The front desk clerk is a young lady with her hair up in a professional ponytail. I ask her to connect me to the guest room where Yuna is staying. The clerk says there is no guest under the name of Yuna Hae.
“Well, how about anybody with the last name Hae?”
The clerk shakes her head. “Sorry, we can’t do that. It’s for our guests’ privacy and comfort.”
“Do I look like the type to violate somebody’s privacy and comfort?” I ask in my most charming voice.
The clerk merely shoots me an awkward smile. Naturally, the one time I really need to trade on my looks, this woman is immune.
I’m really tempted to make a scene, but I don’t want to give Yuna another reason to be annoyed with me. And have her mom nod and raise her eyebrow and say that I thrive on scandals and publicity. All of which is far, far beneath Yuna and her family.
Fuck.
After a couple of hours with no progress, I drive home to Malibu. I tell myself it’s going to be okay because Yuna’s going to show up for work on Monday, and I’ll get to apologize for screwing up. Then I’ll offer to teach her how to drive. Or get her a new gift, something she can use without any extra training.
I toss and turn all night, so getting up early the next morning is easy. I shower and dress nicely in long black slacks and a dark gray silk shirt that brings out my eyes. Anxiety flutters in my gut, and my palms grow damp. I wipe them dry with a paper towel. I’ve never been this nervous, not even when I went to my first audition.
Finally, the door opens and Ms. Kim walks in.
I wait a beat, but she’s alone.
“Where’s Yuna?” I ask, swallowing a ball of disappointment stuck in my throat.
“Ms. Hae is indisposed. She wanted me to give this to you.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a white envelope.
My mouth dries. Is this a “fuck off” payment? I clench the envelope, leaving creases on the pristine paper. “I don’t want money.”
Ms. Kim looks at me like I’ve just lost my mind. “Fortunately, Ms. Hae has no desire to give you money.”
Then what is this? It can’t be an angry letter. It’s too thin. I rip the envelope open. It’s a single sheet of paper.
I’m resigning, effective immediately.
–Yuna
She signed and dated it yesterday.
I didn’t know such a short sentence could express so much anger and hurt. I look at Ms. Kim.
“Is Yuna okay? Did she cry?”
“Ms. Hae does not cry.” Ms. Kim’s politely bland, but I can hear the judgment in her tone.
Yuna probably cried. Even if she didn’t in front of others out of pride, she would have privately. A hot fist clenches around my heart. Damn it. I screwed this up so bad.
“Is she at the hotel now? I’ll go with you,” I say.
“You aren’t on her agenda. She doesn’t see anybody without an appointment.”
“Then I’ll make an appointment now. You’re her assistant, right?”
Ms. Kim’s face is an impassive mask, her tone icy smooth. “She’s unavailable for the rest of the month.”
“It won’t take long.” I actually don’t know how long it’s going to take to properly apologize, but I need to get on Yuna’s calendar.
“She’s unable to spare a minute for this for the rest of the month.”
There’s only one week left in the month. “How about next month?”