her telling off a senior sound tech for stomping muddy boots across the lobby floor, so she clearly gave zero fucks about any kind of chain-of-command in this building.

Not that I counted as anything higher than, say, plankton.

I just looked at her dumbly. “Um…” I trailed off. The receptionist… Rhonda? Shonda? Belinda? She tutted at me... Loudly.

“Come back here and take the hospitality cart. Were you planning on slapping an armload of take-out bags down in front of a client?” The look she gave me rather implied this was a grave offense, similar to, say, murder.

Quickly, I walked back over to the big desk and unceremoniously dumped the bags on the countertop, trying to ignore the look she gave me.

She imperiously threw a thumb over her shoulder to where I could see a two-tier, wheeled cart pushed up against the wall.

I rushed round to grab it and then unbagged the containers, bowls and boxes.

Luckily, the take-out place had supplied utensils.

I turned back to thank the receptionist and was able to see her name tag.

Donna. Damn, I wasn’t even close.

“Thanks, Donna.” I shot her a grin, which she did not return as she was already on another call.

A couple of minutes later, I was approaching the door to Studio 3 and I could feel all the blood had drained from my face. My hands as well, judging by how suddenly cold they were. I was really committing to this whole, ‘cool as a cucumber’, thing.

I looked in at the porthole window to make sure I wasn’t about to interrupt anything ground-breaking. Trevor Kyle was fiddling with the soundboard and wearing headphones. I could see everyone else was seated around the room, either on their phones or chatting idly.

I took a deep breath. And knocked.

Fuck me, he looked up. We locked eyes and he smiled. Quickly, I ducked my head down and puffed out a breath before I forgot to breathe. Looking back up, I could see Trevor Kyle hadn’t moved. I felt conflicted about if I should just go in, or not.

Just to be sure, I knocked again. Still nothing, he must not be able to hear me. I bit my lip, looking down at the cart, heart hammering with my unease.

Just then, the door opened, taking the decision out of my hands.

There he stood, framed in the doorway and so close to me that had he been anyone else, I would have instinctively taken a step back. As it was, it was the weirdest sensation ? I felt a pull to step forward, like we were opposite magnets suspended in motion.

“Hi,” he said, smiling down at me. He’d taken his mask and hat off and it was almost too much to have the full effect of his startling beauty mere inches from me.

Luckily, I remembered to act like a normal person. “Hi,” I said, my voice breathy, “I hope I’m not interrupting. I have lunch,” I said, gesturing down at the trolley. He looked down to where I was holding the trolley with one hand.

“Ah,” he said and poked his head back into the room and said something in Korean.

Not waiting for a response, he opened the door all the way and waved his arm, indicating I should come in.

I was hyper aware of every part of my body as I walked past where he stretched out an arm to hold the door open.

It honestly felt as though I was straining towards him, seeking out more of the body heat that radiated from him, even through his t-shirt and jacket.

And when I moved past the immediate vicinity of his body, I still felt pulled towards where I just knew he stood behind me. It was the strangest sensation.

The manager stood up as I got to the large, dark wood table that went along the length of the back of the room. He bowed to me slightly and smiled and on instinct I copied the gesture, my hair falling in front of my face as my body dipped. God, I hope I did that right.

Hurriedly, I began to pile the dishes onto the table.

In a mirror-like move from that morning, I looked down at the table, focused on my task when a pair of pale, be-ringed hands came into view and started to help.

I looked up briefly, only to meet his gaze .

Now his whole face was exposed; the effect was off balancing.

He looked so kind and open; it was almost like we were friends, or at least acquaintances, as opposed to the total strangers we actually were.

I tried to mentally rein myself in. It was probably just because his face was so familiar to me.

We both reached for the utensils at the same time, our fingers clashing, knocking the pot over. We laughed awkwardly, muttering apologies in a mix of Korean and English.

But eventually it was all on the table and there was no reason for me to still be there.

“Ok, well, um, enjoy!” I closed my eyes briefly, mortified at how ridiculous I sounded, and I scurried back across the room. My hand was on the handle of the door before he spoke. “Thank you, Kaiya.”

I turned around and he smiled at me, inclining his head slightly. I mirrored the gesture and grinned, stupidly, probably like an idiot, but completely genuinely.

He said my name.