Thanks for all the lovely reviews. (:
deux
"Mikan what do you mean by that? That's double the original price!" With a slam, I shut the door behind me. Kicking the loafers off my feet, my legs direct me to the couch before I slump down into it. If I had just continued standing for one more second, I would've collapsed and probably sink into coma.
Actually, that sounds kind of welcoming, considering my current situation.
"Well, you see. I-I don't know. B-b-but when I went to her office, Hotaru she seemed alright. A-as usual, she was busy with her work but that's normal! So I talked to her. She didn't respond. I continued to talk, she continued to ignore me. I couldn't sense anything wrong but then suddenly, she stopped me, wrote something on a piece of post-it and handed it to me. She wrote to me saying that I'm to inform you that the price had doubled t-to-the amount I just told you. It's all because of me. If I didn't talk so much—B-but on the plus side, she has extended the deadline to next week."
How is that good news?
"Jesus Christ." I mumble while my fingers clutch tightly onto my hair. Eight million yen was bad enough; sixteen million is practically a death sentence. Hotaru Imai doesn't want my money, she after my life.
"Mikan, do you know how much that amount of money can get me? I can buy myself a new Mercedes. Or perhaps a used Bentley. But I can't even buy those things now, and probably never will in a million years. So how do you expect me to pay that devil sixteen million yen in a bloody week?"
"Ruka, I'm so sorry. Look, it's my fault. It's all my fault. I can pay a-a quarter for you, alright? Natsume can pay" I can tell that she's almost close to tears. In a small voice, Mikan adds, "Please don't hate me."
Her sentence makes me pause. With a sigh and another round of running my fingers through my hair, I reply, making sure to keep my tone and temper in check. "It's alright. Everything's alright. I'll figure a way out. I don't hate you."
"I'm really sorry."
And then we become quiet for a rather long period of time. Neither of us knows what to say, but the both of us silently agree that something needs to be said before bidding each other goodbye. I wonder where she is right now. At home? At Natsume's? At her art gallery?
I clear my throat and am the first to break the awkward silence. "Mikan, can I ask you a favour?"
Mikan exhales a bottled up breath into the phone, probably thankful that I had found something to say. "Yes, anything. Anything at all."
"I would like a meeting with Hotaru. Preferably lunch. My treat."
I guess my request took her by surprise because the line goes silent for a minute or so. "I-I'm sorry, I think I heard you wrongly. What is it that you want me to do again?"
"Mikan, I'm positive you heard me just fine. I want a meeting with Imai."
"B-b-but why?"
I don't know. I just feel like meeting the person who's going to ruin my life vis-à-vis and have a little tête-à-tête. "I realise that I still owe her an apology. For ruining her skirt."
"Oh. Well, I can do that. I'll call you soon."
"Thank you. Oh and Mikan, try not to increase the amount of my debt, okay?"
Even though we're on the phone and she's not even in front of me in flesh and blood, I can tell that her face has flushed. I can picture her, her cell phone stuck to her ear and her cheeks getting tainted in red. "Y-yeah. S-sure. Once again, I'm really sorry. Bye." Just like that, she hangs up. I stare at my phone and my then-alive pet rabbit stares back at me innocently with its beady eyes. A sad smile tugs at my lips.
At least he doesn't need to deal with all these crap with me.
The phone call came three days later.
"She agreed. Lunch, tomorrow. Twelve. At the Imperial Dining. Don't be late. Hotaru hates tardiness." Mikan's cheery voice rings through the phone. Upon hearing the name of the restaurant, I feel my blood being drained from my face.
"Th-the Imperial Dining? That overrated Chinese restaurant that serves overly high priced food?" From what I heard, the price for a glass of plain, mineral water at the Imperial Dining can buy you a decent meal of McDonalds with drinks and a dessert.
"Yeah." Sensing my discomfort, Mikan's voice lowers in volume. "Is that alright for you?"
It takes me a while to actually force out an answer from my throat. "Yeah. Yeah, why not?"
Why not indeed.
The next day, hours before my big meeting with the devil spawn herself, I bury myself in piles of paperwork in the clinic. Though they can be done by the clerk, I need something to keep my mind off Hotaru Imai for the mean time or I might actually pee my pants. Natsume had called this morning, wishing me good luck even though he's positive that I will return a eunuch.
But seriously, what is it with him and eunuchs? According to Mikan, the worst threat Imai had thrown out was chopping off someone's limbs. She had never heard of Imai threatening to chop off someone's balls, contrary to Natsume's statements. Not that losing a limb is any better than getting castrated.
I check my watch for the fifth time since I sat down on the chair, only to find out that there's only ten minutes left before both the minute hand and the hour hand points at twelve. Cursing under my breath, I leap out from the chair and run out from the clinic, leaving pet owners and nurses shooting me quizzical looks.
The Imperial Dining restaurant is only fifteen minutes of walking distance away from the clinic. But I only have ten minutes left before twelve so I run as fast as my legs can take me. People steer clear from my way when they see me coming through, a few of them cursed loudly at me for being reckless. But I don't care. A take another peek at my watch, five minutes left.
Another three minutes later, I have arrived at the restaurant. Feeling triumphant at the fact that I'm not late, I hold onto the wall while I pant and wheeze, my lungs hungrily taking in oxygen. When I feel slightly better, I walk up to the maitre d', ignoring his disapproving frown at my dishevelled appearance and sweaty clothes.
"Reservation for two. Under Ruka Nogi."
The maitre d' checks his clipboard. "Miss Imai has already arrived ten minutes ago. It's rude for a gentleman to be late," he quips. My jaw falls open. It can't be! She's already here? Mikan's reminder rings loudly in my head.
"Hotaru hates tardiness."
But I'm not late, right?
"Come with me." I follow the maitre d'. As I scan the restaurant, I see no sign of the raven haired devil. The diners here are all well dressed and the whole place possesses this high-society aura that is rather intimidating to someone like me, who prefers to dine in small restaurants that serve inexpensive foodn it's not fine dining, but it's enough. The restaurant, despite its over-priced menu, is busy. The waiters are busy navigating themselves among the tables, jotting down orders or balancing dishes or empty plates in a trained fashion on their trays.
But I realize that we are not going to dine in the main area as the maitre d' walks further and further away from it. "Wait—where are we going?"
He doesn't answer but keeps walking. We reach a more secluded part of the restaurant where all the private dining rooms are. Even on a normal basis, private dining rooms will probably set you back a few thousand yen. But in Imperial Dining... My stomach twists itself into knots. The maitre d' stops in front of a door where a big, buff, menacing bodyguard is standing in front. He whispers something into one bodyguard's ear before the latter steps aside, gaining me access. The maitre d' gestures me to go in. With one steady exhalation, I prepare to face my doom. Hesitantly, I begin to take a few steps into the room. But with just one foot across the door, someone pushes me from behind, causing me to stumble into the room and unceremoniously drop onto the wooden floor with a flop.
Not unlike my very first meeting with Imai. Minus the coffee.
"You're late." A familiar voice travels to my ears. As always, her voice is as monotonous as ever. The two words uttered were spoken like facts; unbiased, unemotional facts.
As quick as I can, I stand up from my position on the floor, only to almost fall back the moment my eyes lie on the beauty sitting in front of me. Her short jet black hair, short, but long enough to be feminine, has been pushed back behind her ears, her fringe, rather messily cut, frames the top part of her face perfectly. Her purple eyes, trained onto the iPhone in her hands, are as captivating as ever. She raises a china teacup to her lips before taking a quiet sip.
As I walk towards her, my heart is thumping more and more rapidly with every step I take. Extending a hand, I smile nervously. All my previous hatred and disgust for this woman have disappeared completely. "Hello, Miss Imai. Thank you for meeting me."
Instead of accepting it into a handshake, Hotaru Imai waves it away as if it's a fly.
Flushed with embarrassment, I take a seat on the only chair available. On my right is a piece of paper with Hotaru Imai's orders listed down. With just one glance at it, I feel faint. Incredibly faint.
Stewed abalone with sea cucumber. Braised shark's fin with scallops and crab meat. Baked crab shell stuffed with lobster meat and crab roe. Stir-fried asparagus with abalone sauce. Handmade bird's nest egg tart. Double-boiled bird's nest with ginko and red dates. As for drinks, a pot of the finest quality of Darjeeling tea.
This is going literally going to burn a hole in my pocket. Then again, it's not like I'm already prepared to announce myself bankrupt.
"I'm aware that you'd be buying me lunch today, correct?" She asks without even taking the briefest glance at me. I place the paper back onto the table.
"Yes."
"Good." She places the cup back onto its saucer. At this moment, the door bursts open to admit a young waiter holding a tray with a plate of what seems like the first dish written on the paper.
"Stewed abalone with sea cucumber," the waiter announces before placing the plate in front of Hotaru Imai. She nods and finally, takes her eyes off her phone and picks up a fork and a knife to skilfully cut the large piece of abalone into smaller pieces before placing them into her mouth.
The waiter turns to me. "Would you like to order anything sir?"
As hungry as I am, I have to endure the growing pain in my stomach for an hour, at least after the meeting so that I can have some cheap, inexpensive street food. "W-well I-I-I—a glass of water would be alright."
He nods curtly, committing my order to memory, not like there's any difficulty in remembering an order of just one glass of water. "Anything else, sir? Food?"
"Just water will be alright." Another curt nod and he exits the room. Leaving me with Hotaru Imai all alone.
"So—uh—Miss Imai—ah—I'm really sorry about what happened the other day, in the café. I am really, really sorry about it." Placing a hand to my heart to show my sincerity, I continue. "It wasn't my intention to spill coffee all over your skirt. I am truly sorry. I just—I didn't know what happened. I was having a rather bad headache but—"
Before I can finish my sentence, Imai holds up a hand to halt me in midsentence. "Save it, excuses are for the incompetent." Having finished her food already, Imai places her cutleries neatly on the plate and dabs off any sauce on the corners of her lips.
I have no choice but to swallow the rest of my apology back into my throat. The waiter from before appears again, with another dish on his tray and also a glass of plain water. He places the bowl of braised shark fin in front of Imai before walking towards me to hand me my water. From the look he's giving me, he must be thinking I'm some poor lad who's too intimidated to receive Imai's generous offer to buy me lunch.
Obviously he doesn't' know that I'm paying for everything she's having.
I scratch the nonexistent itch on my neck. "Miss Imai, is there anyway, anyway at all that I can do to make up for my careless blunder?"
"You could," this time, Imai looks at me directly in the eyes. Her beautiful amethyst eyes look like two still, tranquil pools of purple water. A tug on a corner of her lips forms a smirk on her face. It is then I realize how similar she is to Natsume. Both equally cold, though at least Natsume has a warm side; both have the same jet black hair; both of them have very strange colours for their irises, one could call them gem-like; both of them enjoy smirking more than smiling and the both of them are incredibly rich.
I wonder if they are related. Though I highly doubt that, seeing Natsume's contempt towards her.
"Pay me 16,837,941 yen. Round it up to 16,900,000 yen"
Her price almost caused me to choke on my water. After a few seconds of wild coughing, I suck in a deep breath. "B-but Mikan told me th-that it was only 16,400,000!"
"It was," she replies calmly, "but the rate of conversion from dollar to yen has increased."
My fingers run through my hair. "Oh come on, seriously, no offense, but I don't think that a skirt can cost this much! It's a skirt, made of cotton or silk or what-not. Not gold! Even if it is limited edition and by Marc Jacobs, I highly doubt that it costs eight million yen, moreover sixteen million."
"It doesn't." Again her voice is calm. Not knowing if it's the calmness or what she said, I'm surprised. My eyes widen. But before I can even assume that she might lower her price or just cancel the whole debt, Imai smirks once more. She finishes the last spoonful of shark's fin stew in her bowl. "It's not a limited edition either, because that very skirt was personally designed by Mr Jacobs himself, as a gift for my twenty-first birthday. In a way, it's priceless." Her smirk widens even more when she sees my face turning whiter than a sheet.
"B-b-but you said that it was limited edition. Not to mention 2005."
"I may have toned it down a little. And I did turn twenty-one in the year 2005." Cool. Calm. Collected. God I hate this woman.
In an attempt to calm myself down, I drain the contents in my glass. I need alcohol. At this moment, the waiter appears once more, with what assume is the stuffed crab shell. I grab onto the waiter's sleeve, he looks at me, clearly surprised by my action. "Get me a bottle of whiskey. The stronger the better."
The waiter furrows his eyebrow before yanking his sleeve away from my grasp, rather rudely, might I add. "I'm sorry, sir. But we do not serve scotch or any other hard liquor in this restaurant, for your information. Perhaps a bottle of rice wine?"
I nod. "Get me the finest one you have."
"As you wish." And then he's gone. I turn back to Imai.
"Imai," I gulp, constantly reminding myself to calm down, "I am truly sorry about what happened, alright? It was an accident. I didn't mean it. I never meant to spill coffee on your skirt, or on anyone's clothes for that matter. But please, can you please not make me pay that ridiculous amount of money for just a skirt? Even if it's by Marc Jacobs. This lunch is already enough to leave me penniless!"
As always, her face remains emotionless. "That is not my problem. And if this meal really will leave you penniless, perhaps you should have thought about it before proposing to buy me lunch. But let me tell you, I will not pay for this, because you were the one one who promised to pay for it. As for the matter of the skirt and your debt," Imai leans back into her chair, "perhaps you should have thought twice before pouring coffee all over it."
"It was an accident! Jesus Christ! I didn't want that to happen." This devil of a woman is impossible. Seriously, which part of the word 'accident' doesn't she understand?
The wine arrives, along with Imai's asparagus. After serving her the dish, the waiter uncorks the bottle of wine before pouring some of it into a wineglass, then another one, probably assuming that Imai will be having one. But before he could place the second glass in front of her, I snarl at him. "Give them here. She's not having any wine. Give it to me."
Though a bit baffled, the waiter hands me the glass. I gulp down the entire glass of wine in a matter of seconds before draining the second one. The wine is fine, with a strong but smooth taste. Already I feel better by a bit.
Just a bit.
"You can leave." Upon hearing Hotaru's command, the waiter proceeds to collect her plate with the empty crab shell before bowing and leaving.
"Miss Imai, for the umpteenth time, I am sorry about what happened."
"Fifth," she interjects suddenly. I frown. "That was the fifth time you've said you're sorry. Not the umpteenth."
Oh. So she was paying attention to me!
"Not the point. The point is, I am sorry; I would like to make it up to you by treating you to lunch today, which is what you are having now, for that's the only thing I can give you. I can't pay you the amount of money you've demanded, especially not by a week's time. It's preposterous. It's ridiculous." I drain my third glass of wine and cross my arms in front of my chest defiantly, tempted to utter the clichéd "take it or leave it".
She ignores me by gracefully picking her cup and sipping from it, and then wipes her mouth with a napkin. "Well then, we shall meet in court. Which if we do, I will be asking for a much higher price, say 30 million yen? Given you know who I am, you'd also know that I can—how they say—pull some strings? Eventually, I will win the case and you will be in my debt for the rest of your life." The last four words were uttered in such a low voice that I literally feel goosebumps running up my arms with every single syllable said.
This is going nowhere. I ruffle my hair and down goes the fourth glass of wine. I give up. "Fine, you win. But all I'm asking is for you to understand my situation. I don't earn millions of yen per month. I have to pay rents and bills. I guess I'm just asking you to just—" Just what? What do I want from her, besides a smaller debt? "—forgive me, please?"
Again, the waiter appears. Holding the last two dishes, the desserts. Imai takes a bite out of the egg tart before looking straight at me. I'm enchanted by her purple eyes once more. "In other words, you are asking me to be a kind, understanding woman with the slightest of empathy, who'll give you her forgiveness?"
Hesitantly, I nod my head. That wasn't what I was thinking but since she'd put it that way. There's a short pause of silence between us. I hear my heart thumps against my ribcage.
The annoying smirk appears once more. My heart falls. Imai takes another bite out of her egg tart. "Nogi, I am not a kind, understanding woman with any bit of empathy. I am Hotaru Imai. I don't forgive and I never forget."
That's when I sink in to my seat, knowing that I had lost the battle.
And I have learnt a valuable lesson: you should never mess with Hotaru Imai.
Ever.
When we exit the restaurant, the sky is dark and rain is pouring down heavily. Imai is wearing a black trench coat over her brown long-sleeved turtleneck and white pants. From what I gather, all of them are clothes from high-end brands. For someone who cares nothing but money, she does spend quite a lot on clothes. Not to mention, she has great fashion sense. I wonder if she had picked her outfit by herself or with the help of a stylist. Then again, I can't imagine Imai splurging on a stylist.
Her bodyguard is standing behind her. He's talking on the phone to the chauffeur, telling him to bring the car to the front of the restaurant while darting his eyes everywhere, wary of any sign of danger.
"Thank you for the lunch." As always, her voice sounds monotonous, half-hearted and with that irritating you-worth-nothing attitude. I reply with a curt nod.
As I prepare to leave, Imai takes a step forward into the rain, a purple umbrella in her hand. At the very same moment, a loud motorbike zooms by at high-speed.
"Imai, watch out." I call out. Without even thinking twice, I pull her back into a tight embrace with my back facing the road. The motorbike rushes past us in a roar, its velocity sending puddles of rainwater splashing onto us, or mainly, my back.
I pull Imai away but my hands still remain at her shoulders. "What the hell, Imai? I'd expect someone like you to have the least bit of caution, if not empathy. You could have gotten killed." I hate this woman alright, but that doesn't mean I'll see her to her death without even attempting to save her. I am, in a way, a doctor.
She blinks at me. "Actually, I would've gotten wet, not dead. I was aware about the coming of the motorbike and I was about to take a few steps back if you haven't acted with such rashness."
"Rash?" So much for saving her life. I remove my hands from her shoulder and rub my temples with my fingers. "You're a bitch, you know that?"
I stare into her eyes, searching for rage, anger or shock for what I've just called her. But she just replies with a curt "I've heard."
A silver Bentley pulls up by the sidewalk, which I assume is Imai's ride. She's a bitch alright, but she's a rich bitch. Her bodyguard opens the door and holds her umbrella for her as she gets in. I turn to leave but I hear someone calling out to me. It's her bodyguard.
"Miss Imai would like you to know that she has reverted your debt to your previous amount, which is eight million yen. She expects it to be paid in full by next Saturday."
I eye the large man carefully. "Just eight million? Not eight million and one?" he bends his head to Imai to gain a confirmation before nodding his head towards me. A smile tugs on my lips and I allow it to take place on my face. The bodyguard gets into the car and I watch as the silver car drives away.
Shaking my head, I run into the rain, not caring that I'm getting soaked or that I'm at a risk of catching a cold. My stomach is craving for a hot bowl of ramen noodles.
As I run my mind keeps thinking, maybe Imai has a heart after all.
You like? *troll face*