Page 43 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)
I was so used to the slow, almost sleepy return to the work cycle I’d experienced in the UK, that it came as quite a rude shock when people were already headed back to work by the second day in January.
It came as an even greater shock when I received an email notification from the human resources department at ENT, extending a probationary offer of employment for the role of junior assistant in the Creative Development Team – CDT.
“They do not fuck around,” I exclaimed in begrudging awe to Jihoon, who had rushed over to see what I was shouting about. He leaned in to read the email over my shoulder.
“They want you!” He cheered. “I knew they would. Anyone would be lucky to have my brilliant girlfriend on their team.”
While I had glowed under his praise, I simultaneously couldn’t help but mentally add that they had probably agreed because I was dating one of their biggest ‘assets’.
The next day - January 3rd.
We parked up in a space in the basement car park of ENT. Rows and rows of shiny, expensive cars surrounded us as we parked in a numbered spot reserved for group managers. Jihoon had driven us in this morning.
“If you’re going to work, I’m going to work,” he’d said, pecking me on the lips with a grin.
We rode the elevator up in silence. Jihoon held my hand, silently calming my nerves as he rode with me all the way up to the floor CDT occupied, even though he was going back down to the recording studios afterwards.
As the doors opened, I turned to him and his smile slipped slightly as his eyes met mine.
“Jagiya, you’ll be fine,” he said quietly, throwing a glance over my shoulder and holding his finger to the ‘open’ button on the panel.
“What if I’m not?” My stomach had started knotting the moment we’d boarded the elevator.
“Then I’ll beat them.” He nodded, and I huffed an involuntary laugh.
“You can’t threaten to beat everyone who bothers me.”
“I can, and I will.” His eyes were firm as they held mine, and I felt my own softening.
“I love you,” I mouthed, the sounds of other voices in the corridors filling the small space we occupied.
He smiled that lopsided smile of his that made me weak. “Saranghae.”
I stepped out of the elevator and into the corridor, looking back over my shoulder to see the man I loved, the man I was here for. I committed the way he looked right then to memory, not turning around until the doors closed.
Seeing my reflection in the shiny doors, I took a deep breath and set off down the corridor, looking for the numbered door, as per the email instructions I’d received.
“One five one,” I muttered to myself as I walked, reading the numbers on the wall as I went past them, until-
“One five one.” I stood outside the plain, wooden door, steeling myself, before I knocked.
“Deureooseyo!” called a gruff voice from the other side and, thanking my most recent Korean lesson, I was able to understand this meant ‘come in’, and not ‘fuck off’. I pushed down on the door handle and stepped into the room.
I immediately had to stifle a laugh at seeing what had to be the Korean equivalent of my former boss at Pisces – Jeremy – right down to the scruffy chin and the tired, but kind looking brown eyes.
All that was missing was the plaque on his desk: ‘Chief Cat Herder.’
A sudden, fond feeling of nostalgia had me smiling at the man sitting behind the desk, which he returned, if slightly more reservedly.
“Kaiya Thompson?” he said in a clipped, but clear accent.
“Yes, sir.” I nodded in confirmation.
“Welcome. I’m Park Tae-Jun, department lead for production assistants. Please, call me Mr Park.”
He offered me his hand, which I took, before he indicated I should sit on the chair opposite his desk. Nervously, I sat on the edge, trying to look more at ease than I felt.
Mr Park sat, and then pulled towards him a manilla folder, reading from it as he leaned back in his chair.
“Kaiya Thompson. English. Degree in Music Production from a London university. Moved to LA to work at Pisces, before moving to Korea in December. Currently working on your Korean.”
It sounded like he was reading off a menu, but there were no questions in his speech, so I kept quiet, watching him scan the folder in front of him.
“You have a very different background to many of our juniors.” He put the folder down on his desk and peered up at me, his gaze assessing, but not unkind.
“Director Kang signed off on your placement herself, so I trust you are qualified to be here. For your first week, you will shadow a more experienced junior assistant, but then I will expect you to be able to complete your job independently. Use this week wisely. Take notes, learn names, ask questions. You will be confused, you will not know how we do things – this is expected, but part of this job is to improvise.”
He still hadn’t asked me anything, so I just nodded along, trying not to look as nervous as I felt, when really, I had a fear I might be sick.
Hell, I’d been improvising ever since I stepped off the plane.
Winging it, really. But somehow, out of the context of just me and Jihoon, this felt more like real life.
I took a deep breath, mentally sliding into a more focused mindset.
Then, a soft knock came from the door.
“Deureooseyo!” Mr Park called, not breaking eye contact with me.
From behind me, a soft-spoken voice said something I didn’t understand, but had Mr Park nodding, and replying in Korean, until –
“Hana, this is our newest junior assistant. She’s English. She will be with you this week. Show her how we work.”
Turning back to me, he offered a small, but seemingly genuine smile.
“Welcome to ENT, Kaiya. I hope you’ll be successful.”
That was apparently all I was going to get, as he turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing me. I muttered a quiet, “thank you, Mr Park,” as I got to my feet.
Hana, the owner of the soft-spoken voice, was waiting for me by the door.
My eyes widened as I took in that short, sharply-cut bob.
It was the young woman from the night of the masked ball.
I almost expected her to have a similar reaction to seeing me, but of course how could she recognise me, when I’d been wearing a mask, and a literal ball gown?
Not to mention the fact that how could I – ENT’s newest intern/junior assistant – possibly attend an exclusive, media industry party?
The young woman offered me a small smile, and cocked her head to the side as she ducked back out of the office, indicating I follow.
Behind me, I closed the door, and we stood in the corridor, staring at each other for a moment, before she spoke.
“Hana Park.” She held out a hand, which I gratefully took. She had a firmer grip than I would have expected from the look of her delicate features. “Welcome to the most glamorous circus you’ll ever find.”
I laughed in an exhalation of relief. Her accent sounded familiar, and I wanted to ask, but as I’d only just met her, I held myself back.
“I’m just happy to be here,” I admitted.
“I’ll bet,” she said, and the way her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly gave me pause.
“Well, Kaiya from England, let’s get you started on your first day.” Hana took my arm like we’d been best buds for years, as opposed to strangers less than five minutes ago, and led me down the corridor.
By midday, my head was spinning. Hana had taken me on a far more detailed tour of the building than the brief one Jihoon had given me when I’d had my interview with Director Kang. It was the kind of tour that only the worker ants of an organisation ever got to see.
From the outset, a person would probably assume the ENT building was mostly offices and recording studios. Basic but fancy music corporation stuff. But there were warrens of backstage places. It was a positive hive of never-ceasing operations.
We went down to the trainee dance studios on the lower floors, where the scuffed wooden floors and worn-down ballet barres stood as quiet proof of the hours poured into these rooms. I wondered if this was where Jihoon had honed his dance skills.
Then she took me to the far end of the building where ‘the staircase’ could be found.
It was a service staircase, but because of the lighting, and wide, open landings, it was regularly used by idols and groups to film videos on their social media for dance trends.
I’d recognised it instantly, and for a moment, I’d had to step back and recalibrate as I had a moment of ‘what the fuck is my life’.
The surreality of standing in that staircase was similar to the days when I’d first started working at Pisces, and wasn’t used to the revolving door of celebrities.
I’d been so wide-eyed, back then. I felt wide-eyed again.
Becka would have called me a ‘Bambi’. I missed her.
Hana took me upstairs, where we’d briefly walked past the lounges, but not gone in.
That was considered a private space for the actors and singers managed by ENT.
Apparently, they’d often be in there mingling where it was safe away from the prying eyes of the press, or even just people with mobile phones.
A little hideaway from the spotlight, which I could respect.
Next, she'd taken me to the back of the building where the service elevator was. A massive thing – probably big enough to drive a car onto. Hana called it the 'Hellevator', because that's apparently what the ENT trainees called it. She waved it away dismissively but did answer when I pressed.
"It's because this is the one they ride the most often to get to the training rooms, but it doesn't go all the way to the top of the building," she explained. "It's a metaphor." She scoffed, but I kind of got it.