𝐵𝓁𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝑒

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 08

Drinking so much was a mistake.
My head is pounding, I’m nauseous, and my face looks like it belongs to a corpse. I’m also very much late: the car Mr. Jeon sent to pick me up has been waiting for the past fifteen minutes.

Well, it’s not my fault: I told him I could drive, and he ignored me, so that’s on him.

I run out of the bathroom, limping on one foot to put on the left boot, and I grab my purse from the coffee table. I stop there for a second.

Pilly and Solar are sleeping on my couch, all tangled up and peacefully snoring. I consider waking them up to let them know I’m leaving, but ultimately, I decide against it: drunk Pilly wasn’t a fan of my plan, sober Pilly would lock me in to prevent me from going.

And I get it: it’s not the most brilliant plan I could come up with, but I have no other choice. I give my friends one last look, then I’m out of my apartment.
The morning is crisp and cold, too much for my thin and worn-out coat, but at least the car is heated.

The driver is very quiet: beside a quick nod while opening the car door for me, he hasn’t acknowledged me in any way—he’s simply driving along the busy streets of the city, completely focused on the road ahead of us.

The car looks expensive: leather seats, black, matte surfaces, tinted windows. That’s no surprise: Mr. Jeon seems really well off. I mean, in order to offer me ten thousand dollars a month just to feed off me, he must be.

It doesn’t take very long to get to his office: after a fifteen-minute drive, the chauffeur stops the car and jumps off to open my door. We’re right in the heart of the city: the street is lined with staggering skyscrapers, so tall they poke the clouded sky; men and women in tailored suits march on the sidewalks; the road is packed with cars and yellow cabs,
the crispy morning air filled with chatter, engines roaring, and loud honking.

My driver points at the building in front of us. It’s a tall structure made entirely of glass and steel. Above the revolving doors, there’s a big, metallic sign: it says Jeon Industries.

“Ask of Mr. Jeon at the front desk” the driver says.
“Someone will escort you to him. I’ll be here to take you back home when you’re done, Miss.”

I thank him profusely, and then I’m on my own.
By the time I’m at the front desk, telling my name to the male receptionist, I’m questioning my decision. Am I really that desperate? Am I willing to do to this just for some cash? The answer is yes to both questions, so I gladly accept the badge the receptionist is giving me, and I follow him past the turnstiles in the lobby.

“So…” I start, as we’re waiting for one of the elevators to get down here. There’s three. “Mr. Jeon. He works here, right?” Stupid question, I know: the building has his name on it. But I had no idea how to start the conversation.

“Founder and CEO” the receptionist confirms, giving me a side glance. “I thought you knew. You’re not here for a job interview?” I hesitate.

Technically I sort of am, so I nod. “Yeah. It was all last minute, so I didn’t have time to catch up with all the… info. You know.” The central elevator saves me: the doors open with a loud ring, letting out a man talking in a shiny earpiece.

Apparently, Mr. Jeon’s office is on the 80th floor. Eightieth.
And it takes less than a minute to get up there. The area is big, airy, and bright, with glass walls and fake plants in the corners. We walk past spacious cubicles, most of them empty, and we stop in front of a big, closed door. Not that it matters: it’s transparent, made of glass, just like the walls surrounding it. I can clearly see Mr. Jeon sitting at his desk, busy typing something on a matte laptop.