I don’t move.

Mostly because I physically can’t—he’s underneath me, my leg’s tangled between his in the most awkward position imaginable, and I’m 90% sure I bruised something internal. But also because the second I lift my head, I’m going to have to look him in the eye. And I’m not mentally prepared for that yet.

"...Hi," I say instead, still face-down.

“Hi,” he echoes, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “Are you going to get off me, or should I call the police for harassment?”

Rude.

I groan and push myself up, rolling off him. My entire body aches from the fall, and if I’m in pain, I can’t even imagine how much he’s suffering. Then again, he is fictional. I’m sure he’ll be able to survive.

He sits up slowly, brushes the grass of his blazer and stares at me with his sharp and annoyingly perfect dark eyes. And somehow, even after I used him as a human crash pad, he still looks good.

No. Snap out of it, Eun-seo. He and Yuri are meant to be. You can’t get emotionally involv—

He holds out a hand to me, an unreadable look on his face. “Are you alright?”

Screw it. I take his hand.

It’s cold — not in a romantic, shivery way. Just genuinely freezing. Still, there’s something oddly comforting about it…not.  I expect us to at least hold hands for a few minutes, gazing into each other's eyes like in the movies but he simply drags me to my feet, turns, and starts walking away like nothing happened.

Double rude.

“Wait!” I jog after him. Why is he walking like he's late for a business meeting in Milan? “I was thinking, maybe we could continue the blind date from befo—”

“I’m busy,” he says flatly, just as we reach the front of the mansion.

“Oh, right. Totally. In that case, rain check?”

He doesn’t stop walking. “Work doesn’t stop when it rains.”

I’m so shocked by his response that I trip over literally nothing.

Catch me, catch me! my brain chants. But nope. Just like always, I’m the one who saves myself. No knight in shining armor, no dramatic fall into his arms, no bruise that appears out of nowhere.

Why is this novel no different from real life? I thought there was supposed to be romance?

Minjae doesn't even glance back. He just keeps walking like he’s expecting me to trail behind him. What a self-centered jerk. I take back the screw it I’d thought earlier. I really am not meant to be involved in this story. At least, not the romance part.

I spin around with a huff, ready to march back inside, crawl under my designer sheets, and pretend none of this ever happened. But then—

His voice slices through the air. “Ms. Yoo.”

I turn slowly, glaring daggers. “What.”

He’s leaning against the open car door now, one hand resting on the roof like he’s shooting an ad for expensive watches. His face is unreadable, sharp and composed, and nothing about this morning seems to have thrown him off at all.

“Get in.”

I blink at him. “Why?”

Minjae raises an eyebrow, like the question itself is offensive. “Because standing outside in stilettos and yelling at me isn’t exactly productive.”

“Wow,” I mutter. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, rushing over and climbing in before he changes his mind. “I just meant that I love being bossed around by men I fell on top of five minutes ago.”

He doesn’t respond, but I swear I catch the tiniest twitch of a smile as he shuts the door behind me. Without a word, he walks to the other side and climbs in.

“Tae-ho, take us to Cheongha,” he tells the driver, voice calm and commanding. 

Before I can ask where that even is or why I’m being kidnapped in broad daylight, he pulls out his phone and answers a call.

“Yes, this is Kang Minjae,” he says, tone flipping from casual to corporate in a heartbeat. “I signed off on that last week. If there's still a delay, follow up with Director Han.” 

There’s a pause. “As you wish. I’m currently occupied, but I will make time in my schedule to meet.”

He hangs up and doesn’t say a word for the rest of the ride. Just leans back in his seat, like I’m not even here, and scrolls through his phone and reviews stock portfolios or whatever chaebols do in their free time. The silence is deafening. I stare out the window, pretending I’m unbothered. I mean, I am unbothered. Totally. Couldn’t care less.
…
Okay, maybe just a little bothered.