Chapter 7

So, What Do You Know About Me?

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Emil and Robert waited nearly thirty minutes for their food to arrive, though neither of them seemed to notice how long they had waited. They talked and drifted easily from one topic to another. Robert's mounting stress at work, his ongoing business frustrations, and his irritation with the new assistant who had been assigned to replace the one who had temporarily filled in for Emil. But as expected, the replacement hadn't lasted long. According to Robert, he had pointed out a mistake in the assistant's report once, and then the man didn't show up for work the next day.

"Isn't that annoying?" Robert said, crossing his arms as he explained his defense thoroughly. "I didn't do anything wrong. I just didn't like how he wrote the report. Then the next day, he's gone. Who wouldn't be happy about that?"

Emil fought the urge to smile. Because if he does, Robert would take it the wrong way.

"Well," he said carefully, "it might've been because your eyebrows were twitching and your eyes were narrowing like you were about to eat the guy alive."

Robert raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he replied dryly, along with that eyebrow twitching upward as Emil just described it. "Perhaps, it would have been better if I actually did that."

"My lord, please don't," Emil said quickly.

Robert snorted. "Relax. I'm not such a bad person to do that."

Emil sighed, then he allowed himself a small, soft smile. "I suggest you blink politely and make your eyebrows more...friendly-looking while judging them internally," he said. "That way they won't think you're about to skin them alive."

Robert considered this for a moment. Many people said he looked significantly grumpy; that his expression alone could traumatize a person. But the truth was, he wasn't like that at all. Still, after Emil pointed it out, Robert suddenly became painfully aware of his face. He caught himself frowning, then immediately reached up to hold his eyebrow, trying to straighten it as if it had a mind of its own. Even annoyed, he was now annoyed politely.

"So...blink politely and make my eyebrows look friendlier," he silently muttered to himself. But then he realized, how exactly was one supposed to make eyebrows look friendly?

"Damn it, this is difficult." He said to himself.

After the server set their food down, they began to eat. For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke, as they took their time savoring their meal. But before Robert could finish his salmon, he wiped his mouth with the white cloth resting on his lap and took a sip of wine.

It was time to ask Emil the questions he needed to make their pretense more realistic.

"Actually," Robert said, setting his glass down, "the reason I invited you to dinner is that I realized there's a big gap in the story we're trying to put together." Then, suddenly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his tickler with a few crucial questions written on it that he needed to ask the young man. "There will be times when my grandmother asks about you," he continued, "and I'm sure she'll do the same with you about me. So I thought this would be a good chance to learn some basics."

Emil paused, then wiped his mouth as well. "Okay..."

"Good," Robert said, then he added one final thing before he began, "...and just to be clear: if you find the questions to be too personal for you, you're not required to answer. Just tell me if you're uncomfortable. That's part of our agreement, and I don't want you feeling pressured."

"It's fine," Emil replied calmly. "I don't have a problem with it."

Robert nodded and began asking his questions.

"What...is your favorite color?"

Emil didn't answer right away. He understood that Robert only needed to know the basics about him. Still, he hadn't expected his fifty-something boss to go that kind of basic, as if he were being interviewed for an elementary school icebreaker.

He glanced at Robert, unsure whether to laugh or answer seriously.

"Well..." Emil hesitated for a moment. "My favorite is blue."

"Okay...blue," Robert repeated, jotting it down on his tickler with the seriousness of someone recording vital information.

After that, he looked up again and asked. "How about your favorite food?"

Emil almost said to him, "What if I just give you my slam book and you read it instead?" But strangely, he didn't mind this at all. Maybe because there was something oddly enjoyable about watching Robert, who was seriously asking him about things that he should have "obviously" noticed over the past twenty years. But obviously as well, he couldn't blame him, because who was he, right? He was just a lowly butler and assistant who was reliable enough to stay by Robert's side. Why would Robert ever think to learn these small, personal details?

That's why he couldn't help but take advantage of their setup. This fake lover arrangement was the only time Emil felt like Robert was his, even just a little. And if this was his chance to be seen, then Emil wanted to give him everything.

That was why he replied.

"Well...I enjoy a variety of beef dishes. That's why I ordered beef," Emil said. He slightly bowed his head while playing and poking the small potato in his plate with his fork. "I also like sweets. I'm not really a fan of seafood like you are, but...when you fed me scallops on one of the business trips we took, I actually liked them."

"Oh...? That business trip in the Southern Lands?" Robert asked while the memory of that event surfaced instantly. "Why didn't you tell me you don't eat seafood?"

"Well..." Emil paused, then glanced up at him. "I know you get upset easily when things don't turn out the way you expect, so I at least tried it. At first I didn't like the taste much, but when you suggested cooking it in butter...I did."

Robert suddenly fell silent after everything Emil had said. He hadn't realized just how pushy he could be at times. He didn't even bother to ask if Emil liked the food. He simply assumed that he was the boss, and Emil had to obey. What surprised him now was that Emil had agreed anyway to all his demands, simply because the younger man was aware of how easily he could get upset when things didn't go his way. That awareness...of how much Emil knew about him—hit Robert in a way he hadn't expected.

Curious to see just how much Emil knew, he set the tickler aside and asked a different question.

"Tell me," Robert said, "I want to know everything you know about me."

"Eh?" Emil blinked. He was definitely stunned. "Everything?"

"Yes," the old man replied, calm but firm. "At least enough that you could answer anything Grandma suddenly asks you."

Of course, that was just Robert's excuse. The truth was more straightforward: he was genuinely curious. He wanted to know what his assistant had learned about him over the years; every little detail Emil had noticed, remembered, and understood.

Emil was a little hesitant at first, but he answered anyway.

"Apart from your allergies..." he started carefully, "...you don't like colorful things; only plain black or white. You prefer things to be simple and uncomplicated. Still, you can't stand slow or incompetent people, or anyone who doesn't listen before obeying. You don't like drastic changes, and you don't like the roses in the villa's garden, but you still let them stay because your ex-wife planted them."

Emil paused for a moment to see Robert's reaction, but then continued.

"Grandma Vale often scolds you for being so stubborn. You've even turned down business deals because they couldn't meet your demands, which is also why you and your son, Eric, argue so much. We know him, and he doesn't always comply with you. But almost always, your judgment in business is right."

Emil smiled slightly as he remembered the other things he knew about Robert...

"You don't like big celebrations, but because you know it's part of work, you still go. But the moment you get in the car afterward, you immediately put on your headset and play some jazz to calm down, or you make me buy you some squid balls. You no longer attend the company's family gatherings. Still, I often catch you looking at your family picture in the office, and there I often tell myself that you're really kind; you're just misinterpreting things on purpose. Then—"

"Wait, stop right there," Robert interrupted suddenly, halting Emil mid-sentence. The younger man froze, unsure how to react.

"I'm sorry, Lord Robert. I think I said too much..." Emil tried not to sound nervous, "Please forgive me," he sincerely added.

"No, please don't," Robert insisted, waving him off. "I think...I need to go to the bathroom."

Emil was caught between relief and confusion as Robert pushed back from the table with a sense of urgency.

Once Emil was left alone at the table, he worriedly and quietly reviewed everything he had said, wondering if he'd shared anything too personal or if Robert had been offended. He thought about following him to the bathroom, but that would be far too awkward and would only make an already tense situation worse.

What Emil didn't know was that Robert had gone to the bathroom because he couldn't handle the embarrassment. He hadn't expected Emil to notice even the little things he barely thought about himself. And the way Emil had described them...it felt almost like he was speaking about someone he cared deeply for.

Robert washed his hands quickly, and then he splashed some on his face. Then, after that, he stole a glance at his reflection in the mirror.

He was blushing.

He wasn't sure whether it was embarrassment at the attention or at the fact that he hadn't been able to recall a single important thing about Emil in return. Compared to Emil, he had no advantage; Emil knew so much about him, and he...knew almost nothing.

Robert shook his head, trying to regain composure. But deep down, he knew one thing for sure: for the first time in years, he was outmatched entirely...

...but oddly enough, it made him quietly curious about Emil, too, in a way he hadn't expected.