Right of First Refusal

Chapter 4 - Jumin

I looked up from Director Kang's latest report – it was absolutely no use; I could not concentrate at all. How could she be so absolutely inescapable? It had been two weeks and I could not stop thinking about that night. She was clearly smart and educated, her thoughts on the Russians and their impact on literature showed a clear interest in books and culture. She had been able to hold her own when the discussion had turned to wine, and most impressively she had been quite astute in her analysis of the dollar as the world's reserve currency. She didn't smile often, but when she did, her whole face light up. In those moments, she was no longer my Ice Queen, but simply Elle. I had enjoyed drinking the Krug, but there had been some sort of special pleasure in knowing she had enjoyed with me. I wasn't sure if I never wanted to have another bottle of it, knowing I could never repeat the experience, or if I should go out and buy a hundred to have something to remind me of her. Elle.

I had no idea what I was supposed to do now. I had avoided Angelique for fear of seeing her again and not being able to master myself. I had convinced myself that distance and time would simply make the infatuation lessen, but I found myself thinking about her constantly, and drinking more than a few glasses of wine each night in hopes of gentle oblivion. It had been a struggle to maintain my same level of productivity. I sighed, I needed to get ahold of myself. I was no longer a teenage boy with some schoolgirl crush. I had been able to navigate my twenties successfully avoiding entanglements and complications, and my thoughts for this girl most definitely fell upon the category of complications. Somehow, I still couldn't let her go.

I had been in the middle of dinner, enjoying the coq au vin and the conversation, and I found myself thinking that it was too enjoyable, that there must be something amiss. There was simply no way one wondered around French restaurants and happened to find oneself what could only be described as a nearly perfect woman, and that coincidentally one found oneself having dinner with her – I was sure there must be some sort of fatal flaw, some sort of unequivocal blemish, I had to have missed while thinking of her lovely hair.

The thought had alarmed me. I wasn't sure if after the meal we had shared I could bear to find out that she was one of those women who tended to hang around my father, rapacious in their greed and manipulative, until he decided to notice them. At that moment I decided I simply didn't want to find out – I preferred to avoid discovering that she was one of those avaricious women interested only in the comforts and the power that only money could provide. I made an excuse for myself and ordered the check, and what happened after had absolutely stunned me. I had been expecting some sort of simpering smile and a thank you, or a halfhearted attempt at reaching for her wallet. Instead of politely thanking me, she had aggressively insisted that she pay the bill.

I was sure that I stared at her for at least ten seconds before I could muster my voice to emphatically refuse. She had subtly hinted at a substantial income, and then proceeded to clarify that it was from what she called 'an actual job at a fund,' insisting on paying once again. I refused, of course I did, but I was amazed - I wasn't certain if it was the sureness of herself and her admission of her position, or the fact that she quite adamant in her view. We had argued for a few minutes, neither of us allowing the other to foot the bill. Finally, exasperated, she had attempted to use logic against me, reasoning that I should not be expected to pay simply because she was a woman. I wasn't sure if I was more offended at her thinking I wanted to pay because she thought it came from some sort of sexist view, or at her thinking that I frequently did this with other women. I wasn't sure if I was more stunned at the implication of her regard towards men, or at her aggressiveness in insisting she pay. She would make a hell of a negotiator when it came to discussing deals.

Mercifully, Mrs. Kim had taken my threat at face value and charged the full bill to my card, but I had still been left speechless. She had defied my expectations once again. Whatever her fatal flaw was, it was surely not avarice – or if it was, it was not one she thought might depend on men. I had looked at her again, and her lovely face, usually impassive sported a frown. She clearly wasn't happy, once could only assume this was not a woman who was accustomed to not getting her way, she was also clearly independent in her thoughts and actions. Finally, she sighed, and seemingly resigned smiled. She was exceedingly gracious in thanking me once Mrs. Kim came back. I was still rattled by the whole experience, but at least I had enough presence of mind to utter some proper goodbye before I made my way back to the townhouse. By the time I arrived, I wasn't sure if I should run back and apologize profusely before I asked for her number, or beg the higher powers that I would never see her again. In the end, I simply decided to go home and open another bottle of wine and drink myself into oblivion.