JENNIE

Persistent bachelorette Lisa Manoban sat across the desk from me, a magnificent sight in a bland room. She'd come for me, she said, but I heard the alternate meaning in her words.

I see you, Jennie Kim.

As it had on our first introduction, my heart skipped hearing my name from her mouth. My full name, this time—which I'd never given her. Saturday night, I'd gotten the sense she'd seen deeper in me than others. Now, that suspicion veered dangerously close to truth. "How did you find me?" I asked.

"Luckily, we have a few friends in common."

My throat dried. "You asked Bohyun about me? My best friend's husband—who is also a close friend to my husband? What makes you think that's okay?"

"Don't worry." She winked. "I didn't give anything away."

Her insinuation wasn't lost on me. She was trying to rile me again, to get me to admit there was something to give away. I sat back in my seat. "Why are you here?"

"Two reasons. First, to apologize if I made you uncomfortable the other night. I know I came on strong—I've never been one to mince words." Lowering her voice, she continued, "It wasn't my intention to . . . well. It caught me off guard, seeing you again. We can blame that run-in on fate."

She sounded sincere, though an apology was the last thing I'd expected.

"I appreciate that," I said carefully.

"To be clear, I'm not sorry for what I said . . . only if I alarmed you. I had the distinct feeling you might run out on me any moment, and it made me—"

Yuna entered the office. "Here you are, Ms. Manoban," she said, carrying a tray to my desk. I slid my notebook out of the way to make space, and she offered us each a steaming mug.

"Thank you, Yuna," I said.

As she took a sip, Lisa stared at me over the rim, a hand cupped around her coffee. Her eyes narrowed as if she was contemplating having me for her next meal.

I shuddered. In unison, we glanced at Yuna. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked.

We were giving too much away. The way I looked at Lisa couldn't have been half as bad as how she looked at me. I held out my notepad. "Can you call these places and find out the cost of event space for the Bachelor and Bachelorette Meet and Greet?"

Lisa leaned forward and intercepted the pad, scanning my scribbled notes. "Have it at the Gryphon Hotel," she said. "The other two venues will gouge you and cut corners."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"It's part of my job to know these things." She set my notebook in her lap, slipped a black business card from the inside of her jacket, and handed it to Yuna. "Here's my info. When you book the space, tell Amber to call me about the details."

"Who's Amber ?" I alleged as if she'd made up the name off the top of her head.

"The event coordinator," she said. "Do you have the budget for a place like the Gryphon?"

I exchanged a look with Yuna. "It's good publicity for them," I said. "If they're smart, they'll offer us a discount."

"They won't," Lisa said. "But Amber will. For me."

Yuna took her business card but left my notebook. "I'll get right on it," she said and spun on her heel.

Amber. I'd never cared less for a name than I did in that moment. Amber represented warmth, glow, syrupy sweetness. She had a working—and perhaps personal—relationship with the person sitting in front of me. A person offering me—what? A working relationship as well?

She was supposedly here to talk about the feature, but so far, we'd only discussed the very heated, very dangerous topic of us.

"Decent coffee for an office," Lisa remarked, setting her mug on my desk.

I cleared my throat. "What's the second reason?"

"Sorry?" she asked.

"You said you were here for two reasons. The first was pointless—a harmless conversation is no reason to apologize."

"Ah." She flipped my notebook over in her lap and ran the pad of her thumb over a list of local florists. "Are you this direct with everyone?" She asked. "Or just me?"

Just you.

That seemed like the only way to handle someone as charming as Lisa. "I'm sure you're busy. I don't want to waste your time."

She raised her eyes to mine. "How about you let me decide how to spend my time."

"Suit yourself," I said. "What should we talk about then? The weather? The Bulls' season?"

She massaged her jaw, closed my notebook, and slid it back onto the desk. "I came to let you know I'll do the article."

Even though that was the reason for our meeting, and it didn't exactly come as a shock, a sense of relief hit me hard enough to make me pause. Was it only because of what her participation would do for my career? It would mean more time with her, time that was not only justifiable but encouraged.

"You don't look as happy as I'd hoped," she said. "My secretary said Diane has asked me to participate four years in a row. Was I wrong to assume you'd try again?"

"No," I said carefully. "It's not that. I'm just not sure it's such a good idea."

She extended one arm to fix her cuff. "Why not, Jennie?"

I couldn't explain why, and she knew that. Admitting my fear of being alone with her was as good as acknowledging the attraction between us. "Why now?" I asked. "After four years of turning us down, what made you change your mind?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" she stared at me. "I think you know the reason."

My face flushed under her full attention. Afraid she'd think she was making me nervous, I held her gaze instead of turning away. If we'd be working together, I couldn't let her get under my skin so easily.

As if reading my mind, she added, "I never mix business and pleasure. I'll be completely professional during working hours. You have my word."

I narrowed my eyes, once again trying to determine if she was being sincere. "I'm not sure I believe you."

"You should, Jennie," she said, sitting back in her seat. "Because I don't like repeating myself."

The deepening of her voice coupled with her candor made me believe her whether I wanted to or not. Her words, her passive expression, the way she flexed and curled one hand—said it all.

I am not a kind of person who needs to lie to get what I want.

"All right then," I said. "You're in."

"Do you need to run it by anyone?"

"No. According to everyone else, you're a shoo-in."

"And according to you?" she asked.

"I don't really have a choice," I said. "The magazine wants you. I want Diane's position. If I deliver you, it looks good for me."

She studied my face in a way that made me wonder if that wasn't the answer she'd expected. It wasn't as if I could come out and admit the prospect of getting to know her better excited me. Not to her—not even to myself.

"It's your article," she said. "If you don't want me in it, tell me now. I'll find you someone even better to fill my spot, and you'll still look good."

Someone better? She'd just lobbed the ball back to my side of the court. Your move. How would it look if I went back to Beman without Lisa Manoban? Not good, that was for sure.

"Mingyu Ayers," Lisa said.

"Excuse me?"

"A friend of mine. He's a local photographer, but she also freelances for SURFER magazine. Better looking than me, and more interesting—just don't tell him I said that. I'll get him here for you by tomorrow." Lisa started to take her cell from inside her blazer. The sunlight from one tiny window was enough to make her eyes glint. "Just tell me you don't want me."

I wasn't a liar—even if I sensed I wasn't being completely honest with myself. "I can't tell you that."

She answered with a large, boyish grin, so pure and unassuming that I had to flex my hands against my thighs to release tension. I'd never seen a smile like that before. It made me want to laugh and hug and kiss her all at once.

"Let's get started then," I said, pushing down the troublesome impulses. I stood and reached across the desk to pick up my notebook. "If you have a few minutes now, I can cover the basics like career path and—"

She bolted up from her chair. "What the fuck is that?"

I froze. The sharpness of her tone mirrored the concern etched in her face—and her laser focus on my arm. I followed her gaze to my elbow and lower bicep, where fresh, purple bruises had bloomed.

Shit. I'd completely forgotten they were the reason I'd worn my cardigan today. Not only were they unsightly and unprofessional, they also invited questions I didn't know how to answer.

I wrapped my left hand over the marks. "It looks worse than it is."

"I . . ." Her jaw set as she ran a hand through her perfectly styled hair, tousling it. She stared at my arm as if physically incapable of looking away. "Christ, Jennie. I'm—I'm so sorry."

Sorry? I cinched my eyebrows, trying to read her expression. Why did she look as if the world had suddenly come crashing down around us? Why did a few minor bruises mean anything to her?

As I waited in silence, her expression grew pained. This definitely meant something to her, as if she'd hurt me herself.

Oh.

Our argument on Jisoo's terrace. She'd taken my arm and pulled me back to face her. She thought she'd done this to me?

"Lisa," I started, shaking my head. I took my cardigan off the back of my chair. "No, no, no . It's not what you think."

She startled, then strode around the side of my desk and perched on the edge in front of me. "Let me see."

"Lisa—"

"Jennie, what did I just tell you?" She took my sweater away and set it on the desk. "I hate to repeat myself."

I wasn't sure what she was asking for. I let her take my wrist, and she gently tautened my arm. Her dark, heavy eyebrows met in the middle of her forehead as she examined the bruises.

Contrary to her tender hold on my wrist, she demanded, "When I'm around you, I lose all sense of—"

"Stop it," I said. "You didn't do this."

She was quiet for a beat as her fingers marginally tightened around my wrist. After a moment, she met my eyes. The fire behind them told me for some reason, what I'd just said was worse than letting her believe she'd done this. "Then who the fuck did?"

I drew back slightly at her curse. I'd never had someone address me with such vehemence. And over what? she had no right to worry about me—and those who did had never looked the way Lisa did in that moment . . . teeth clenched, nostrils flared, biceps twitching. As if it took everything in her to conceal her anger.

I didn't even know where to begin or how to explain, only that I had to. "There was this man," I started. "After Jisoo's party. He was drunk—"

"Jennie." Lisa's tone softened. "Tell me the truth. Is this . . . was it him?"

"Who?"

"Your husband."

"Oh my God, no ," I said. "Never. Taehyung wouldn't hurt a fly."

"That's a common response from a victim of domestic violence. You can tell me. I'll take care of—this."

Take care of it? What did that even mean? I tried to pull my arm back, but she held it steady. "I know it sounds far-fetched, but it's the truth. Taehyung isn't even in town. I told you—he's in New York for a case."

Lisa frowned. "A case?"

"He's a lawyer." I managed to slip my wrist from her grip and immediately regretted it once my skin cooled, devoid of her touch. "I think it's related to Taehyung's work, because the man who did this was waiting for Taehyung outside my apartment. He found me instead."

"He knows where you live?" Lisa's jaw looked tense enough to snap. "For Christ's sake, Jennie. I should've seen you home on Saturday."

I lowered my voice. "You should have done exactly what you did—nothing ," I said. "I'm not your responsibility."

She lowered her hand to grip the lip of the desk. "What happened?"

"He grabbed me when I tried to get away and made some threat about getting Taehyung to free his brother from jail. I don't know all the details."

Lisa massaged the bridge of her nose. "Why not? What'd your husband say?"

I sighed. "I haven't told him. I didn't want to worry him while he's out of town."

"You didn't want to worry him? You don't think your safety is of the utmost . . ." She paused. "You slept alone last night? The whole weekend? He could've come back—"

"I'm fine," I said softly and touched her forearm. When her expression eased, butterflies twittered in my tummy. Apparently, Lisa's urge to protect me wasn't one-sided. I didn't like seeing her upset, either—but being able to soothe her fulfilled something primal in me I wasn't ready to acknowledge. "Really," I promised. "My arm doesn't hurt."

She frowned, looking skeptical, but it was true. Vivid as they were, the marks didn't bother me.

"What about tonight?" she asked, her voice somehow both gentle and gravelly. "You can't stay alone."

"I'm not," I said. "Taehyung flies home later this afternoon."

That seemed to be enough to separate Lisa from her rage—and from me. She stood, taking a few steps away from my desk. "I should get going," she said.

"Oh. Okay. Sure." I rose from my chair, but she was already halfway across the room. "We can do the interview another time," I said, trying not to sound disappointed. "Unless you want to call the whole thing off."

She had her hand on the knob when she paused. Without looking back, she said, "I don't."

With my answering flood of relief, it became apparent: I didn't want that, either.