Taehyung's pov

I run my hand along the smooth leather interior of the Town Car. We've been in traffic for over half an hour, trying to get to the address Jungkook sent me. It's given me ample time to think, specifically about whether it was clever or terribly stupid of me to ask him to join me.

A date isn't necessary, strictly speaking. I've gone stag to plenty of these events. At the same time, it's expected, not to mention it makes networking easier and more enjoyable when you can work as a team. Several of the men/women I've dated in the past go to many of these events and understand the codes, the cues.

I have no idea if Jungkook does. It's a complete shot in the dark.

I tug at the sleeve of my dinner jacket and frown at the building site I see outside the car window. I know who's developing them, and it's not someone I have a lot of respect for. Eun Ilsung.

He's well-known for shady business practices, particularly in the suburbs and further afield. He regularly develops low-income housing and then profits enormously through increasing rents, often with stringent policies on his tenants regarding missing a day or two on rent. Builders like him didn't deserve the name. Not to mention that he had, in one way or another, hurt Jungkook by letting him go without a recommendation.

In his initial letter, he had clearly thought it was a mark against him, when his lack of a recommendation from Ilsung was practically an endorsement in itself. He'd called out the elitism of this industry perfectly.

My phone rings and any mirth disappears as I read the name on the caller ID.

"Hello, Appa."

"Taehyung," he begins, voice businesslike. "Have you read the files I sent you about the Chicago project?"

"I have, yes." I considered it to be a spectacularly stupid deal.

"And? You haven't gotten back to me about it, son. It's almost like you don't want to partner with my firm." He laughs, like the thought is outrageous.

"I have some reservations," I say carefully. "I'm flying there next week, to meet with your partners and get answers to my questions."

"Good, good. Nothing like eyes on the ground." He pauses, and I imagine him gearing up, sitting in his study in the family house in Daegu. Large bookshelves behind him filled to the brim with political biographies and Sun Tzu. "It's a guaranteed return on investment. I'm doing you a favor by offering you an in on this, you know."

Of course that's the way he sees it. My father, with his capital, doesn't need Kim & Ryu' financial backing.

But the project is dated, it's not in the right neighborhood, and more than that... it feels unethical. That argument won't work on him, though.

"I appreciate the offer," I say. "I'll get back to you after I've visited it next week and spoken to the team."

"Good, good. I might even fly out and join you." A brief pause. "It's time for you to level up now, son. You've done well so far but I want to see you in the big leagues. And come home some time, all right? It'd make your mother happy."

I grit my teeth. "I'll be home for Jin hyung's wedding in a few weeks."

He sighs, as if he'd forgotten all about his eldest child. It wouldn't surprise me if he had. "Don't remind me. I know I'm expected to make some kind of toast, and he'll skewer me if I screw it up."

That does make me grin. My eldest brother is fierce, and he had gone eye to eye with my father about his decision to be with Namjoon hyung-who hadn't exactly been what Kim Min-ho would call respectable growing up.

"You have a few weeks to work on it."

"Yes. Take care, son."

"You too," I say, uselessly, because he's already hung up.

His way or the highway-nothing else mattered. If it wasn't done according to his business practices, it was obviously wrong. Him offering me a cut of this project was symbolic; I know it as clearly as he did. He was finally offering me recognition.

But the Chicago project is wrong. I feel it in my bones, and I suspect going up there to see won't change my mind at all.

I'm in a terrible mood when the car finally stops outside a large brick building, tapping my fingers against the leather seat in irritation. The last thing I want to do is spend the evening with acquaintances and strangers, pretending to enjoy their inane small talk.

I write a quick text. Car outside.

I've just pressed send when the door opens, and Jungkook gets in beside me. "I was waiting downstairs," he explains. "So we wouldn't be late."

No man or woman I've picked up for a date has ever done that. And not a single one of them looked like him. I tear my eyes away and nod to the driver. "We're ready."

He looks like a mixture of his work-self and his date-self, and more stunning than ever. His hair is in a high ponytail with the bangs falling over his well sculpted face, waves of shimmering, silky-soft blackness.

His outfit is black. Even sitting down, I can see that it follows his shape, clinging to every curve in a way that's going to test my already nonexistent patience.

Part of me misses his office look, with the work mask on, the nondescripted tight slacks and simple suit jackets and hair slicked back. It was easier to deny my pointless attraction to him then.

Jungkook clears his throat softly. "Is everything all right?"

Damn. I'm so out of sorts-from the phone call, from him-that I haven't even greeted him yet. I make an effort to soften my voice. "Yes. Thank you for agreeing to this tonight."

"Anything for the firm," he says smoothly. "I've run through the guest list and memorized about ten different ice-breakers."

Some of the tension drains from my shoulders. "Tell me."

He clears his throat dramatically. "Here it goes. 'Have you ever thought about why there's a D in fridge, but not in refrigerator?'"

"That is awful."

"Yep," he says cheerfully. "I found a website listing thirty of these."

"Were they all this Shakespearean?"

"Some were actually good," he says, voice thoughtful. "I liked this one: 'Let me just begin by saying that we have something in common. You don't know what I'm going to say next, and quite frankly, neither do I.'"

I shake my head and lean forward. "Pete? Pull over here. Mr. Jeon is getting out."

"What! No!"

Pete my driver laughs-confirming my suspicion that he always listens to the conversations I have in the car-and keeps driving. Jungkook laughs too, and I realize how rarely I've heard that sound. "All right, all right. I won't use those two, then."

"Thanks," I say dryly, but I'm amused. Tonight might not be so bad after all

The gala is held in one of Seoul's less-famous museum, in Gwacheon. It's a beautiful building, usually filled with schoolchildren and tourists. Tonight, there's a red carpet rolled out and tons of people-organizers, photographers, security. The Founders' Gala is usually quite small, and always for charity, but things like this attract people like flies, drawn to the appearance of glamour. Pete stops the car in front of the building.

"Mr. Jeon..." I say, turning to face him fully. "There is a risk that Eun Ilsung is here tonight."

His eyes blaze with determination. "I know. I saw him on the guest list."

The subtext is clear. I can handle it. I nod and reach for the door. "Here we go, then."

Jungkook climbs out after me, I offer him my arm, and he threads his through mine effortlessly-like we've walked this way thousands of times. Like we belong together. Two halves of a couple. I glance down at him, but he's staring straight ahead, a faint smile on his lips.

I've escorted dozens of men and women to events in this manner-why would the feeling of his body moving next to mine feel different? And yet, it does.

We stop for an obligatory photograph before I move us along and into the museum. Posing for the camera is something I have never enjoyed. Leave that to the people who enjoy celebrity.

The museum is one of Seoul's most cherished buildings, and it never fails to impress. The enormous marble foyer and the many gallery rooms make for an excellent gala venue. At the moment, though, it's silk, taffeta and cravats, as far as the eye can see. The sound of conversation and laughter mingles with the music from a string quartet.

I glance down at Jungkook again. He's uncharacteristically quiet, taking in our surroundings.

"Something to drink?" I gesture for a waiter. He presents a tray of flutes, the small bubbles dancing inside the golden liquid.

Jungkook accepts one, and I take another. "Thank you."

On the first sip, I can tell it's not particularly good champagne. It's acidic on the tongue and far too carbonated.

Jungkook looks amused. "You're frowning. Not up to your standards?"

It's slightly unsettling that he can read me so easily. The honest truth is no. I spent some summers in France for vacation with my mother's family, and that had included a trip or two to the region of Champagne.

"I'm afraid to answer," I say, "and have you accuse me of elitism again."

He shakes his head, but his eyes are alight with amusement. "It would be unwise of me to do that here, where your connections are needed."

"Indeed."

"And where I'd prefer it if you didn't throw me to the wolves."

I snort. "Very wise."

We make our way into the southern gallery. There are familiar faces here; the regulars at these events rarely change. They live like butterflies, flitting from one function to another, as if putting on evening gloves was a profession in and of itself.

A man with a mustache stops us with the effortless smile of a seasoned mingler. "Taehyung? It's been what, a year? Two?"

"Jae-joon! How have you been?"

"Oh, you know. Too much wine and too many divorces," he jokes, laughing at his own outrageousness. "I'm on my third one now."

"So I heard," I say.

"I know Taehyung's father very well," Jae-joon says to Jungkook, eyes glittering conspiratorially. "One of the finest men on the Eastern seaboard."

One of the richest, I want to correct, not finest. But in these circles the words are usually synonymous.

Jungkook unleashes his winning smile. "How lovely to meet a family friend," he says kindly. "Did you know Taehyung-shhi growing up?"

I shoot him a warning glance-what kind of topic is that?-but he ignores me. Jae nods, drawn in by his megawatt smile. I can't blame the man for his weakness. I share the same one.

"Oh, yes. I've heard lots of stories from Min-ho. Met you a few times too, growing up, didn't I?" He nods at me. "Tall, lanky, always fiddling about on the ocean. A fine boy who grew up to be a fine man."

I refuse to look at Jungkook and the amusement undoubtedly on his features.

"Sounds like me," I say instead. "Jae hyung, this is Jeon Jungkook."

Jungkook shakes Jae-joon's hand. His eyes are glittering as he takes him in-the man never met a pretty face he didn't like.

"You've done well for yourself, Taehyung. Men like this don't grow on trees."

It's meant as a compliment, and still, I feel Jungkook's arm stiffen where it touches mine. I remember his cover letter-how he hated being judged only for his appearance, be it his beauty or his angelic features, the dark hair and milky skin.

His face is still the picture of pleasantness.

"You're right," I say. "He's an exceptionally talented architect."

Jae's eyebrows rise. "Is that so? How fascinating-how amazing!"

I can hear what he's not saying. How surprising.

"Indeed."

"Mark my words, son, hold on to him. If I'd found women or men with brains, I wouldn't have had to go through so many divorces."

He laughs at his own joke. I excuse us, moving along through the gallery and into the next. An elaborate ice sculpture rests on the middle of a table filled with hors d'oeuvres. There's silence between us, and I'm afraid he's offended. That this was too much.

"Come to think of it," I say, "I was never too fond of old Uncle Jae."

Jungkook chuckles, the tension released. "I can't for the life of me imagine why."

The next hour passes by with unbearable dullness. We discuss the weather- unusually warm for the season-and exchange summer plans with people I have no interest in meeting again. I find out that Mr. Dong-chan Gan, who is on the board for the Opera Project, loves tennis and that his favorite opera is L'Elisir d'Amore.

But I learn nothing more of interest, and he's soon whisked away by equally hungry minglers. And while I wanted to make a good impression, there is no getting around the fact that the jury will be judging projects based on merit-not name. I could be their favorite person in the world and it still wouldn't matter.

Somewhere over the past hour, Jungkook branched out on his own, both of us working opposite areas of the room. I look for him in the crowd.

It's not hard to spot him. The black outfit hugs every part of him, in a way that manages to be both tasteful and alluring. The contrast with his dark hair, makes him easy to pick out.

He's talking to a group of people-three or four of them-and all are listening to him. His back is turned to me, but it's not hard to imagine what his face looks like. Animated, enthusiastic, his effortless smile in place and dark eyes alight with intelligence, his hands moving. Interacting with people seems to come easily to him in a way it never has for me.

He's smart as a whip and too good-looking by half. If he wasn't my assistant, I would ask him out. It's an unwelcome realization, but I don't lie, and especially not to myself.

Doesn't matter now regardless. His talent and work ethic are too important to me, and to the firm, not to mention to Jungkook himself. Whatever attraction I feel is not only unnecessary, but risky as hell. It's mine to deal with on my own.

I take a sip of the champagne-still too acidic-and watch him. Secluded in this corner of the gallery, it's all too easy to escape notice for a few minutes, to avoid the well-wishers and sycophants and expectations.

A familiar voice breaks my peaceful solitude. "Hello, Taehyung. It's been a long time."

Damn. I should've known she'd be here. Aerum, who I'd ended things with months ago. Who had been upset with me when I told her I didn't see a future for us-despite having been upfront about that from the start.

Her hair is piled up high and she has a martini glass in hand. I don't know how she managed to get a martini in this place ridden with poor champagne, but she'd always had a knack for getting her way.

"Hello, Aerum. How are you?"

She sweeps kohl-rimmed eyes over me. "Excellent. I wintered in Aspen and spent most of the spring in Costa Rica."

"How thrilling."

"Yes," she says coolly. "My family's charity. You remember, I'm sure. Your memory was always flawless."

"I do, yes." Just like I remembered how angry she'd been after I'd corrected her-after she told me that I had strung her along-and I could remind her of all the times I'd made the casual nature of our relationship clear.

"I'm here with Oscar Lang," she says airily. "I've been dating him for nearly five months now."

The name rings a faint bell. A Wall Street-type, I think. "Congratulations."

"He has a place in the Hamptons. We'll probably summer there."

"You always did enjoy it there."

Her eyes flash, like she thinks I'm insulting her when I'm just stating a fact. I try to think back to fun conversations between us, to jokes and teasing, but I can't remember any. Our entire relationship had been based on politeness.

"So, Taehyung," she drawls, "tell me. Who's the lucky woman in your life? Or are there several? I know you're not the type to commit."

Not to you. The thought comes unbidden.

"I am not-" An arm threads through mine and I look down to see Jungkook smiling up at me.

"There you are! I lost you, and now I've interrupted you. I'm sorry, Taehyung." He nods a hello to Aerum. "I don't think we've met. I'm Jungkook."

Aerum shakes his hand, animosity clear in her cold, impassive features.

"Aerum."

"A pleasure."

"Likewise. So this is your date? Or boyfriend, even? I didn't know you were in boys too" She turns a patronizing smile on Jungkook. "Be careful with this one, honey. He's not the committing type. You might be in for a bit of heartbreak."

Jungkook smiles back sweetly. "I'm not afraid. Taehyung has been nothing but a gentleman since we first met." He turns those dark doe eyes up at me, pressing closer against my side. Playing the part effortlessly. "Should I be?"

"Afraid? No."

He giggles, a sound I've never heard from him before, and turns sharp eyes on Aerum. "He really is something special, isn't he?"

"You could say that," Aerum says smoothly, "if you enjoy a life of schedule and routine. Oh, don't look sullen, Taehyung. Surely he already knows you're not one for spontaneity."

Jungkook's fingers dig into my arm, but his voice is cool. "We'll just have to agree to disagree on that one. A man can be as organized as he likes, as long as he's as good in bed as Taehyung. But I don't need to mention that to you, of course."

What? I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. It's beyond inappropriate, and judging from Aerum's bulging eyes, she has no idea what to respond. Beaten at her own game.

"Yes. Well. I think I'll leave you to it, then." She stops a few feet away, turning back like she wants to add something, but thinks better of it and strides away. Her high heels click against the marble as she disappears into the crowd.

Jungkook immediately drops my arm. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are filled with apprehension. "God. Was that too much? That last part..."

I can't help it-I burst out laughing. This man is insane, and spirited, and a fighter if I've ever seen one.

His face softens. "She called me honey, and I saw red. I couldn't let her win."

"You certainly didn't. Jungkook, can you accompany me to all these events? They'd never be dull again."

"So I'm entertainment now, huh? I thought I was here to work." His smile still in place, he nods at where Aerum ran off. "An old ex?"

"Yes."

"I take it it didn't end well."

"Not particularly, no. She was more invested than I was."

Jungkook nods. "I didn't mean to upset her. But then she basically called you boring..."

"She's not upset, her pride is just wounded. Don't worry about it." I certainly wouldn't. Never had a person defended me like that before.

Jungkook sighs and turns so that we're side to side, watching the crowd mingle. "So, are you enjoying yourself?"

"Tremendously," I say dryly. "Can't think of anywhere I'd rather be."

He snorts. "I don't think I can talk to another stranger."

"Well, you make it look easy." No one watching him work that floor would think anything else. Jungkook looks down, his long lashes sweeping over his cheeks. He's wearing more makeup tonight than usual, I think. His lips look luscious- pink and full. It would be so easy to tip his head back and taste them.

I tear my gaze away and out over the crowd. I want to make him smile again -to laugh in earnest. "What do you think? These are the type of people you dragged in your cover letter, you know."

Jungkook's eyes widen. "Thanks for the reminder."

"Some of them rightly so, as well."

"You think?"

"Yes," I say, enjoying his surprise. "I wonder what other stereotypes we can find in here... Hmm. See at that couple, over there?" I nod discreetly at a bickering couple in the opposite corner. "The wife is dressed up to the nines, her face partially taut in the way that indicates too much Botox. Her husband is looking at her as she scolds away."

"Yes?"

"He's sleeping with the au-pair, and she with the pool boy."

Jungkook's lips curve into a wicked smile. "That's a terrible assumption."

"I know. Maybe they're only arguing whether it's acceptable to name their new dog Tripp the III, or if it would upset Tripp Junior."

He laughs, amusement dancing in his eyes. "That guy over there has a house in the Hamptons, mortgaged to the brim, but considers it an investment in his brand."

"The woman in the corner? Brown hair? She devotes her life to philanthropy, but if you'd actually investigate, over half of the donations go to her beauty treatments."

"Mmm," Jungkook murmurs. "And the people at the main table have all bribed Ivy League-type colleges to get their children with average grades and crashed cars admission."

"Not bribed, Mr. Jeon. Generously donated."

He rolls his eyes. "Of course. Forgive me and my rash, uncivilized tongue."

"I'll take it under consideration."

His smile softens again-something different from the megawatt one he can turn on and off at will. There's genuine amusement in his doe eyes. He enjoys the battle of wits as much as I do.

"You're not what I expected," he says.

"No?"

"No. Not at all."

It's hard, then, to avoid stepping closer, to run his hair through my fingers and see if it's just as silky to the touch. To trace his teasing lips and tell him he's nothing like I expected either.

"Well," I say instead. "I live to amaze."

Jungkook rolls his eyes again. The gesture has an odd effect on me; endearing, rather than infuriating. "Exaggerator."

I offer him my arm again. "Once more unto the breach?"

"You're quoting Henry the V now?"

"I knew you'd catch that," I say, leading us through the main gallery. He'd majored in Architecture, but he'd minored in English Literature-I'd read his CV. We weave past another giant ice sculpture and stop next to the string quartet. Hands fly over instruments, and I'm struck, as always, by awe in the face of sheer talent.

"Imagine having to play for all of these guests," I say quietly, "knowing none of them will really be paying attention."

Jungkook doesn't respond. His arm is stiff in mine, his back straight as cardboard. I follow his gaze to the man standing opposite us in the gallery. His gray hair, the rotund build, the hooded eyes. Eun Ilsung.

For a second, I think Jungkook is afraid of him. But then I catch sight of the blush on his cheeks and the fire in his eyes. He's not afraid. He's furious.

And he's coming directly our way.

-

-

To be continued....

Face to face with Eun-Ilsung...

What's more is there in the reamaining Gala night😉