Chapter Text
The sun is hurting his eyes.
Joowon dislikes Seoul. The noise is unbearable and the traffic can be so congested and nauseating that whenever he takes the freeway, he is left to bake inside his car, causing his face to tan. He wishes he was still in Berkshire and away from all this. There, he’s not subjected to his father’s whims.
Being called back here after making significant progress in their branch office isn’t the promotion his father made it out to be. It’s a punishment now that Han Kihwan has seen how competent and capable his son is—how useful. Now that he’s back, Joowon knows his every move will be watched, every mistake severely criticized.
So much for being the successor of the recently retired Executive Director.
He arrives at the company building with ten minutes to spare and reaches the designated floor to his father’s office in five.
After having not seen Han Kihwan in the flesh for three years, Joowon thinks he isn’t missing out on much. The man is still the same—always sporting that crease between his eyebrows when he looks at Joowon, only to smooth it out once he lifts his gaze to his son’s. A habitual display of pretension that Joowon knows like the back of his own hand.
“Han Joowon,” Han Kihwan greets, nodding for his assistants to leave them.
Joowon only responds once the doors behind him are closed and they’re alone. “Father.”
Han Kihwan gestures for him to have a seat in one of the opulent chairs in this fancy office. Joowon does, and his father spends the next few seconds assessing him and not offering him anything to drink.
Civil, calculating, detached. Joowon has learned not to expect anything more. He is here for show. A proof that Han Kihwan has made the right decision in sending his son to fend for himself in a foreign land. A display of triumph against the odds.
“You look well,” Han Kihwan says eventually. Clipped and devoid of concern. Like Joowon is a specimen that has met his standards and expectations.
“I suppose a ‘welcome home’ lunch or dinner wasn’t possible,” Joowon says. It comes out flat—they both know he doesn’t mean it.
“I was busy,” Han Kihwan tells him. “Surely Hyuk has told you.”
Hyuk. Joowon thinks he’s only the son by name because of Hyuk. Kwon Hyuk is the son Han Kihwan dreams of having: obedient, ready to please, and rarely defiant. He was the one who waited for Joowon at the airport, bearing an obnoxious sign that said ‘welcome home’ in big, pink text and even gave him flowers.
He acted like a member of the family when he wasn’t. He’s the company lawyer, but Han Kihwan treats him like an errand boy and he doesn’t seem to mind. Joowon cannot help scrunching his nose in distaste.
“Hyung said that the Shanghai office called you away,” Joowon says anyway. He can be civil. He’s spent most of his life having that kind of relationship with this man. He eyes the plaque on the nearby desk, the letters CEO burning into his retinas. “Did you call me back so you can finally retire?”
They both know why he’s here. Joowon simply thrives on being obtuse at times; here, Han Kihwan is cool and collected—respected, even revered. But Joowon can always get under his skin with minimal effort.
It’s the price he’s spent his entire life paying for, for reminding Han Kihwan of his mother.
“I plan to present you as Nam Sangbae’s replacement today. The Board has approved of you,” Han Kihwan says, in a tone that implies that Joowon better not act as a disappointment. “With your track record, they all agreed you can keep up with the demands of our Main Office.”
They. Joowon meets his father’s eyes and sees that he doesn’t share the same sentiment. To him, Joowon will always be a willful, stubborn boy that needs constant minding.
An irritable child.
“Replacement,” Joowon echoes. His father’s choice of words are as deliberate as always; he never fails to remind Joowon how inadequate he sees him. “You won’t use that word later, will you?”
Han Kihwan gives him a look—the kind you give to a wailing child that promises a stern scolding once in private. A decade or so ago, it would’ve made Joowon freeze.
“Will you be like this the entire time?” Han Kihwan asks.
“Be specific,” Joowon says. “After three years of simply exchanging emails, you suddenly called me back here because one of your employees has retired. I’m allowed to feel a little disgruntled at being uprooted once again.”
“Act your age, Han Joowon,” Han Kihwan all but snarls, his tone scathing this time. “You will not besmirch our name while you’re here.”
Joowon has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself. This is why he prefers the emails: those are professional and impersonal as designed. Like every stilted conversation he has with this man, except he never has to deal with seeing the annoyance on Han Kihwan’s face.
Unlike now.
“Of course,” he says eventually, keeping his tone inflectionless. “I’m your son.”
Start acting like it, Han Kihwan doesn’t say, though his eyes do.
He wants Joowon to be perfect. To work as intended and nothing more, to be like him who climbed the ranks of the company from scratch. Or so he makes everyone believe; Han Kihwan married into the family of Lee Suyeon to get to where he is now.
Joowon’s maternal great-grandfather founded the company, after all. Named after Joowon’s mother, who was his favorite grandchild. Han Kihwan made use of that knowledge to eventually become the CEO, and now he’s using that authority to make Joowon do what he wants.
Joowon, like always, plays along. It’s the behavior expected of him. He only rebels when he’s in front of his father. There isn’t anything he can do to satisfy Han Kihwan. He learned that lesson long ago.
The tension between them shatters when Han Kihwan finally strides to the intercom and calls for tea.
When his assistant returns, Joowon watches how his father plasters his most amicable smile and says, “This is Han Joowon. My son who recently returned from the England branch.”
The emphasis he puts on ‘my son’ doesn’t miss Joowon’s ears.
Joowon inclines his head in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on his father while a cup of steaming tea is laid out before him.
“You must be very proud of him, sir,” the assistant says, throwing sheepish smiles and glances that Joowon barely notices.
Han Kihwan merely keeps the pleasant expression on his face and never agrees. He waves his hand in dismissal when his assistant asks if they need anything else.
When they’re alone once more, Joowon resists the urge to fling the cup of tea aside.
——
SY Laboratories has satellite branches in the world, with the one in Seoul acting as their Main Office. Joowon has spent three years in the Berkshire branch as part of his training and test, and after he has seemingly proven himself, he gets a promotion and a relocation back to Seoul as Han Kihwan capitalizes on his personal achievements once more.
There’s a ceremony to celebrate his return and inauguration, held in the most spacious function room that they have in the building and attended by the important people Joowon doesn’t care much to know. There’s the Board and the current Chairman—his maternal grandfather who only likes him because he looks like his mother. Then there’s his father, Kwon Hyuk by his side, and the rest of the Executive Directors that Joowon will likely be introduced to, as per tradition.
He barely listens to the introductions. He wants to go home and not think of Seoul, of Han Kihwan and his faux smile of pride. He shakes hands with people whose faces he’ll barely see again, putting on a small smile that can be interpreted as modest by those who don’t know him.
It works for everyone present.
By the time he is introduced to the rest of the executives in one of the meeting rooms, Joowon has had enough of shaking hands. He disdains physical contact, and he only did it earlier to convince the Board that he’s the right choice. He had to wash his hands thrice and use a minimum of five wipes to meticulously clean even the webs between his fingers before he went out to face the other executives.
Here, in front of people ranked the same level as him, he no longer needs to pretend.
He stares at the proffered hand in front of him and bows instead. “I look forward to working with you,” he says coolly, and Park Jeongje’s bewildered face is something he ignores.
Park Jeongje, Executive Director of the Production Division. According to the files Hyuk has forwarded to him, he’s quiet and withdrawn, follows the rules and caves immediately once questioned. Joowon will have no problems dealing with him.
He does the same to Oh Jihwa, Executive Director of the Marketing Division. The twitch in her expression is all he receives for his refusal to shake her hand. She’s said to be more assertive than Director Park, but there’s no shortage of people like her in England. She can’t surprise him.
The introductions are interrupted when the door to this particular meeting room is suddenly thrown open, and a man with a messy tumble of curls strides in so casually that Joowon cannot help narrowing his eyes at the sight.
“You’re late,” Oh Jihwa says to the newcomer, who shrugs.
“Chaewon-ssi took another ninety-minute break and spent the last thirty crying,” the man explains. “She used up all my stock of tissues.”
“Why were you the one comforting her?” Park Jeongje asks. “Isn’t Sangyeob her boyfriend?”
“Was,” this man says, shaking his head. “Another couple’s fight concerning a member of my department and I’m always the one dealing with the aftermath if I’m not present in the crossfire.”
Oh Jihwa hides a grin behind the back of her hand and tilts her head. “You’re just in time. Go up there and introduce yourself.”
Joowon pretends to not hear all these things as he nods at the current executive chatting him up. This one is from Research, and regardless of what branch Joowon works in, anyone from Research chooses to use five words when they can answer with one. He makes a nod of dismissal as he considers the only executive he hasn’t spoken to.
The latecomer.
“I’m terribly sorry to have missed most of your induction ceremony,” the man drawls. He’s a few centimeters shorter than Joowon, perhaps older by a decade or so, with lines surrounding his eyes as he smiles and extends a hand. “I’m the Executive Director of the Sales Division, Lee Dongsik.”
Lee Dongsik and his bright smiles and easygoing demeanor. His suit is less impressive than the others, too, and definitely not as expensive as Joowon’s. Joowon stares at the hand between them and draws his lips to a thin line.
“I don’t like shaking hands,” he says. If this man wasn’t late, he’d know. “I’m Han Joowon. The new Director of the Finance Division.”
Lee Dongsik’s expression shifts, his smile receding. “Director Nam Sangbae’s successor, then.”
Joowon only bows once in greeting. In his periphery, he sees that Lee Dongsik still hasn’t retracted his hand.
He’s either prideful or hopeful that Joowon will change his mind. Either way, it doesn’t concern Joowon and doesn’t make him feel anything. He’s the youngest executive here. Let them create their impressions of him while he performs beyond their expectations. Let them see that he isn’t intimidated by their age and years of experience ahead of him.
He turns to his father’s assistant ushering him and decides to follow her then, out of the meeting room and to the section of the floor where his new department awaits.
——
The Executive Assistant sent by HR to him is a man called Oh Jihoon, Oh Jihwa’s younger brother who was once the former Director Nam Sangbae’s assistant. On paper, he is perfect in helping Joowon navigate around his new environment and new sets of colleagues.
In practice, he is anything but.
Oh Jihoon is the type of assistant who is friends with all the other assistants. He smiles too big, is bubbly in the mornings and bubblier in the afternoons. He knows everyone in the department by name and always has an interesting anecdote to share about someone when he makes an introduction.
For instance, when Oh Jihoon has introduced Joowon to the entire Finance Division, he whispers that General Manager Hwang once got so drunk in the department outing that former Director Nam had taken it upon himself to care for him for the rest of the gathering. That the former director grumbled but shooed away anyone who had tried to relieve him from doing so, insisting that Hwang Gwangyoung’s drunken shenanigans was his responsibility.
Joowon can never picture himself doing the same. Any man who needs nursing after imbibing on alcohol shouldn’t be allowed to consume so much. He thought that was common knowledge.
He decides that he has no plans to join any of the department outings.
From the way Oh Jihoon speaks of Nam Sangbae, Joowon can tell that the former director was very much adored. That they respect him because of his age and experience, and they hope Joowon will somehow be the same. Joowon is currently one of the youngest in his department; even Oh Jihoon is a year older than him.
He’s already seen how some of them look at him. Too young, their eyes seemed to say, and yet has accomplished so much that he’s making history as the youngest executive. But some of those gazes bear weight and judgment, and Joowon understands what those looks mean: he’s only here because he’s the CEO’s son and the Chairman’s grandson. He isn’t like Nam Sangbae who dedicated twenty-five years to the company.
Joowon reels in the temptation to scoff at those looks. He ignores them and focuses on Oh Jihoon instead, and once his assistant is done speaking, Joowon exhales once.
“Oh Jihoon-ssi,” he says, even and detached.
This close, Oh Jihoon’s smile is nearly blinding in its friendliness.
“Bring me all the department’s records and existing forms from the past year,” he says. “Include all performance reviews and all other relevant data.” He knows they all expect him to offer everyone a few words of encouragement, perhaps a promise that he’ll do his best. That the department has planned a little welcome party for him in one of the smaller meeting rooms.
It is unnecessary. Joowon is here to do a job, and he’ll ace it. This is a test laid by his father, and the sooner he completes it, the sooner he can move on.
The way Oh Jihoon’s expression flickers brings some sick satisfaction in Joowon.
Let their hopes be crushed, he thinks. He’s not here to mingle or to make friends, not even to nurse a subordinate’s hangover. He’s here to make changes, to implement order. If his father is watching, Joowon intends to make all of this worthwhile.
“Bring all that I asked for in my office in five minutes,” he says, and Oh Jihoon barely manages a nod before Joowon tilts his head in acknowledgement and excuses himself.
He returns to his office and starts perusing the files in the computer, grateful for the momentary silence. In his solitude, he can pretend he’s not in Seoul but elsewhere, and that Han Kihwan isn’t two floors away from him and reachable with a single press of a button on the intercom.
When Oh Jihoon returns—he took ten minutes and Joowon makes a mental note of it—the smile he offers Joowon is significantly less welcoming. Less idol-like. Like he’s watching himself.
Good, Joowon thinks. It suits him better this way.
——
By the end of the first week, Joowon has issued a memorandum to all the other departments. It took Oh Jihoon five times to revise the document to Joowon’s satisfaction, but it’s impeccable and flawless when it hits the desks of all the other executives.
The former Director Nam was apparently so lenient and fatherly that he allowed the other departments to submit their documents and requests as late as a day prior to their events. Joowon will tolerate no such thing; he requires a minimum of a week for all requests to be processed accordingly.
One week with all the supplemental documents attached, a digital copy submitted to his work email that has the Executive Director of the concerned department as a CC if they cannot send the email themselves. He compromises by letting everyone know that he allows questions and clarifications for the first three days after the disposition of the requests has been forwarded to the respective departments.
It’s the leniency they’re all expecting. In Berkshire, Joowon only dedicates half a day after his assessment to respond to queries. His decision is final after that.
The memorandum seems to ruffle a few feathers. From the curious and somewhat adoring looks he used to receive, everyone now seems to watch themselves. Conversations quieten whenever he passes by and there are fewer people willing to meet his gaze. In the elevators, only Oh Jihoon is willing to ride in the same lift as him.
Yet, there are still those who persist. Joowon has a total of five general managers under him, three of which immediately made it their routine to interact as little as possible with him. The other two seem to test the waters every now and then, as evidenced by General Manager Hwang showing him courtesy in front of everyone’s eyes, opening the doors for him whenever he can.
Joowon loathes people like him the most. The ones who blatantly wish to further their careers and stick close to him because he’s the CEO’s son, in hopes to curry his father’s favor that way. Joowon, who hasn’t spoken to Han Kihwan in the last three years save for the emails.
If there’s anything Joowon will tell him the next time they meet, it’s that this Main Office is hardly worth all the recognition and talk he once heard all the way from Berkshire. That it’s lackluster and unimpressive. He’ll never talk about his subordinates in front of his father.
By the end of the second week, he starts to see the changes. The departments comply to the best of their ability, and when Joowon points out a few inconsistencies and errors in private meetings with the concerned executive, they’re quick to rectify the mistakes and hold themselves accountable.
He encounters his first problem a month after his transfer here.
Oh Jihoon, being a friendly face to everyone in the building, has apparently taken it upon himself to remind the other departments when their requests are nearing the deadline Joowon has set. He does this behind Joowon’s back—a great addition to his already existing duties as Joowon’s assistant—and even covers up for the lateness by claiming that the email has been buried in Joowon’s inbox and that he has overlooked it.
Despite the timestamp proving that the request itself was submitted late. A day before instead of a week.
Joowon finds out when he catches Oh Jihoon speaking frantically on the phone by his desk, begging someone he refers to as hyung to just be reasonable and follow along.
Instead of confronting Oh Jihoon, Joowon asks for the tally of budget proposals and requests submitted by the other divisions in the past year.
The data never lies. In it, Joowon sees that the Sales Department makes the most requests and is frequently rushing them. He checks the previous documents submitted by Sales and sees a number of glaring errors in punctuation and spacing, the attached forms in incomprehensible filenames that it’s impossible to sort them without checking their content.
Nam Sangbae has approved of all of these before his retirement. And before these files even reached his desk, all the unsatisfactory forms bore the approval and signature of their Executive Director.
Lee Dongsik.
In Joowon’s stay here, he’s already heard stories. That out of all the executive directors, Lee Dongsik is the employees’ favorite. He treats his subordinates equally and hosts birthday celebrations for them. He’s forgiving of mistakes and quick to step up in defense of a colleague, and is the first to comfort anyone upset regardless of what department they're in.
He’s also the hyung Oh Jihoon has referred to multiple times, something Joowon discovers when he and Jihoon are leaving for lunch with a Board Director and Lee Dongsik is passing by the elevators.
Joowon is fastidious and takes in all of the details meticulously. He connects the dots and starts checking the previous requests from Sales that were approved by Nam Sangbae, and begins tracing where the money goes to. They have an audit team for this, but Joowon has learned that like Oh Jihoon, Lee Dongsik is friends with nearly everyone in the company including the cleaning staff and the security personnel.
Looking up the lists of the members of the Audit Team reveals a Lee Sangyeob, and vaguely, Joowon recalls Lee Dongsik once mentioning the name. He sets aside this knowledge for a later time.
Lee Dongsik has a reputation for being the most well-liked because he’s frequently participating in company dinners and outings. That he forks the most money for each, always willing to shoulder the expenses and make his colleagues happy.
This reputation, Joowon realizes, may have been related to the number of requests Lee Dongsik has approved his department to make in the past. If he’s spending company money unnecessarily and carelessly, then it’s now on Joowon to make him cease.
Nam Sangbae may have been hoodwinked, but Joowon is different.
He checks his work email as he recalls every moment that Oh Jihoon has made a pitiful excuse of overlooking a specific email that needed Joowon’s immediate attention. It all coincides with a request made by Sales, and Joowon wonders what Lee Dongsik has on his assistant for Oh Jihoon to blatantly lie for him each time.
He resolves to find out.
——
Joowon gives it two weeks to test his theory, to cement it to a truth rather than an accusation. When his work email pings with a new message from Sales, he summons Oh Jihoon to his office.
“This is another email you will claim to have overlooked,” Joowon says, showing him the message and its attachment. It’s from Lee Dongsik, sent a day prior (again) and requesting payment for an upcoming meeting with one of the sister companies.
Oh Jihoon bristles and looks elsewhere.
“No need to make the same excuse and cover up for other people’s incompetence, Oh Jihoon-ssi,” Joowon advises. “I’ve noticed a pattern already. It’s always the Sales Division who doesn’t comply with the memorandum.”
“I’ve overlooked this,” Oh Jihoon says anyway, loyal to a fault. “I was late in forwarding it to you, Director. I’m sorry.”
“You were late the previous three times as well?” Joowon clarifies.
Oh Jihoon pauses, as if in contemplation. Then he nods resolutely. “Yes. My sincerest apologies.”
“If I speak with Director Lee, will he tell me the same thing?” Joowon asks.
Oh Jihoon holds his breath, standing so rigidly that he’s almost completely immobile. He doesn’t give Joowon a response.
Joowon presses on. “My predecessor may have been lenient when it came to deadlines, but it’s been more than a month since I issued a memorandum and almost everyone has complied. Except for Sales. And you’ve been compromising your position as my assistant each time you cover up for them. HR claimed you were the most qualified to assist me, not Director Lee Dongsik.”
Oh Jihoon looks apologetic and ashamed, lowering his gaze.
“If you’d rather assist someone else, tell me right away,” Joowon says. “If you cannot be forthcoming with your reasons why you keep on lying to me each time Sales deliberately refuses to follow the protocol, you might as well tender your resignation as my assistant.”
“He’s not a bad person,” Oh Jihoon says this time, causing Joowon to frown. “Hyu—Director Lee, I mean. He follows his own policies as well.”
Joowon has an eyebrow arched in question. “Such as?”
“Sales has a policy that they can request for payment a day before it’s needed,” Oh Jihoon says.
While this is true, it’s an example of preferential treatment that Joowon refuses to tolerate. If Production, Marketing, Research, and even Admin can all comply with his deadlines, he doesn’t see why Sales can be allowed not to. Any work rushed reeks of inefficiency, saddling it with a higher risk of mistakes.
Joowon refuses to be a part of any of this.
The longer he tolerates the Sales Division’s defiance, the more he incurs the risk of the other divisions following suit. Joowon desires order and wants his work to reflect it. In this, he’s a bit too much like his father, and no matter how much he dislikes the comparison, he himself sees it.
“Where is Director Lee?” he asks. At the blink he receives, he continues, “You seem to be well-acquainted with his schedule and behavior. Let his assistant know that I’m expecting him in Meeting Room Four in fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes later, Joowon arrives in an empty meeting room.
He takes a seat in the nearest chair and waits for the next five minutes.
Which soon becomes ten. And fifteen.
When the door opens, Joowon swivels on the chair to direct his most appraising look at Lee Dongsik. His usual nest of curls are as mussed as the day they first met, his hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks.
His tardiness doesn’t seem to bother him. He doesn’t look apologetic in any way.
“Did my assistant fail to inform you of the time, Director Lee?” Joowon asks, foregoing the pleasantries.
“Your assistant is trying to keep it together in front of the water dispenser and spent twenty minutes begging me to be here,” Lee Dongsik says as he hooks his foot under one of the chairs to have it face him. He plops on it ungracefully, a sigh escaping from him. “I only left once I was certain that he’s all right.”
“Oh Jihoon is upset that I’ve discovered how much he’s covering up for you?” Joowon asks, cutting to the chase.
Lee Dongsik gives him a look with eyes narrowed.
Then: “It’s true.”
Joowon quirks an eyebrow. “Enlighten me, Director Lee.”
Lee Dongsik points at him with his forefinger, waving the digit back and forth as he leans back on his seat. “You’re as every bit as insufferable as I thought. I’m surprised it took this long for you to meet with me; I resolved to never follow your deadlines the moment I received the memorandum on my desk.”
The fact that he’s telling Joowon all of this unprompted makes Joowon’s eyebrow twitch. Lee Dongsik is famous in this company for being accommodating and kind. The one who always has a smile for anyone he meets in the hallways.
There’s no smile on his face now. What he has for Joowon is a challenging, unrepentant sneer. A mockery that he doesn’t dare conceal.
“The memorandum is company policy,” Joowon says, keeping his voice even. Such theatrics are hardly worth his attention. If Lee Dongsik can manipulate everyone into thinking that he’s likable while he’s misappropriating company funds, then he should tread carefully around Joowon.
“Sales also has its own sets of policies,” Lee Dongsik retorts cheekily, infuriatingly. There’s something about him that tests Joowon’s levelheadedness. “You’re not the only one making policies around here, Prince. Why should everyone accommodate you? How important do you think you are?”
A muscle slides in Joowon’s jaw as he measures his next words. “Did you teach Oh Jihoon to say the same?”
At that, Lee Dongsik blinks. “That kid actually said something to you?” he asks, sounding impressed. “You’re really something if he snapped at you like that.” He shakes his head as he chuckles, devoid of amusement. “No, I didn’t teach him anything. He’s not my assistant. He’d be treated better if he was.”
“Implying that I’ve caused Oh Jihoon’s distress is unbecoming, Director Lee,” Joowon says. “I’m not the one who keeps submitting their requests late and asks somebody else’s assistant to cover for me.”
“I never asked him to do that,” Lee Dongsik retorts, a frown now etched on his features. “That punk really went out of his way…” he grumbles, trailing off as he glances at the door of the meeting room.
“Regardless, your department’s incompetence and stubbornness have caused my assistant’s distress,” Joowon informs him. “As Executive Director, I hoped that you would take responsibility and not promote such practices further.”
Lee Dongsik angles his head to the side and studies him under half-lidded eyes. Joowon weathers the stare coolly and returns it evenly, and he receives a snort for his efforts.
“With all due respect, Director Han, my department hasn’t made any errors,” he tells Joowon with a faux smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “They were following our division’s policies, long before you made yours. And even if they do submit it on time for my approval, you’ll have to forgive my—how did you put it?—incompetence, then. At my age, the emails look the same.”
He’s bullshitting. Joowon can tell because of the face Lee Dongsik is making: his smile is deceptively saccharine while his gaze remains defiant and calculating. Like he wants to see Joowon lose his cool.
“Are you suggesting that your department submits documents on time and your approval is what causes them to appear late in my work email’s inbox anyway?” Joowon clarifies.
“A day prior isn’t late,” Lee Dongsik points out.
“It is to me,” Joowon says dismissively. “I’ve reviewed your recent request before coming here. You will receive an official email regarding its status, but I feel that I should inform you of it now.” He waits until their eyes meet before he adds, “It’s been denied.”
“Because of the tardiness?” Lee Dongsik asks, all mirth draining from his face. When he isn’t smirking, Joowon thinks he looks fairly ordinary despite his expressive eyes. Handsome for his age, but not the type to make others do a double take.
“Specifically, it’s been denied since your department has failed to accomplish one of the necessary forms. 2A is missing along with its copies,” Joowon states. “As head of Finance, I’ve allowed your department to be remiss in their submissions for three times already. A fourth is a kindness that you do not deserve.”
“2A is only for requests made by Production and Marketing,” Lee Dongsik reasons.
Joowon nods. “Under my predecessor, yes, it was.” He puts emphasis on the final word, seeing Lee Dongsik’s nostrils flare. “But I require it on all requests now, regardless of their nature. There will be no preferential treatment for any of the divisions. If you’ve at least read the memorandum before you casually tossed it aside, you would know.”
He expects a disgruntled nod of acceptance with gritted teeth.
Instead, Lee Dongsik laughs. No, he cackles, like he’s absolutely tickled by this entire exchange, his shoulders trembling from delight.
“Director Han,” Lee Dongsik says once he recovers, “to borrow an expression I often hear from my colleagues: all of this could’ve been an email.” He pauses then, forefinger stroking the stubble on his jaw. “Unless you wanted to see me so badly considering how many times you’ve taken note of my supposed incompetence.” His subsequent grin sends Joowon’s blood boiling; it’s so confident and sly. “Should I be flattered?”
“Ashamed, more like,” Joowon says icily. Lee Dongsik lets out another mad cackle that he pays no attention to. “Any subsequent mistakes of a similar nature will not be tolerated.”
“Ask me out to dinner next time,” is what Lee Dongsik says next. Every word that comes out of that mouth is far from Joowon’s expectations, and it irks him. “Then tell me off like this while we wait for our food; it’ll make everything much more pleasant.”
Involuntarily, one of Joowon’s hands clenches into a fist.
Lee Dongsik pats his thighs twice before standing up, gaze turning serious. “Will that be all, Director Han?”
Joowon holds his head high as he gets on his feet, smoothing out the creases on his suit. “There won’t be a next time, Director Lee.”
Lee Dongsik makes a sad, disappointed noise. “Aww. And here I thought we’re finally getting along.”
“Any more of these and I will personally report you to HR,” Joowon says with finality, unable to suppress his frown.
He departs the room then, not bothering to listen to any of Lee Dongsik’s deluded replies. If the man’s deranged cackle plays in his head as he marks off every email from Sales, he thinks what he plans to do next is justified given their unfortunate encounter.
He sends the messages straight to the trash and issues another memorandum.