“Thank you. So…is there a reason you came by?” It must be something really important for her to find out where I live, then show up like this in person.
Yuna looks around, taking in the dining room, kitchen and living room like she’s examining a hotel suite while the front desk manager waits to see if everything’s to her liking. Finally, she nods. “This is great.”
“Thank you,” I say again, feeling increasingly confused. Surely she didn’t come all the way here to compliment my apartment.
“You didn’t get a new roommate yet, right?”
“No…” Can you just get to the point?
She claps her hands together. “Perfect! Can I be your roommate, then?”
What? This doesn’t make any sense. Doesn’t she have a suite waiting at the Ritz or the Four Seasons? Or maybe her English isn’t as good as I assumed, based on the fact that she’s speaking without an accent.
“Could you, um, say that again?”
She sighs. “I want to be your roommate, if you’re okay with it. Please?”
“Aren’t you staying at a hotel or something?” Maybe her assistant forgot, in which case I feel sorry for the person. But even then, it isn’t like every top hotel in L.A. is full. As far as I know, there aren’t any major conventions or events happening right now… Oh no. Did Court tell Yuna she could stay with me?
“The hotel? Ugh.” She waves a hand. “Don’t even bring that up. It’s more like jail.”
First time I’ve heard a suite at a five-star hotel compared to prison. But I wait for her to elaborate.
She gestures at my couch. “Is it okay if I sit down? I’m a little tired.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly, feeling terrible as I realize I’ve been a crappy host. “Want something to drink?”
“Do you have wine?”
Nothing like what you’re used to. None of the bottles I have cost over twenty-five dollars…at the most. “If you don’t mind a California rosé…?” I offer after a moment of debate. If she really wants alcohol, cheap wine is better than nothing.
“Anything is fine,” she says.
I pour two glasses and hand her one. She sips it without a hint of distaste or condescension. After finishing about half the glass, she says, “Do you know how hard it is to shake off the evil agents?”
A frisson of fear and concern travels along my spine. “Evil agents?” Is she being targeted by kidnappers or something? Shit.
“My mother’s spies.”
“Spies?” Yuna’s English must be worse than I thought. She has to be misusing words.
“Mom assigned some people to follow me around. Spies.”
“You mean, like…bodyguards?” I say, trying to correct her gently. I don’t want her to get upset and ruin whatever business relationship my boss and his family have with the Hae Min Group.
She shakes her head. “Not bodyguards. Spies.” She speaks slowly, like she’s talking to a child with a poor understanding of the world. “They report everything I do to my mom. They probably tell her how many times I go to the bathroom.” After a moment, she adds, “How long I stay there, too.”
My lips twitch. It can’t be that bad. Her mom’s probably just worried about her. It’s actually sweet and cute.
“I finally had to go to this place called… What’s the name again…? Oh yeah, Walmart. I had to go to Walmart to get myself a decent disguise.”
“What disguise?” She’s wearing normal clothes. And that hair can’t be a wig. For one, I doubt Walmart sells them, and two, her tresses look too silky and real.
“This.” She sweeps her outfit with her free hand. “I had sunglasses on, too. Put my hair up under a cap. Neither of Mom’s spies realized it was me.” A smug smile curves her red lips.
“Really?” That kind of cloak and dagger sounds like something from a spy novel.
“They were looking for somebody in Versace. I’ve been a little obsessed recently, although I’m getting bored with it now. Dior’s new collection is really nice this year, don’t you think?”