{BOOK ONE}...When literature student Jeon Jungkook steps in for his sick roommate to interview young prominent entrepreneur Kim Taehyung, he encounters a man who is beautiful, brilliant, and intimidating, but little does he perceive the encounter wi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Jungkook P.O.V.
I glance nervously around the bar but cannot see him.
"Kook, what is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"It's Taehyung, he's here."
"What? Really?" She glances around the bar too.
I have neglected to mention Taehyung's stalker tendencies to my mom.
I finally see him. My heart leaps, beginning a juddering thumping beat as he makes his way toward us.
He's really here - for me. My inner goddess leaps up cheering from his chaise longue.
Moving smoothly through the crowd, his hair glints bright blonde and gold under the recessed halogens. His bright hazel eyes are shining with - anger? Tension? His mouth is set in a grim line, jaw tense.
Oh holy shit...No. I am so mad at him right now, and here he is. How can I be angry with him in front of my mother?
He arrives at our table, gazing at me warily. He's dressed in customary white linen shirt and jeans.
"Hi," I squeak, unable to hide my shock and awe at seeing him here in the flesh.
"Hi," he replies, and leaning down, he kisses my cheek, taking me by surprise.
"Taehyung, this is my mother, Aera." My ingrained manners take over.
He turns to greet my mom.
"Mrs. Adams, I am delighted to meet you."
How does he know her name?
He gives her the heart-stopping, Kim Taehyung patented, full-blown-no-prisoners-taken smile. She doesn't have a hope. My mother's lower jaw practically hits the table. Jeez, get a grip Mom.
She takes his proffered hand and they shake. My mother hasn't replied. Oh, complete dumbfounded speechlessness is genetic - I had no idea.
"Taehyung," she manages finally, breathlessly.
He smiles knowingly at her, his hazel eyes twinkling.
I narrow my eyes at them both.
"What are you doing here?" My question sounds more brittle than I mean, and his smile disappears, his expression now guarded. I am thrilled to see him, but completely thrown off balance, my anger about Mrs. Robinson simmering through my veins.
I don't know if I want to shout at him or throw myself into his arms - but I don't think he'd like either - and I want to know how long he has been watching us. I'm also a little anxious about the email I just sent him.
"I came to see you, of course." He gazes down at me impassively. Oh, what is he thinking. "I'm staying in this hotel."
"You're staying here?" I sound like a sophomore on amphetamines, too high-pitched even for my own ears.
