Page 108 of When Worlds Collide
Five minutes later we were pulling out of the basement car park in Jihoon’s blacked-out Audi. We slid easily through the scant traffic, making our way to ENT in Gangnam in probably the best time we ever had.
We parked underneath the building and made our way up in the keycard elevator. We did not hold hands. Cameras lined the route we took from basement to the top floor where the bigger offices were. I’d only been up here once. This was largely where the executives worked and our worlds did not overlap.
But, this morning they did. Or, perhaps,collidedwas a better word.
I wasn’t surprised that most of the building was dark, except for the top floor. The motion activated lights in the corridor were already on when we stepped out of the elevator, meaning astream of people had already passed this way not long before us. We followed the illuminated trail, although Jihoon knew exactly where he was going, while I felt like I was lagging further behind with every step. I did not belong here. My place was down in storage, or backstage, not high up in these sky offices.
Jihoon looked back at me, pausing as he noted how far behind I’d fallen. He didn’t say anything, didn’t hold out his hand to me, but his face urged me to keep walking.
Eventually, we stopped outside two massive doors. Jihoon knocked twice, but pushed open one of the doors without waiting for a response. I followed meekly behind.
My gaze darted around the large room, trying to take in as much detail as possible without lingering too long on any one thing.
It was a conference room. Because of course it would be. It even looked slightly similar to the one at Pisces. A modern, long oval table that could easily seat two dozen people occupied the centre of the room, surrounded by plush leather and chrome chairs. A massive screen hung on the far wall, complete with the same type of AV setup that had landed us in this mess in December – motion-tracking camera, mounted microphones. It was a chilling echo to walk in on.
The main difference, however, was that unlike in December, this conference room had people in it, all looking at us.
I counted six people, one of which was manager Youngsoo, another was the Director of Management – Director Choi – and the others I didn't recognise.
Jihoon paused, formally bowing and, after half a beat, I followed.
The Director of Management – basically the director of all the talent managers – smiled thinly at Jihoon, before indicating the seats opposite. He didn’t look at me at all.
Jihoon placed a gentle hand on the small of my back, guiding me to a chair before sitting down next to me.
The men – because they were all men – regarded us with varying expressions, but mostly they just looked… serious? I was almost a little surprised not to see any looks of downright condemnation. It made me wonder how many meetings just like this they had attended. How many fires they’d been in charge of putting out.
The Director began to speak, directing his words down the table to the other men, who all nodded along, some taking notes. I recognised the name ‘Pisces’, and words like ‘video’, and perhaps mostly awkwardly, ‘kiss’. But no one seemed especially scandalised. If anything, as I watched this conversation happening in front of me – certainly not inclusive of me – I marvelled at how nonplussed they all were. It confirmed to me that this was probably ‘old potatoes’ to them, as my mum would have phrased it. No big deal.
Another man began to speak, this time to Jihoon, who listened for a moment until a gap in the conversation.
“Excuse me, Yang byeonhosa-nim, could you please continue in English?” He deeply nodded his head. I looked at him in surprise. While he didn’t directly say the request for my benefit, it was pretty obvious.
A small, cowardly part of me wouldn’t have minded if the rest of the conversation had continued in Korean, because that would have meant I didn’t have to participate. But this did concern me. I was half of the reason we were all sat in this room.
The lawyer – Mr Yang – glanced at me briefly, before nodding and looking down at his notes.
“Very well.” He cleared his throat. “As Director Choi was saying, we have been made aware that the video footage covertly filmed in December, between Mr Baek and Miss Thompson, hasbeen leaked by persons as yet unknown. The video has been up for a number of hours and has been picked up by various media outlets.
“It is difficult to estimate how many times the video has been viewed, but it is likely to be in the high thousands. We have issued take-downs, but these are unlikely to be successful in the long term.
“It is the advice of counsel that ENT issues a press release to confirm the identify of Baek Jihoon, but not that of Miss Kaiya Thompson, and request privacy in what is obviously a private, personal matter.”
This time, I understood all of the words, but the meaning took longer to actually sink in. They were suggesting the company admit it was Jihoon, but not me.
Half of me was so relieved I could have slid out of my chair. The other half was still paralyzed with fear for Jihoon. Dismissing all thoughts of myself for a moment, this was still a dating scandal, and dating scandals can – and did – end careers. Although, I thought wryly to myself, usually only for the women.
“Your advice is to deny all knowledge of the girl?” Director Choi spoke, looking me over speculatively, but clearly directing his question further down the table.
The lawyer – Mr Kang – replied, “That would be our advice. Miss Thompson is not identifiable in the footage. We’ve known that since the original was passed to us. Baek Jihoon is clearly identifiable. There would be no benefit to denying his identity. But he is not under a contractual ban. Legally, there is no wrong doing.”
A smaller, older man I didn’t know, who sat in the middle of the table let out a derisive snort and said something I didn’t understand.
“English, please, Director Yoon.” Director Choi didn’t bother looking up from his notes.
The older man looked like he was chewing a bee, but replied in English. “Legally, no. Professionally? Very wrong.” He focused a narrow stare at Jihoon, ignoring me entirely. From beside me, I saw Jihoon hang his head. I felt a burn of anger, but bit my tongue.
“We’ve been over this, Director Yoon.” Director Choi sighed.
