Page 79 of Ruthless Arrangement

“I’m well aware,” Nico responds, voice carrying an edge only I can detect.

The senator excuses himself to greet another guest, and Nico steers me toward a quieter corner of the room. His grip is firm but not painful, a controlled display of displeasure.

“That was bold,” he murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear. “Mentioning Korean pharmaceuticals to a man whose committee oversees international drug enforcement.”

I meet his gaze. “I’m doing what you brought me here to do, observing while gathering information. Unless you’d prefer I stand silently and look pretty?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks, the only sign that I’ve struck a nerve. “There’s a difference between intelligence and recklessness, piccola.” The endearment sounds like a warning. “The senator has significant interests in maintaining certain trade relationships. Probing them directly is unwise.”

“Then perhaps you should be more specific about which questions I’m allowed to ask,” I counter, keeping my voice sweet while my eyes challenge him.

Before he can respond, a ripple of subtle movement sweeps through the room. Conversation volumes lower as all eyes shift toward the entrance. The Korean delegation has arrived.

The group is smaller than I expected, three men and one woman, all impeccably dressed. The woman’s gaze is sharp, assessing. They move with practiced coordination, the oldest man ahead as their apparent leader.

“Mr. Park,” Nico greets the leader, stepping forward with calibrated deference. “Welcome to Chicago.”

The older man inclines his head. “Mr. Varela. Your hospitality is appreciated.” His English is perfect.

“May I introduce Ms. Lea Song,” Nico continues, drawing me forward.

I bow slightly, enough to show cultural awareness. “?????,” I greet them in Korean. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Mr. Park’s eyebrows rise, reassessing me. “You speak Korean, Ms. Song?”

“Poorly,” I admit with a self-deprecating smile. “My mother insisted on teaching me, but I fear I’ve neglected practice.”

“Your mother is Korean?” asks the woman in the delegation, her gaze suddenly more intense.

“Yes,” I reply, watching for their reactions. “Eunji Song. She’s a professor at Chicago University.”

A look passes between the delegates so quickly I almost miss it, confirming my suspicion that my mother’s academic work intersects with their interests.

“Professor Song is highly regarded,” Mr. Park says. “Her work on shadow economies provides valuable insights.”

Nico touches me, a silent signal to tread carefully. I heed the warning, steering the conversation to safer topics. The exchange continues for several minutes, a masterclass in saying nothing while appearing engaged.Nico guides the conversation toward their real purpose.

“Perhaps we should discuss the proposal in more private settings,” he suggests, gesturing toward a door I hadn’t noticed before.

Mr. Park nods, but his gaze lingers on me. “Will Ms. Song be joining us?”

The question surprises me. Nico recovers instantly. “That would be unusual for these discussions.”

“But perhaps valuable,” counters the Korean woman, studying me. “A fresh perspective.”

“While Ms. Song’s insights are always appreciated,” Nico replies, “these particular matters require absolute discretion among primary parties. I’m sure you understand.”

Mr. Park smiles, accepting the polite refusal. “Of course. Business requires certain protocols.”

Nico nods to me. “Enjoy the party, Lea. I won’t be long.”

I watch them disappear through the private door, my mind buzzing. They know my mother. They were interested enough in me to research me. What exactly are they discussing in there? The implication of “specialty pharmaceuticals” and “shadow economies” hangs heavy in the air.

I mingle for a while, gathering snippets of conversation, observing the power dynamics, but my thoughts keep returning to the Koreans and my mother. What is she involved in?

Sometime later, the delegation emerges from the private room. As they pass me on their way out, the Korean woman pauses.

“Your mother speaks of you often,” she says, her voice pitched for my ears alone. “She would be proud of your poise today.”

---