I look behind me over my shoulder to make sure that Mr. Jeon is actually talking to me and wants me to get into his car. After seeing only the empty sidewalk and hearing a tap of his fingers against the steering wheel, I hurry off the sidewalk and to his car.
The many folders and a few other random stuff make it hard for me to open the passenger side door and I'm not really sure if I should even be sitting in the front. I secure the items between my torso and my knee while using my free hand to open the door.
The wind blows in my face and my hair blocks my view, but I still manage to plop into the passenger seat without hurting myself or dropping the folders in my hand. Sometimes I wish I had a car.
"Geez," I mutter under my breath, thinking Mr. Jeon can't hear me as I wipe the hair from my face, but when I turn to my left I already see him staring at me with a weird look. I offer him a friendly smile, but he doesn't return it.
Instead, he steps on the gas pedal and we speed down the road. He's not going fast, though, right in the middle of the lane and his back straight against the leather seat. I want to thank him for letting me ride along, but when you have a rock like him sitting next to you, you don't really know how to get into the conversation.
But he beats me to it anyway.
"I thought I specifically stated that I wanted to see you there on time?" he says, but his voice is so monotone that I can't even detect the annoyance in it. Is he annoyed?
"I mean, I could have made it two minutes before the meeting started," I point out rather to myself, somewhat annoyed now too. I didn't need him to make it from A to B on time. I was doing fine on my own.
Sure.
And even though I thought I said that last sentence quiet enough that only I heard it, I notice Mr. Jeon's right hand tightening against the steering wheel. It's subtle, not really showing aggression, but it doesn't take long for his hand to loosen again.
There's an uneasy atmosphere lingering in the car, and I question whether it was a good idea to get in in the first place. Somehow I would maybe even prefer Mr. Jeon scolding me for being five minutes late instead of spending half an hour here with him.
He doesn't say anything, not even his breathing can be heard, even though it's so quiet. The engine howls a few times when he overtakes the car in front of him and therefore accelerates, but otherwise, there is nothing that could make the ride pleasant.
I want to ask him if he can at least turn on the radio, but I don't think he's the type to listen to music in the car. His taste in music is probably terrible anyway, consisting of a classical string quartet or opera music. I mean he's rich, he's probably not going to listen to Justin Bieber.
After about ten minutes that pass in silence, I glimpse to my left for a brief moment to make sure he hasn't fallen asleep because he hasn't moved once in the last few minutes.
But I regret it because as soon as my eyes hit the side of his face, his jaw clenches and he shifts in his seat, causing me to quickly look forward again out the windshield.
I want to text Megan so she can distract me from this torture, but I don't want as soon as I pull out my phone to have Mr. Jeon thinking I'm not taking my work seriously. Because even though we're leaving for a meeting right now, we're still in work hours and I know how strict he is.
I shudder and goosebumps spread on my exposed legs. The air blowing from the air conditioner is probably as cold as the North Pole and I'm surprised I'm just noticing it now. I must have probably been sweating because of the tense air in the first few minutes after getting into the car.
"I'm sorry, but isn't it a little too cold?" I ask, looking at Mr. Jeon. "May I?"
I point my index finger at the AC and wait for his answer. He looks at me for a second but looks out the front window again. If he hadn't talked before, I'd think he'd swallowed his tongue today.
I take his silence as a positive response and even though I know many men don't like it when you touch things in their car I try to turn off the air conditioning. We're at the end of September and it's not that warm anymore, to begin with.
Mr. Jeon is rich, that's for sure, but I've never seen a car with so many functions in my life. It's not even that the car has too many push buttons, the problem is that it has too few buttons. I cry on the inside, but then luckily find what I'm looking for.
"It's better for the environment anyway." I chuckle awkwardly, but he doesn't voice his opinion on the matter.
We turn right at an intersection and continue through all the traffic. It's busy, but not in the least as busy as in the evening when everyone is driving home from work at the same time. Cars start to slow down and we arrive at a red light.
The light turns green again, but the cars in front of us don't move. We are stuck in a traffic jam. I look at my wristwatch and realize we only have ten minutes to get to Vogue on time. I know how punctual Mr. Jeon always is, but he doesn't seem too annoyed by the traffic.
I, on the other hand, find it inconvenient because spending time with Mr. Jeon in his fancy car makes it worse. I'm not used to talking so little and constantly thinking that I might say something wrong when I open my mouth makes me feel claustrophobic.
I bring my finger to the door and press the electric window slider. The window rolls down and I am hit with the loud honking and car engines. A few seconds later, a pizza delivery man passes us on his scooter, the exhaust kicking up a dark cloud.
I cough. Slide the window back up. "Who even cares about the environment?" I laugh nervously again and turn on the air conditioner because it suddenly feels ten degrees warmer.
I bring my hand into a fist to stop myself from fanning myself weirdly as I feel the heat gathering in my cheeks. How much longer until we get to Vogue?
"I didn't realize it was so loud outside. Your car is very soundproof." I say casually, the silence eating at my nerves as I peer through the car. "I wonder what you can do in here without it being heard from outside."
I clear my throat and shift in my seat when I see Mr. Jeon's expression as he looks at me like I said something absurd. I was just trying to make conversation, but it seems like he prefers it if I keep my mouth shut. If he wasn't already annoyed with me, he certainly is now.
Looking out the window to my right seems like a better idea and I watch as we pass an accident scene. With the bus, I would have been one hundred percent late and knowing that Mr. Jeon is also late for his photoshoot relieves me more than it should. I hope he doesn't take his annoyance out on the staff there.
After a tiring one-hour drive, we finally arrive at the building I assume is Vogue because Mr. Jeon puts the car in park and gets out. I gather up all the folders and stuff in my lap and open the passenger side door before sticking my foot out.
But as soon as half of my body is on the road, the folders fall out of my hand and onto the ground. Why am I always clumsy next to the people I should least be next to? And the more I embarrass myself the more I think that after this meeting Mr. Jeon is going to shove the dismissal letter into my hand.
I quickly collect the folders without wasting time and when I straighten my back, Mr. Jeon is already staring at me. "Come on," he says and continues walking to the building and I run after him.
Well, thanks for the help, I guess.
We get into the elevator, ride up to the twentieth floor and when the door slides open we are met by five people.
"Hello, Mr. Jeon." a woman greets and shakes his hand. "We've been waiting for you."
Mr. Jeon looks around casually. "Traffic was very bad," he says without explaining further.
"Oh, it's no big deal." the woman smiles. "Shall we start right away?"
"Yes. I don't have much time." Mr. Jeon replies before the woman continues to lead us through the floor.
I look around. Some are working on their laptops and some are walking around. We are led further back before arriving at an open space where a camera is already set up with a photographer behind it. A table with snacks is also prepared.
"We have prepared three different outfits for you and we will take pictures first. After we agree on the pictures, our '73 Questions with Jungkook Jeon' will take place. Is that okay?"
"Sure." Mr. Jeon nods.
"Great. Our stylist will show you the outfits you can change into in the room down the hall to the left." the nice brown-haired lady claps her hands, the joy and excitement readable in her eyes. Not many have the opportunity to work with Mr. Jeon, so I can understand her enthusiasm.
"I don't want a stylist." Mr. Jeon then says as we walk down the hall together. "I think you can remember what happened last time."
The brunette stumbles a bit over her words, clearly not expecting that statement. "I know." She laughs, trying to bring the mood back up. "But we fired her. You don't have to worry about a re—"
Mr. Jeon sighs, and that interrupts the woman. I feel kind of bad for her. "I don't want a stylist." he stops and turns her to face her. "We either do the photoshoot my way or not at all."
I can clearly see the woman gulp and from her eyes, you can tell she feels intimidated. Although Mr. Jeon's voice is very calm as usual, you can still hear the authority and seriousness coming through, and that finally makes the woman give in.
"Of course. As you wish." she puts on a smile again and leads the way further back. "Who will help you with the outfits?" she asks as we arrive at a closed door.
Mr. Jeon looks around a bit confused, "I'm able to dress by myself."
"Oh. No, no. It's not that." the woman corrects. "I mean, you need someone who can help you through all the clothes in there."
"Ms. Carlson can do that. Thank you." that sounded like a dismissal and I wonder why Mr. Jeon is suddenly so cold towards her. It's like someone forced him to do the photoshoot. The woman is just trying to help.
And how should I help him? First I have to be his secretary, assistant or whatever and now I am supposed to be his stylist. I'm multitasking, but I'm just a simple employee in the creative team.
Mr. Jeon rushes into the room where the clothes for his outfits are supposedly stored. The woman stares at me and forces a smile on her lips before pressing a piece of paper into my hand and then walking away. Probably to go cry.
I follow him into the room and have to watch out that I don't trip over anything because the room is overflowing with clothes that you might think you're in a clothing store and I wonder how I'm supposed to find the right thing here.
I set the folders in my arms down on a small table against the wall and feel my hands almost fall numb from holding them all the time. I walk over to Mr. Jeon, who is standing in the middle of the room, probably waiting for me to start looking for everything.
"Your first outfit consists of a striped button-down shirt, washed-out jeans, leather boots, a belt, and a brown blazer." I read off the sheet but read it more to myself than to him.
I get to work walking through the hangers looking for the right pieces. I find the blazer and pants right away and the leather boots are stored on a shelf with other shoes. I take them over to Mr. Jeon and hand them to him.
"I'll go look for the shirt and belt," I announce and he nods.
Is he going to change right here? What if he's only standing in one pair of underwear when I return to bring him the other two pieces. My eyes widen and I try to erase the image of my boss from my mind. It would ruin everything and I don't think I could ever return to work.
My desperation increases with every second I have to search for the shirt and the belt. What stylist actually works in such a terribly messy way that you can't find what you're looking for?
But a triumphant laugh escapes my lips as I spot the shirt hanging on a hanger. I jump over to take it off the hanger, but just as I turn to hand it to Mr. Jeon, I bump into something hard.
And my eyes widen as I realize what it is.
Mr. Jeon is standing in front of me, his own shirt unbuttoned in front and showing his chest. The closeness of his body radiates its warmth directly into my face. I feel my cheeks heat up as I look up from his hairless skin into his eyes.
Which is a mistake, because he's already looking down at me. I lower my gaze because I can't stare into his dark eyes for much longer due to the embarrassment, and I can't believe my boss is standing in front of me right now with his chest exposed.
"Did you find the shirt?" he asks.
"Yes," I whisper, not intending to whisper because my voice has spontaneously decided to give up on me.
He takes the shirt from my hand. "A little faster next time, Ms. Carlson," he says, and I gasp softly as he casually pulls his shirt off his shoulders before turning around.
His back is now turned to me as he pulls the other shirt over his left arm for the outfit. And before he can hide his right arm I notice all the dark designs on it. I didn't know Mr. Jeon had tattoos and I'm not sure what exactly to think about this.
Before I can stare, which I didn't want to anyway, he has put on the striped shirt and buttoned up the front. I realize now that I haven't even seen Mr. Jeon in casual clothes. Not that I would expect otherwise from his professional manner, but Mr. Park, for example, definitely appears in summer with short-sleeved shirts that make him look no less professional.
I'm so embarrassed that I want nothing more than to leave the room and pretend this never happened. But Mr. Jeon doesn't seem to make a big deal about his employee seeing him with his chest exposed, so I try not to make a big deal out of it either.
"And the belt?" he asks as he turns back. I look over his shoulder behind him and find the belt hanging on a clothes rail. Reaching for it, I extend my hand in his direction so he can take it. He stares at the belt without moving.
After he swallows, he purposely tries not to touch my skin as he takes the belt from my hand. And then he leaves the room and I follow him.
When his hair and makeup are done, he requires one person at a time to do it and I'm actually glad he didn't have me do that too.
We spend about an hour taking pictures. Mr. Jeon is put from one pose to the next and I'm not sure if he enjoys it because his facial expression tells me otherwise.
I help him with the next two outfits, but this time making sure I find all the clothes first before handing them to him. Oh, and I keep leaving the room so he can get dressed without anything like earlier happening again.
"We've taken all the photos we need!" the photographer announces and everyone else claps in relief.
The brunette from before walks over to us. "Please follow me to the computer so we can choose the photos to put in the magazine." She asks us and I smile at her after I notice her eyes are red.
Sitting at a large screen, a young woman with glasses is editing some of the pictures that Mr. Jeon took. She scrolls through the many pictures and I lose count.
"They all look the same." another woman says as she purses her red lips. "I wish you'd posed better."
I furrow my brows. "I disagree," I shrug. "I think he did better than some of the models out there."
"Who are you again?" she asks, looking me up and down.
"Mikayla," I reply. Even though I answered her without an ounce of snootiness, it still sounds like I'm a famous person and she should know my name. I smile to keep her from thinking that, but she rolls her eyes and turns her gaze back to the screen.
We scroll through the various pictures a bit more and discuss, trying to eliminate some and talk about how many of them should really go in the magazine.
"I really like that one." I point to a picture of Mr. Jeon sitting on a sofa. "He looks confident and bold."
The brunette agrees with me, though the blonde woman rolls her eyes again. We put the picture in the closer and keep scrolling. I keep pointing to pictures I like, even though I know my opinion isn't being asked for, but I can't help it.
I wonder why Mr. Jeon doesn't say something about it all. After all, it's his pictures that are going to be in a magazine and I haven't heard him mutter a single word yet. Instead, he just stares at the computer.
"So, Mr. Jeon." the brown-haired woman exclaims after we've looked at all the pictures. "Which ones are you choosing?"
"Just take the ones Ms. Carlson picked," he says before turning and walking away, leaving me with a proud smile. It's the first time I've done something he didn't think was complete crap.
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A/N: I don't know why but Mikayla is such a mood