Chapter Eighteen

Houjun debated calling Yui to tell her to go ahead and eat first. He wasn't going to be in town anytime soon, that was for sure. Even a crippled, blind snail could move faster than the current speed at which the bus was nudging forward.

Fifteen minutes had passed, and the site of the accident was just ahead. Houjun noted with relief that the traffic policemen were trying to clear the wreckage to one side, and that the cars around the bend seemed to be moving off. He was just bringing out his cell phone to key a quick message to his lunch date when something compelled him to look slowly up, and through the slightly dusty windows of the bus…

…at the number-plate of the motorcycle, which a uniform-clothed leg was currently blocking. Unthinkingly, Houjun strained to see past the obstacle, nearly dropping his bag in the process. His compact umbrella rolled out of his half-opened briefcase and thudded merrily down the aisle of the bus, heading for the steps leading the door. Gritting his teeth at his carelessness, Houjun clasped the bag shut and got up to retrieve the errant object, smiling apologetically at the young girl standing in his way as he shouldered past her. Just as his fingers closed around the umbrella, he glanced out the clear panel, the slightly crooked numbers and letters stuck to the back of the motorcycle catching his eye.

Holy—

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Yui uncrossed her legs, and crossed them again, a slim hand reaching up to flick back the few loose golden tendrils that had escaped from the braid. She ran her tongue over her teeth, absentmindedly noting the admiring stares that she was drawing from the men situated in the various spots in the restaurant.

"What's keeping him?" she muttered, glancing at her watch again for the umpteenth time. "He's never late."

Houjun aside, she hoped Tasu Leika would come. The model had seemed extremely unwilling this morning, her reluctance bordering on rudeness. Even though Tasu Leika had agreed to come, Yui wouldn't put it past her as saying it only to get Yui off her back. Strange how there had been a change in tone after she had mentioned Houjun. Perhaps the photographer and the model were better acquainted than she had assumed.

Yui had seen the pictures of the fresh-faced, fiery-headed young woman, and knew that this one had the possibility of making it big. She was going to hunt down the model and convince Tasu Leika to join even if it meant stalking the victim. The national competition had previously proved an immense affair, rife with talent scouts and movie directors, and there was no reason that this year would be any different.

Yui, persistent, spontaneous and bubbly by nature, had found her niche when she had switched from part-time modeling to administrative work, in one of the biggest talent/modeling agencies, no less. She loved working behind the scenes, planning the photograph books, the advertisements and the competitions. It had been two years since she had made the transition from being in front of the camera to being one of the milling crowd, and the exhilaration and satisfaction of seeing the events she had been in charge of take place smoothly hadn't waned.

Plus she didn't like seeing blatant opportunities go to waste.

She tapped her fingers on the table impatiently, signaling the waitress over to ask for another cup of coffee. Five minutes more and she would call Houjun. Meanwhile, she would just smile at the rather charming-looking young man in the corner of the room. He had been eyeing her since she had come in, and Yui was pleased to note that he hadn't taken his attention off her once.

What a sweet boy he is.

At that very moment, he shifted his gaze to glance behind her.

She took the thought back. The man's jaw had fallen to the table, he was positively drooling, and he wasn't even looking at her! Mildly annoyed, she turned back just as the waitress arrived with the coffee on a silver tray. As the saucer, and then the cup filled with the aromatic black beverage, was set down, Yui smiled her thanks before reaching automatically for the milk.

The waitress moved away, and at that very moment, a collective silence seemed to fall upon the room. Yui looked up from the teapot her fingers had just wound around.

She blinked.

Blinked again.

And then she shot out of her seat, nearly knocking over the cup of coffee in her excitement, a broad grin splitting her face as she waved frantically at the new arrival. "LEEEEEIKAAAA-CHAAAAN!"

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Genrou blanched. Behind him, trying rather unsuccessfully to look unobtrusive, Miaka had turned the color of milk.

"Who's that?" she hissed as she all but grabbed a menu from the closest table, plunking herself down into the chair and shoving the day's entrees in her face to block the fact that she was conversing with him. "Is that your date?"

"Ob-vi-ous-ly," he answered through gritted teeth, feeling the frogs in his stomach begin to hop as every eye in the room seemed to turn on him. "What, do you think she just wants my autograph?"

The blond woman in the middle of the room was standing now, jumping up and down excitedly and waving to the empty seat beside her. Genrou felt a pang of relief so inexplicable when he realized that she was alone.

All the way here, he had questioned himself if he was doing the right thing. Miaka's warped logic had begun to make less and less sense the more he wandered into the dangerous territory of the what-ifs that could happen. What if he didn't even make it in the competition? What if he was told that he was too ugly and was asked to get lost? What if he told Houjun the truth? What if Houjun hated him? What if he—

"Come here!" the blonde gestured enthusiastically, her shout echoing in the suddenly silent restaurant. Genrou noted belatedly that it was a rather classy place, and was suddenly glad that he had taken Miaka's advice not to wear jeans.

*Flashback

"The horror!" Miaka exclaimed, swooning dramatically over the heap of clothes that she had discarded on the bed for being unsuitable. "Jeans?! You might as well wear flannel! Cotton wool!"

*End of Flashback

Taking a deep breath, he wove his way through the tables, trying his best to ignore the stares of all the people—men and women alike—that was fixed on his progress forward. If he stayed calm and cool, there would be nothing he couldn't handle, right?

"Hey!" Yui greeted warmly, extending a slim, delicate, Swatch-watch-encased hand. "I'm so glad you came! Here, sit down, sit down!"

Genrou obeyed, suddenly feeling his courage drain from him in the face of the woman's exuberance. He smiled weakly at her and took the proffered hand, shaking it limply before returning his arms to their position across his chest, entangling up with the beaded handbag Miaka had insisted he bring.

"Well," Yui continued, beaming at him as her fingers descended upon a cup of coffee, the steam still rising from the surface of the black liquid. She lifted the drink and took a long sip from it. Genrou marveled privately at the temperature-resistant quality of her mouth. "Well," he echoed foolishly.

She set the cup back down on the saucer, before clasping her hands and looking thoughtfully at him. "I know you're not keen on the National Modeling Competition. I hope to convince you otherwise."

Well, at least –someone– is straightforward around here.

Yui suddenly pushed her chair back, leaning down to take something. Genrou gulped as the terry-blue tank top revealed a generous cleavage, and hastily turned his attention to the pepper and salt bottles on the table.

See no evil. Thou shalt see no evil!

A loud thump on the table nearly made him jump out of his skin. Yui had retrieved a professional-looking, mahogany case, and was currently pursing her lips as she keyed in a combination. The case snapped open, and she hefted a slim stack of documents out, thumbing quickly through them before fishing out a single sheet of paper covered with black print too small to be read from where he was sitting. She grinned at his confused look.

"I've already ordered. While we're waiting for the food, let me tell you about this event…"