Page 11 of A World Apart
“Trust me, babes, you want to get this order.”
I unfolded my arms and instead put my hands on my hips.
“Ok, you’ve got my attention.”
“And then I need you to deliver it to Studio 3”. She grinned at me. She knew what she was doing.
“Hisstudio?” I cleared my throat.
Becka laughed at me. “You haven’t said his name even once, have you? I noticed it when you were telling me the story this morning.” I narrowed my eyes at her and pursed my lips.
“Jihoon.” I forced out, but despite my best effort, I could feel my face and neck grow hot. That didn’t stop Becka from laughing at me again.
“Yes well,he, his team, and TK need to eat, so…” she made a shooing gesture with her hand as she turned back to her laptop, “off you pop.”
“I love and hate you in equal measure,” I hissed, but grinned. She didn’t look back up at me as sheblew me a kiss.
I walked towards the elevator, but decided to take the stairs instead, to work off the nervous energy coursing through me. I had to play it cool, I decided. Aloof. Like it was no big deal. Only cool cucumbers here. I repeated this mantra the whole way down to the reception.
By the time I’d opened the door to the airy lobby, I had almost convinced myself that I was capable of being as cool as I told myself I was going to be.
The receptionist was sat at the imposing desk, but she was on the phone, talking into her headset and paying absolutely no attention to me.
“Um, I’m here to take this-” I gestured at the multiple bags and boxes stacked up on the counter, the tell-tale symbol of the restaurant stamped all over them, but she impatiently waved me off, not bothering to look at me.
I shrugged and began to artfully weave my arms through the bag handles and carefully balance the boxes within the cradle of my arms. I considered myself something of a master at this, from years of practice of refusing to make more than one trip from the car to the front door with all the shopping. Mama didn’t raise no two-trip chump.
I’d just arranged myself to my satisfaction and was making my way over to the elevator when − “You, stop!” A voice stopped me in my tracks. Annoyed, I turned back to the reception desk, my arms aching with being so overburdened.
“You can’t take it up like that!” The receptionist looked scandalised. She was a well-coiffed woman in her mid-40s and I’d seen her telling off a senior sound tech for stomping muddy boots across the lobby floor, so she clearly gave zero fucks about any kind of chain-of-command in this building. Not that I counted as anything higher than, say, plankton.
I just looked at her dumbly. “Um…” I trailed off. The receptionist… Rhonda? Shonda? Belinda? She tutted at me... Loudly.
“Come back here and take the hospitality cart. Were you planning on slapping an armload of take-out bags down in front of a client?” The look she gave me rather implied this was a grave offense, similar to, say, murder.
Quickly, I walked back over to the big desk and unceremoniously dumped the bags on the countertop, trying to ignore the look she gave me. She imperiously threw a thumb over her shoulder to where I could see a two-tier, wheeled cart pushed up against the wall. I rushed round to grab it and then unbagged the containers, bowlsand boxes. Luckily, the take-out place had supplied utensils. I turned back to thank the receptionist and was able to see her name tag.
Donna. Damn, I wasn’t even close.
“Thanks, Donna.” I shot her a grin, which she did not return as she was already on another call.
A couple of minutes later, I was approaching the door to Studio 3 and I could feel all the blood had drained from my face. My hands as well, judging by how suddenly cold they were. I was really committing to this whole, ‘cool as a cucumber’, thing.
I looked in at the porthole window to make sure I wasn’t about to interrupt anything ground-breaking. Trevor Kyle was fiddling with the soundboard and wearing headphones. I could see everyone else was seated around the room, either on their phones or chatting idly.
I took a deep breath. And knocked.
Fuck me,helooked up. We locked eyes and he smiled. Quickly, I ducked my head down and puffed out a breath before I forgot to breathe. Looking back up, I could see Trevor Kyle hadn’t moved. I felt conflicted about if I should just go in, or not.
Just to be sure, I knocked again. Still nothing, he must not be able to hear me. I bit my lip, looking down at the cart, heart hammering with my unease.
Just then, the door opened, taking the decision out of my hands.
There he stood, framed in the doorway and so close to me that had he been anyone else, I would have instinctively taken a step back. As it was, it was the weirdest sensation − I felt a pull to step forward, like we were opposite magnets suspended in motion.
“Hi,” he said, smiling down at me. He’d taken his mask and hat off and it was almost too much to have the full effect of his startling beauty mere inches from me.
Luckily, I remembered to act like a normal person. “Hi,” I said, my voice breathy, “I hope I’m not interrupting. I have lunch,” I said, gesturing down at the trolley. He looked down to where I was holding the trolley with one hand.
