Chapter 7: A Rabbit Against A Tiger

Emily’s POV

Why?

Why do these things keep happening to me? Do I need to go to a shaman?

I just hit Jin Baek, and with enough force to make him grunt in pain!

He was rubbing his shoulder where my bag had connected, his expression a thundercloud of dark intensity. He was dressed in another impeccably tailored dark suit, looking utterly out of place on the bustling sidewalk outside his rival's headquarters.

My blood ran cold. “Mr. Baek? What are you— Why did you grab me like that? I could have maced you!”

“A hazard I apparently should have considered,” he bit out, his voice low and laced with an anger that seemed barely contained. His blue eyes were like ice chips, scanning my face, then flicking up towards the towering Valkyrie building behind me. “You had a nice chat with Ilay?”

The question wasn't a question. It was an accusation, wrapped in ice and delivered with a quiet fury that should have made me shrink. But the adrenaline from swinging my purse, the residual annoyance from Ilay's flirting, and the sheer absurdity of being ambushed on the street coalesced into a sharp, defiant anger of my own.

"Mr. Baek," I said, my voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that was entirely false. "Are you following me? That's not very 'Principal'-like behavior. It's a bit... stalkerish. Does Clause 8.1 forbid you from lurking outside buildings? Or are the rules just for the 'Companion'?"

His eyes narrowed, the ice in them turning glacial. "Do not deflect. You were in his office for forty-seven minutes."

"Oh, you timed it! How thorough." I crossed my arms over my chest, tapping my foot impatiently on the pavement. "Yes, I was. It's called an interview. It's this thing journalists do where we ask people questions and they answer. Sometimes they even try to flirt, and we have to professionally decline because we're there to work. A novel concept, I know."

He took a step closer, invading my personal space. The scent of his cologne wrapped around me. “What happened with us was also part of your interview?”

I frowned. “I don’t go around fucking the people I interview, Mr. Baek. What happened to you was a special case, but we can always destroy that contract if you are not happy with me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "This is not a game, Emily."

“I’m not playing games, Mr. Baek. I’m simply stating facts,” I shot back. “I’m a journalist. I am doing my job. The job I had long before I ever stumbled into your ridiculously complicated life. You don't get to dictate my career."

"I dictate the terms of our agreement," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "And that agreement does not include cozy chats with my competitors."

"Cozy?" I let out a short, incredulous laugh. "He has a lion's head on his wall, Jin! It was about as cozy as a tax audit. And for the record, the 'chat' was about his art collection and his charity work. You know, the story my editor assigned me? Or did you think I was in there comparing notes on the best way to avoid gold-diggers?"

His expression didn't soften, but I saw the slightest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Good. He wasn't as all-knowing as he pretended to be.

"I am trying to do my job," I repeated, my tone firm and leaving no room for argument. "The one that actually pays my rent. Your... situation... is a separate, bizarre side project. They do not get to mix. So you can call off your private investigators and stop tracking my phone, because the next time you grab me on the street, I won't use my purse. I'll use my pepper spray. And I can promise you that will be a much bigger breach of our precious 'facade' than me doing a perfectly normal interview."

I held his gaze, my own blazing with a challenge. I was done being the scared rabbit. He might have the money and the power, but I had the righteous indignation of someone who was just trying to do her damn job.

None of us spoke; we knew that if we did, we would probably cuss each other out. I could see the calculations happening behind his icy blue eyes, the reassessment of the woman standing her ground before him. The anger in his posture seemed to slowly drain away, replaced by a look of grudging, exasperated respect.

"You are..." he began, then stopped, shaking his head slightly as if searching for the right word. "Impossible."

"Thank you," I said, not dropping my defiant stance for a second.

He let out a short, sharp breath that wasn't quite a sigh. "My behavior was... unacceptable." The words seemed pulled from him against his will. "Grabbing you was a reflex. An overreaction. I apologize."

An apology. From Baek Jin. I blinked, my own anger momentarily derailed. I hadn't expected that.

"It's fine," I muttered. "Just... don't do it again. The purse was a warning shot."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Duly noted." He paused, studying me. The intensity was still there, but it had shifted, softened at the edges. "Have dinner with me."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, but it lacked its earlier command. It sounded almost... like a request.

I eyed him warily. "Why? So you can interrogate me further about my 'cozy chat'? Pass."

"So we can discuss the parameters of our... situation... without causing a public scene," he said smoothly, his voice back to its usual controlled calm.

He had a point—an infuriatingly logical point. If I continued talking to him on the street, it would grab attention, and I might make the news soon.

Yep, not happening.

I let out a long sigh, finally uncrossing my arms. "Fine. Dinner. I just want to make one thing clear. I won’t stop working.”

"Agreed," he said, the word coming a little too quickly for my comfort, but I'd take it.

"Good." I adjusted the strap of my purse on my shoulder. "I should get back to the office. Kevin will be wondering how it went." And I have to figure out how to write a story about a man I mostly talked about biceps with.

"I'll have my driver take you," Jin said, gesturing toward the waiting town car.

"No," I said immediately. The last thing I needed was to be dropped off at my workplace in a car that probably cost more than our annual budget. "Absolutely not. I'll take the subway. Like a normal person."

His eyebrow quirked. "The subway."

"Yes. The train? It's that thing that runs underground? Carries millions of people?" I couldn't resist the jab. "I know it might be beneath you, but some of us have to live in the real world."

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Very well. I’ll be by your home at eight o'clock."

"Text me," I countered. "I'll see myself there. Myself. Alone."

I turned and started walking toward the subway entrance, my heels clicking a determined rhythm on the pavement. I could feel his eyes on my back the entire way, but I didn't look back. I had won that round. I had stood my ground, gotten an apology, and maintained a shred of my independence.

But as I descended into the noisy, gritty depths of the subway, a new kind of nervousness set in. I had a dinner date with Baek Jin—a real one. And I had no idea what to wear.

I hope I did fine. After I arrived at the office, my whole day was a blur. I got back home, changed into something I thought looked fine, and then took a cab.

The address Jin texted led me to an unassuming door tucked away in a quiet, elegant street. There was no sign, no grand entrance, just polished brass and a discreet camera above the doorbell. I gave my name, the door clicked open, and I stepped into another world.

Silence. That was the first thing I noticed. The air was still and hushed, smelling of beeswax and tuberose. The lighting was low and golden, casting soft pools of light on richly textured walls. And it was empty. Completely empty.

My heels sank into a plush carpet as I walked further in. The restaurant was beautiful, with intimate booths and crisp white linens and a stunning art deco bar stretching along one wall. But every single table was unoccupied. A lone, impeccably dressed maître d' stood near the back, and I could just make out the faint sounds of clinking porcelain from behind a closed door to the kitchen.

Jin was already there, of course. He stood up from a corner booth as I approached. He looked devastatingly handsome in a simple, dark sweater and trousers, a stark contrast to the usual power suit. It was unnerving.

“You’re on time,” he observed.

He shouldn’t know about my tardiness, but I’m sure he did a background check. I shouldn’t be surprised.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I can be punctual when thousands of dollars are on the line,” I said, sliding into the booth opposite him. I glanced around the deserted room. “Did you… buy out the entire restaurant?”

“I reserved it,” he said simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

I stared at him. “Why? This place should be packed. It’s a Friday night.” A horrible thought occurred to me. “Is the food that bad?”

A genuine smile, small but real, touched his lips. It transformed his face, making him look younger, less like a corporate titan and more like… a man. A dangerously attractive man. “The food is exceptional. But it’s not yet time for rumors to start spreading.”

I frowned, confused. “Isn’t that the whole point? To be seen together?”

“In time,” he said, his gaze steady on me. “Our… connection… needs to appear organic. Believable. You interviewed me only a few days ago. If we are suddenly spotted canoodling in a high-profile restaurant tomorrow, it will raise eyebrows. The wrong kind. Your editor will suspect you traded favors for the story. Your colleagues will talk. It will look exactly like what it is: a transaction.”

He was right about that, but I hated that he always referred to this as a contract.

I need a drink.