Page 4 of Fallen Starboy
Predatory contracts, no-dating clauses, and rules on everything from where we were allowed to be seen to what we should wear when leaving the dorms. As teenagers eager for stardom and fame, we signed anything that seemed like it’d earn us money.
As an adult, I had a child to consider, and I was tired of hiding her from the world, being punished for doing the right thing and keeping her.
Miss Simmons, as they mockingly referred to her, stayed silent for most of the conversation, as my English, which they’d been led to believe was atrocious at best, was better than expected.
About halfway through the reading, Yang-Jin held his hand up and smiled that sharktooth grin, staring directly at the lawyer while he worked out how to word his question.
“Is this part of the contract . . . ah, I’m not sure of the word here.”
The lawyer turned his head to our ‘translator’ and frowned. “Isn’t this what you’re being paid for?” He gestured at us and snapped his finger, an act that enraged me on her behalf as much as I didn’t want it to.
If anyone deserved to make her feel less than, it was the man she’d done dirty, not this random fuckwit who was only here to make a paycheck he no doubt didn’t deserve.
She flushed red and put a hand over her chest, trying desperately to hide her tits from us when she stood and moved around the table, leaning over Yang-Jin’s shoulder to read the portion he pointed out on the contract.
She uttered a few words effortlessly in damn near perfect Korean, and I watched Yang-Jin’s eyes widen in shock.
She had never been that fluent when she worked with us. Hell, she’d barely known the little necessary to do her job in the middle of a busy Korean metropolis. Now, she spoke it like she’d been born to it, which opened up an entirely new side of her to my analysis.
When had she bothered to learn conversational Korean? And why?
“He wants to know if section four, clause two thirteen, line five, is ‘mutually exclusive’ to the artist or agency, or if it’s a broad blanket term that covers everyone who signs or is involved in this contract.”
The lawyer looked down, as did the agent, and dragged their fingers over the words until they came to whatever Yang-Jin had wanted clarification on.
The lawyer pasted that fake, weak grin on his too-thin lips while the agent frowned.
“We can remove it if it doesn’t suit the client.
The language is made to protect all parties–”
“That’s not what he asked, and I know you speak the language I translated it into. Is this clause mutually exclusive, or is it a blanket for anyone who signs the contract?”
The lawyer cleared his throat and began to squirm, his eyes darting to the agent for help. “I, ah, I’ll have to defer to my colleague–”
“The hell you will. I don’t do the legal jargon-ese. That’s what you’re here for.”
I had to restrain myself from standing and thanking them for their time. As it was, this was one of the few agencies willing to take on a fallen, blacklisted star. And the others hadn’t been nearly as generous in their contract terms.
I couldn’t afford to offend.
But Arista seemed to have no such hangups. She crossed her arms and stared the two men down, her eyes narrowed to slits as she picked her words with all the calculating forethought of a professional with time in the industry and a knowledge of its inner workings.
“I advise you to put in a request for clarification on this line, as well as the following three, before you sign anything. I would also suggest asking for an explicit termination clause, allowing you to back out for mistreatment or dangerous working conditions.”
I read over the section Yang-Jin was now highlighting, realizing she’d essentially told him to have an entire section voided or reworded for my benefit.
It would have been a loophole most companies would not hesitate to use to help themselves if they needed to later on.
She could have left it there and not said a word, given us lies in Korean, and made the contract more beneficial for her own company, but she didn’t.
Maybe there was some good in her still after all.
Or maybe she was playing some sort of long game here.
I wouldn’t put it past her to fuck me over again.
“We will take it under consideration,” the lawyer tried again, but Arista’s hand slammed on the table, her eyes narrowed to slits now.
“You will do more than that. The client has expressed an interest in changing or eliminating the clause altogether. You will confer with the execs and alter the terminology to suit the client, or you’ll have no contract to sign.”
I watched Minseo pale to my left. He was probably thinking the same thing I was. She was trying to keep me from signing.
Did her hatred for me run so deep? Was she really this unwilling to work with me that she’d make a stink over a single line or two of language in a contract that was worlds above better than any others we’d seen in our long run as leading kpop idols?
I opened my mouth, but Yang-Jin’s hand slapped over it gently, keeping my words at bay for a moment longer.
His smile to the agent and lawyer was as fake as a thousand-dollar bill ripped from the dollar store notepads. “Shall we continue?”
We went through the rest of the contract with minimal issues, save one other spot at the end where they had tried to slip in a higher rate of consultation fee for services I didn’t need, but Yang-Jin needed no translator for that.
After drawing lines through the sections he didn’t like, he passed the annotated contract to the lawyer, asking if he’d like a copy, or if he’d taken his own notes.
“Keep a copy of the annotated requests for Jun,” Arista muttered, placing her hand atop his with a gentleness I hadn’t thought she still possessed.
“If they didn’t make their own annotations, I can have a copy made for them from his at the front desk, and they can take that with them on their way out. ”
If these corporate thugs had shown disrespect to her when we’d walked in, they were seething with hatred and displeasure for her presence now. With a few simple words, she made them look incompetent and foolish and emasculated them in front of a new client.
I had no doubt she’d likely get a glaring report of her actions today given to her boss.
And then the lawyer laughed and offered his hand to her, waiting as she stared at it like it might bite her. “You are quite the cutthroat liaison, Miss Simmons. You’d be invaluable in the legal department, you know that?”
“Not interested,” she muttered, taking his hand and offering him a crooked smile. “But you know that already. I’ve only turned down the offer six times so far. One would think you’ve developed selective memory for the topic.”
That had me nearly choking on air.
When we met her, she was an inexperienced, quiet, shy girl. Somewhere along the way, she’d become a sharp and dangerous adversary in the music industry.
She was not the same girl we used to know.
I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
The lawyer and agent shook our hands again and made for the door, but Arista didn’t follow. Something in the way she stood far away from the table clearly emphasized her lack of desire to be here.
Minseo turned to her the second the door closed behind her colleagues, his hands balled into fists.
“You’ve got some nerve sitting at a table with us today.”
The words landed as intended, and she physically recoiled from the venom he laced them with. Her eyes flashed with hurt before she schooled her features and turned to him with a frown.
“Minseo, I know we four have a past, but for the sake of your employment and mine, I think it’s best if we don’t inform anyone else of that.
I’m here in a business capacity only. My job is to help Jun navigate anything he’ll need a translator for and assist in keeping cultural gaps and misunderstandings to a minimum as he adjusts to his new life as a talent with kNight Records.
The secondary purpose of my being here is to protect a business asset for our company.
If he slips up in public and commits an accidental faux pas that reflects negatively on our company, it’s my duty to find ways to mitigate the damage and prevent further issues. ”
“I thought people hired PR teams for that these days,” Yang-Jin spit at her, crossing his arms to mock her stance. “Not translators.”
“My job description is senior staff of foreign liaisons. Typically, I would be responsible for wining, dining, and negotiating relationships with potential foreign clientele. I am only here today in this capacity as a courtesy to my boss, Ms. Steele, who I am sure you’ll be meeting soon enough.
” Her eyes landed just to the right of my face, and I growled as she pointedly refused to meet my gaze.
“With any luck, she’ll have a replacement for me before the end of business tomorrow. ”
“Good,” Minseo spat, his eyes narrowing even further as we all moved into the deserted lobby, venom lacing his words. “The less time we spend with you, the better.”
He muttered under his breath in Korean, and I watched in real-time as the words not only registered in Arista’s ears, but stopped her in her tracks. She whirled on him, ears red, comprehension of his slur written in her eyes and every line of her face.
The eyes I’d spent many a day staring into in the form of our daughter flashed a dangerous shade I hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Jun might be a client with kNight Records, Minseo, but you are not. I am not afraid to kick your ass right here in the middle of a public hotel lobby for calling me that.”
His jaw dropped as she turned her attention away from him and pulled a card from the pocket of a jacket slung over her shoulder. I barely registered it all until she shook the little square at me and sighed.
“This is my business card. It has my personal number on it, as well as my email and my office address. Since you’re familiar with this country and the way it operates, and your English is passable, I expect you should be able to get yourself settled in on your own.
” Her eyes scanned the lobby, and she frowned, obviously not seeing what she was looking for.
“I have other things to attend to. If you have any questions before the lawyer calls back with an updated contract, you can call me.”
Minseo chuckled at her attempt at formality. “So you’re abandoning your new client in a strange hotel with no idea if he needs anything?”
“I’m not abandoning my client,” she snapped back, her hackles rising. “He hasn’t signed with us yet. As such, he is a prospective client?—”
“All the more reason for you to wine and dine him as you said,” Yang-Jin insisted, his grin wicked and cunning and very much unwanted in this situation.
“After all, your company is very interested in him. And you yourself said you’re the head of foreign liaisons.
Shouldn’t you act in the capacity of your main role, not just the temporary one you’re filling? ”
Her eyes narrowed to slits, and she glared daggers into his chest, but he didn’t seem to notice. “When did you get so cunning, Jinnie?”
He leaned back and crossed his arms, daring her to step up and make a move. “About the same time as you got fluent in Korean.”
“Checkmate,” I muttered, rolling my eyes for good measure. “I’m going up to the room. Unlike the rest of us here, I have a daughter to care for.”
I didn’t give two fucks about the little gasp of surprise she let out as I turned on my heel and marched off, already frustrated that I’d likely have to deal with her regularly, even if I didn’t need a translator.
After all, she worked for the company I planned to sign with. I couldn’t avoid her forever, could I?
But I’d be damned if I let her get to me again. I’d done some bad things to keep our—no, my daughter safe, and I didn’t plan to open her up to more pain by letting this woman back in our lives.
She walked away once before. I’d make the choice easy for her this time.
There was nothing to walk away from when you’d already ruined it.