Jennie Ruby Jane Kim needs a husband, Liam Manoban needs an easy resolution to his cash flow problem.
Unfortunately, the best laid plans often go awry.
--
Or, Jennie Kim is actually rich, but Liam Manoban isn't actually Liam Manoban. It's complicate...
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As a rich woman, Jennie Kim has known her fair share of indulgences—fine pastries, silk dresses, houses of many rooms—but the look on Liam's face when she enters is a pleasure that surpasses any other she's ever known. There's something thrilling about a calculated plan well-executed, especially one with such an appealing risk and reward ratio and hardy economics. For one tailored bustier and a robe, she sees her husband (her wife? A thrill runs down Jennie's spine at the thought) like that.
The thing of it is: Liam Manoban makes Jennie feel like green moss is growing around her heart, a river rushing between her legs, wet and alive. She wants Liam's naked body, wants to parse it apart like a child would peel an orange. And then, having altered Jennie emotionally, having placed terrible greenery about her rib cage, Liam should distract her from it physically. Instead of having these treacherous, soft feelings, Jennie imagines herself stretching around her wife's hand. Concealing bruises left by her mouth and teeth, being caged under her body and made sore. The click of the door closing behind Liam is the sealing of the envelope of her fantasy.
That time will come. For now she remains at the entrance with her hands crammed in her pockets looking like she's had too much wine and been spun around. Her disorientation is perfect. Jennie is the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood, perched and lying in wait. What big eyes you have, my dear.
"Come closer, Liam." Jennie gestures to a chair positioned catty corner with a pointed toe. Above all other things, she wants to know Liam's real name. She wants to feel it in her mouth, on her tongue. Would it be something proper and feminine, like Elizabeth? She's certain it's nothing plain, Liam is no Ann or Mary, but something exotic perhaps. Cecile, Philomena. "Sit there. Let's talk."
"Talk?" She's stalling, staying a safe distance from where Jennie sits.
"Unless there's something else you'd rather be doing." As part of her first act, Jennie shifts and uncrosses her legs, in the process gaping her robe open and leaving her knees slightly parted. What a delight it is to see her action reflected in Liam's face like a refractory glass. What a delight it will be when everything is laid bare and her view is less obstructed.
"No." Liam says in a wonderful stutter, then: "Okay." In one quick, jerky movement she's sat in the chair. Her back is ramrod straight and her hands are folded in her lap, polite. It's such a frail facade that Jennie can't wait to take a sledgehammer to. "What would you like to talk about?"
"Your meeting." Jennie says, struggling to keep a straight face. She takes a moment to inspect the lacquer on her nails. "With Mr. Baek."
Liam looks down for a moment before nodding her head as if she'd known all along. She adjusts her already perfectly straight glasses. The absurdity of it, and Liam's easy belief of her reasoning, makes Jennie want to giggle. As if she would have invited her up to her bedroom, wearing this, to talk shop. "Of course! Yes, of course."
