Page 48 of When Worlds Collide (Between Worlds #2)

“ U rgh, turnitthefuckoff,” I whined, protesting the loud, shrill noise that cracked through the still morning air.

Jihoon groaned behind me, rolling over to slap at the bedside table where the offending item – his phone – was howling.

Behind me, Jihoon grunted something into the phone, and I listened with half an ear, trying to pick out the individual words I recognised from my Korean classes.

I was progressing about as well as could be expected, apparently.

My tutor certainly wasn’t the kind of person to blow smoke up my ass, so compliments were few and far between.

I would have drifted back off to sleep, had the silence behind me not taken on the kind of stillness you hear just before a fallen glass shatters on the floor.

“Ne,” he kept repeating – yes in Korean – but it sounded like an automatic response, rather than that he was agreeing with the caller. Then, “Ssibal!” He bit the curse out so viciously it sounded like he’d gnashed his teeth.

I flipped over, raising up on my elbow just in time to see Jihoon bolting right up in bed, the covers falling down to his waist as he dragged a hand through his hair.

I reached above the headboard to click on the soft glow of the reading light, illuminating the room, but not enough to dispel the shadows in his eyes as he looked at me.

He growled a deep sound of frustration, an exhalation too coarse to be any one word, and I could only look on in hopeless concern as he covered his face with one hand.

From the phone, I could hear the distant, too-indistinct hum of someone talking. Jihoon grunted an acknowledgment of something, before pulling the phone away from his ear and tossing it on bedside table.

What followed was a fast and guttural string of Korean before he fell silent. I watched in concern, hands trembling with the suppressed need to reach for him.

Eventually, he dropped the hands covering his face, rolling his head on his shoulder to look over at me. The look on his face…

“Joon?”

“The conference room.”

Three words were all it took. Suddenly, with a cold clarity like ice slipping into my stomach, I knew exactly what had occurred.

“The footage?”

He nodded. I reached for him, pulling his hands towards me, holding them tightly in my lap even as I felt the blood drain from my face. “When?”

“Just after midnight.”

“Saturday morning,” I murmured. “LA time.” I clarified.

Today was Sunday. We’d had plans to stay in bed a little longer, before Jihoon’s mixed martial arts class. Today was supposed to be a slow start for us.

“I’m so sorry, Kaiya,” Jihoon gasped, as if he’d been holding his breath. My eyes snapped back to his, seeing the way they darted over me like he was checking for injuries.

“Hey,” I scooted over, bringing him close to me, “it’s okay. It’s okay, Joon. It’s going to be fine. This was always a possibility. ENT will handle it.” I was comforting him, all the while hoping he couldn’t see the way I was holding back tears.

We’d always known there was a possibility the conference room footage could be leak. But knowing it might happen didn’t soften the blow now that it had. The idea of global exposure still hit me like a gut punch.

We weren’t ready for that.

I wasn’t ready for that.

I tried to breathe in through my nose – deep, calming breaths, all the while reminding myself that Becka had assured me I was not identifiable.

“You’re not recognisable.”

“I think you’re good. You were never full-frontal to the camera.”

Oh god. There were people out there with unbelievable digital skills, the kind of talent that reconstructed faces from the reflections in car windows, what if-

“We have to go in,” he stuttered, breaking through my spiral. “Now.”

“Now? It’s 4:00 am.” Shocked into action, I was secretly glad of the urgency of movement because it gave me something else to focus on.

“Now.” He pressed a firm, but fast kiss to my hands before releasing me, and rolling off the bed, striding for the wardrobe. I watched dumbfounded as he pulled off his pyjama pants and quickly dressed.

Yeah. Okay.

I followed at a similar pace, stripping as I went.

Jihoon glanced over, but no time today for coy glances or flirty touches.

I grabbed the closest things to me – jeans, t-shirt, hoodie.

Looking over at Jihoon, a giggle with a slight edge of hysteria to it bubbled out of me, when I saw we were a matching pair. He cocked his head at me.

“We match,” I gasped, indicating between our bodies. He looked down, then back over at me. Black jeans, dark grey hoodies.

“We are a team,” he said firmly, but with a wry twist to his lips. “Hey,” he said softly, taking a step towards me, reaching for my hands. “I’ve got you.”

I hadn’t realised a tear had slipped down my cheek, until he reached up to wipe it away with his thumb. My chin trembled under his palm. “I’ve got you.”

Five minutes later we were pulling out of the basement car park in Jihoon’s blacked-out Audi. We slid easily through the scant traffic, making our way to ENT in Gangnam in probably the best time we ever had.

We parked underneath the building and made our way up in the keycard elevator.

We did not hold hands. Cameras lined the route we took from basement to the top floor where the bigger offices were.

I’d only been up here once. This was largely where the executives worked and our worlds did not overlap.

But, this morning they did. Or, perhaps, collided was a better word.

I wasn’t surprised that most of the building was dark, except for the top floor.

The motion activated lights in the corridor were already on when we stepped out of the elevator, meaning a stream of people had already passed this way not long before us.

We followed the illuminated trail, although Jihoon knew exactly where he was going, while I felt like I was lagging further behind with every step.

I did not belong here. My place was down in storage, or backstage, not high up in these sky offices.

Jihoon looked back at me, pausing as he noted how far behind I’d fallen. He didn’t say anything, didn’t hold out his hand to me, but his face urged me to keep walking.

Eventually, we stopped outside two massive doors. Jihoon knocked twice, but pushed open one of the doors without waiting for a response. I followed meekly behind.

My gaze darted around the large room, trying to take in as much detail as possible without lingering too long on any one thing.

It was a conference room. Because of course it would be.

It even looked slightly similar to the one at Pisces.

A modern, long oval table that could easily seat two dozen people occupied the centre of the room, surrounded by plush leather and chrome chairs.

A massive screen hung on the far wall, complete with the same type of AV setup that had landed us in this mess in December – motion-tracking camera, mounted microphones. It was a chilling echo to walk in on.

The main difference, however, was that unlike in December, this conference room had people in it, all looking at us.

I counted six people, one of which was manager Youngsoo, another was the Director of Management – Director Choi – and the others I didn't recognise.

Jihoon paused, formally bowing and, after half a beat, I followed.

The Director of Management – basically the director of all the talent managers – smiled thinly at Jihoon, before indicating the seats opposite. He didn’t look at me at all.

Jihoon placed a gentle hand on the small of my back, guiding me to a chair before sitting down next to me.

The men – because they were all men – regarded us with varying expressions, but mostly they just looked…

serious? I was almost a little surprised not to see any looks of downright condemnation.

It made me wonder how many meetings just like this they had attended.

How many fires they’d been in charge of putting out.

The Director began to speak, directing his words down the table to the other men, who all nodded along, some taking notes.

I recognised the name ‘Pisces’, and words like ‘video’, and perhaps mostly awkwardly, ‘kiss’.

But no one seemed especially scandalised.

If anything, as I watched this conversation happening in front of me – certainly not inclusive of me – I marvelled at how nonplussed they all were.

It confirmed to me that this was probably ‘old potatoes’ to them, as my mum would have phrased it. No big deal.

Another man began to speak, this time to Jihoon, who listened for a moment until a gap in the conversation.

“Excuse me, Yang byeonhosa-nim, could you please continue in English?” He deeply nodded his head. I looked at him in surprise. While he didn’t directly say the request for my benefit, it was pretty obvious.

A small, cowardly part of me wouldn’t have minded if the rest of the conversation had continued in Korean, because that would have meant I didn’t have to participate. But this did concern me. I was half of the reason we were all sat in this room.

The lawyer – Mr Yang – glanced at me briefly, before nodding and looking down at his notes.

“Very well.” He cleared his throat. “As Director Choi was saying, we have been made aware that the video footage covertly filmed in December, between Mr Baek and Miss Thompson, has been leaked by persons as yet unknown.

The video has been up for a number of hours and has been picked up by various media outlets.

“It is difficult to estimate how many times the video has been viewed, but it is likely to be in the high thousands. We have issued take-downs, but these are unlikely to be successful in the long term.

“It is the advice of counsel that ENT issues a press release to confirm the identify of Baek Jihoon, but not that of Miss Kaiya Thompson, and request privacy in what is obviously a private, personal matter.”