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Jinmi roughly navigated her car into the spacious garage. Her mother's car and Rowoon's were neatly parked in their respective spots, indicating they were home and likely prepared to give her a stern talking-to. Out of habit, she glanced over at her father's parking spot and felt a momentary surge of hope upon seeing his sleek, charcoal Rolls Royce sitting there. But reality swiftly crashed back, reminding her that he had taken a cab to the airport that fateful day. His car being there didn't mean he was.
Stepping out of her vehicle, she gazed at the Rolls, allowing her emotions to wash over her. It was the first time she had truly allowed herself to feel since receiving the devastating news. Memories flooded back, seemingly insignificant moments now imbued with profound significance. Every word exchanged in past arguments with her father played in her mind like a haunting melody, words left unsaid and now forever beyond her reach. It wasn't fair!
Jinmi let out a heavy sigh, pressing the button on her key fob to lock her car. She entered the house and nearly collided with one of the maids.
"Oh," the woman said. "Mr. Yoon was looking for you. He asked to meet him in the library when you returned."
"Mr. Yoon?" Jinmi inquired.
The young woman blushed slightly. "The younger Mr. Yoon."
Jinmi nodded, making her way towards the library. The term "Mr. Yoon" felt strange when referring to her brother, but circumstances had thrust him into the role of the family's head. Silently, she padded down the hall, her shoes sinking into the luxurious, plush carpet. She briefly considered heading straight to her room to change, but decided against it. Dealing with the lectures first seemed a wiser choice, and then she could reward herself with a long, peaceful bath before changing into more comfortable attire.
Without knocking, Jinmi entered the library, and all eyes turned towards her as she shut the door. Rowoon appeared stressed and strained, the weight of responsibility already taking its toll on him, while her mother seemed oddly composed, likely aided by medication or Botox, Jinmi surmised. As she approached them, she caught sight of two men standing next to her brother. Though they were dressed appropriately for the outside world, within the confines of the library, they seemed out of place, like ragged beggars. She inwardly acknowledged that she probably didn't look much better.
But something else caught her attention.
One of the men nudged the other, who halted his actions to stare intently at her.
It was the same man who had once rescued her from a perilous situation at a bar and later made a toast.
Kevin Reynolds, her knight in shining armor.
A couple of days ago
Jinmi felt her phone vibrating in her pocket before it started ringing, and she sighed loudly. It had gone off twice already, but she’d left it in her pocket, awkwardly pretending it wasn’t going off. The ringtone told her who it was right away, so she didn't have to check.
“Who was that?” Emma asked, once it had gone off again.
“Just my brother. Nothing important.”
They both lapsed into silence, watching the customers do their shopping, but none came near them. The store wasn’t too busy yet, and they were just getting ready for the after-work rush. It wouldn’t be much longer till they’d be running off their feet, serving all the busy professionals that were picking up something for dinner before rushing home again. She was a little jealous of them sometimes.
Suddenly, a raised voice pulled her attention away and she tilted her head to one side, listening.
It sounded like Mia was arguing with someone, or more likely trying not to argue with someone. Mia always liked to make people happy, no matter what. Jinmi turned off the grill and stepped out from behind the stand. Following the voices, she turned down the next aisle. She stood next to Mia and looked at the two women.
“Is there a problem here?”
“There most certainly is. I want some of the apple chicken sausages, but she’s refusing.”
Jinmi narrowed her eyes. “Well, she should. That kind isn’t one of the samples we’re offering today.”
The customer glared at her, and she glared back. Something about the woman reminded her of her mother. They had the same way of running right over people, of expecting that everyone else should do whatever they could to let them get their way, knowing that the employees would just let it happen.
“You have a package right here; you can just open it up,” she said smugly, waving the package in her face.
“No, we really can’t. We can’t just take whatever we want off the shelves and give it to people. We can only give people samples of the products we’re allowed to give. That’s not even the same brand.” She was trying to stay calm and keep her voice even, but it was clear she was failing.
Mia took a step back; she was softer and more non-confrontational than Jinmi and didn’t want to get caught up in the fight. But Jinmi couldn’t back down. She was getting mad now, and had to see it through to the end.
“I’m sure you could, but you’re just lazy.” The woman glared at Jinmi, almost daring her to say something else.
“You’re the one who’s lazy. You want us to take this package, and cook them up so you can have a little piece, while we get in trouble. It’s a package of sausages. It's eight dollars. Just buy some yourself, and see if you like them.”
“Ladies!” The manager came bustling over, putting a hand on Jinmi’s arm, making her step away from the customer. “It sounds like you need some help with something.”
“One of us needs help, but it sure isn’t me,” Jinmi muttered.
The customer’s mouth dropped open, and her face grew red. “Did you hear that?”
“I’ll ask her to keep her comments to herself while we talk.”
He turned to the two women. “You two stay here. When I’m done dealing with this, we’ll talk.”
Jinmi and Mia stayed huddled together while the manager walked away, talking to the customer. They weren’t sure what he said to her, but it seemed to work. Her face got less red, and she stopped turning to glare at them.
"What do you think’s going to happen?”
Jinmi snorted and ran her fingers through her short black hair. “I think nothing’s going to happen.”
“I don’t want to lose my job.”
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