My Client's Former Best Friend | MEANIE/MINWON

Chapter Three.

Wen fucking Junhui, Wonwoo thought as his hand closed around Wonwoo's. Of course Wonwoo knew who he was-Wonwoo doubted there was anyone left in the world who didn't. He was an internationally acclaimed, award-winning actor, director, screenwriter, producer, musician, designer, and all around media darling. He'd once hosted a reality TV show and all the contestants were eliminated in the first episode after spending the entire time fawning over him. Last year he'd published a book that was just half naked photos of himself and it'd been an overnight, runaway bestseller.

Of course,Wonwoo knew all this second hand. He'd never read, seen, or heard any of his work. He didn't have that kind of time.

But he knew a profitable client when he saw one, and Junhui reeked of money, fame, and desperation. His black tux was custom made, his diamond-studded gold watch handcrafted. Everything about him spoke of outrageous amounts of disposable income. Broad and lean musculature, he had a physique no one as busy as him could achieve.

He doesn't need to work out. With the kind of money he makes, he could pay someone to work out for him.

This was not the time to think about his beautiful, perfect body. Something was upsetting Junhui, something he'd come to Wonwoo for help with. His only interest in the man was what he needed from him and how much that assistance was worth.

"Perhaps we should go somewhere more private?" Wonwoo suggested in a soft purr. The balcony was too exposed for the kind of discussion they were about to have.

Junhui's gaze flicked around the space before he replied. "Right, yes. I have a suite," he stated, as if having a room at the most expensive, exclusive hotel in the city was a given.

Wonwoo led the way out of the ballroom. When they reached the elevator, he turned to discover Junhui had donned a black mask that covered half of his face like some sort of swashbuckling pirate. Wonwoo raised his eyebrow at him.

"So no one will recognize me," he whispered.

Wonwoo's eyebrow crept higher.

"It worked on the way in."

People in this town are dumber than I thought.

The elevator crept higher. "I thought you owned a house in Hills, Mr. Wen?"

Junhui shifted. "I do. Of late it has become...convenient for me to keep a room here too."

Now Wonwoo's curiosity was on high alert. He had to know what had turned this suave megastar into a nervous wreck. And if that meant spending time alone with him in a hotel suite, then so be it.

It wasn't, in the basic sense of the word, a suite. A suite would have been a downgrade. Junhui was staying in one of four exclusive apartments reserved for the uber rich, royalty, the president, and the pope. On the fortieth floor, they were admitted into a short hallway. Junhui hurried Wonwoo to his room, his eyes scanning the area. The door stuck, however, and required a hefty shove before it yielded enough to let them in. Once inside, Wonwoo saw the door's reluctance to open was the result of someone having shoved a large armchair in its way. This was not the only eccentricity, either. The whole room was, in fact, barricaded from within. The seating area had been stripped of all furniture save a solid black coffee table. A leather couch was wedged in the entrance to the adjoining bedroom. In front of each floor-length French door sat a white armchair, blocking access to the patio and its stunning city skyline view. A leather loveseat had been dragged inexplicably in front of the huge TV screen on the left-hand wall. Directly to the right of where he stood was a marble bar, the only part of the room that hadn't been dismantled.

Wonwoo took note of this with bland interest. Junhui was insane; most of his clients were. Now it was a matter of seeing whether his insanity was something he could work with.