Heir To Nothing But You

Sorry, Who's Paying For This?

Sorry, Who’s Paying For This?

Chi woke to the smell of coffee she hadn’t made and sunlight.

It took three seconds for the fragments of memory to assemble into something resembling an idea in her head. A wrong elevator, a wrong penthouse, a man named Ji-hoon who gave her a spare toothbrush wrapped in the plastic it came in as if he kept a supply of them on-hand for precisely this scenario.

The smell of coffee led her to the kitchen, where Ji-hoon waited in a t-shirt that clung to his damp hair as he scrolled through his phone with the focused expression of someone who would rather be elsewhere.

“Morning,” he said, not looking up. “There’s coffee. I didn’t know how you take it, so I made it strong and let you ruin it yourself.”

“That’s oddly considerate.”

“I have my moments.”

Chi poured herself a mug and peered at him over the rim as she warmed her hands. With the haze of jet lag burned away, the details that had seemed impressive last night stood out as odder by the second. Expensive was not the same thing as lived-in, and while this penthouse was undeniably the latter, the careful presentation of it suggested the presence of a decorator. Unless someone with particularly interesting hobbies lived here, which was apparently the case, since the corner near the window boasted a half-finished model boat surrounded by genuine-looking construction tools.

“You build things,” she said, nodding at it.

Something akin to surprise flickered across Ji-hoon’s face. He seemed almost pleased to have caught her attention, if the way he hesitated over his next words was any indication. “Small things. Boats, mostly.”

“Why boats?”

“Why not boats?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting before coffee.”

Understandable, Chi thought, considering she had no intention of finishing the bitter liquid he’d so generously prepared for her. “So what do you actually do? Last night, you said something about working with creative people, which is a ridiculous answer for a ridiculous question.”

“Family business,” Ji-hoon said easily, sipping at his own mug.

“What kind of family business keeps people in luxury hotels under false pretenses?”

“The kind that makes my father paranoid about elevators.” Ji-hoon shrugged, but the edge of amusement had left his mouth. He turned his gaze to the window where the city stretched out before them in the early morning haze. “This isn’t your concern, anyway. I should be going.”

“I thought you’d never mention it.” Chi stepped closer to the door, already feeling the familiar tug of responsibility pulling at her chest. “I need to find the real Building C before the management decides to evict me as well.”

“I can walk you down,” Ji-hoon said, moving to the threshold without waiting for her answer. He paused there for a long moment, presumably taking in the sight of the concierge standing frozen in shock as his guests departed. It reminded Chi unpleasantly of the look on her own parents’ faces when she’d told them she wanted to study abroad after high school. Ji-hoon waved a hand dismissively and said something fast and soothing in Korean before turning to her with a smile that suggested he did this often. When he rejoiced walking by her side, Chi realized that smoothing over other people’s missteps was probably a bigger part of his job than she’d previously thought.

The city noises greeted them as they stepped outside, and Chi breathed deeply for the first time since landing in Korea. Scooters whizzed by, weaving in and out of cars with practiced ease as Ji-hoon flagged down a taxi.

“This is me,” he said, gesturing at the driver. “Building C, the correct one this time. I already told him.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did, actually. Considering I’m the reason you spent last night in the wrong building.”

“Technically the housing office is the reason.”

“I’ll allow us to share the blame.” Ji-hoon smiled again as he climbed inside the vehicle. “See you around, Chi.”

“I highly doubt it,” she said, already feeling the distance between them stretch. “Seoul is a big city.”

“It’s smaller than you think,” he replied, and the taxi pulled away before she could ask what he meant.

Building C, the real one, was much smaller and less glamorous, as promised. Her roommate waited for her in the modest common room, her long pink-streaked hair tied up in a messy bun as she painted her nails a suspiciously bright yellow. “You must be Chiamaka,” she said, not looking up from her polish. “I’m Sae-rom. I already ate your welcome snack pack, sorry, I get anxious when I skip breakfast.”

“That’s completely fine,” Chi said, setting her overnight bag beside the two narrow beds. “You have a fascinating accent.”

“Good to hear.” Sae-rom finally looked up, her dark eyes assessing Chi’s face. “Where were you last night, then? Your bed wasn’t slept in.”

Chi hesitated. “Wrong building.”

“Which wrong building?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Something in Sae-rom’s expression shifted as she put down her nail polish, a sudden intensity in her gaze making Chi wish she’d lied. “Oh my god, you have a story. Tell me the story.”

“I’m tired, that’s what I am,” Chi said, dropping onto the empty bed. In fairness, she was. The long walk and sleepless night had caught up with her, and the sight of the neatly-made bed across from her reminded her painfully of home. “It’s not a story.”

“You’re lying to me on day one. I respect it, tell me anyway.”

And so, Chi told her. About the wrong elevator and the wrong penthouse, about the man who built things and hadn’t said what his family business was. As she spoke, Sae-rom’s face grew progressively paler.

“Wait,” she said, looking genuinely surprised. “Tall? Annoyingly charming? The apartment with the keycard elevator, near the university district?”

“You know him?”

Sae-rom didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she pulled out her phone and opened up a gossip website, scrolling until she found the article she was looking for. “Choi Group Heir Spotted Leaving Gala Again Without a Date,” the title read in poorly translated English, followed by a picture of the same man who’d given her a toothbrush eight hours earlier. “This is him.”

Chi stared at the screen for a long moment. “Oh,” she said finally. “Sorry, who’s paying for this apartment?”

“His family owns half the shipping companies in the country,” Sae-rom replied. “You spent the night in the Choi heir’s penthouse and he didn’t even tell you his last name?”

“I need to lie down,” Chi said, already feeling her head spin. She set her coffee cup down carefully on the nightstand, as if it might shatter at the slightest provocation. “Tell me the story again, slower this time.”