My Client's Former Best Friend | MEANIE/MINWON

Chapter Sixteen.

“What the literal fuck, J.?”

  Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He may have slept for fourteen hours straight but it in no way had prepared him to deal with this. “Hey, Rosé.”

  “Why the fuck haven’t you called me? Didn’t you get my texts?”

  Wonwoo bit back his snarky reply about being fired numerous times in the Rosé textual onslaught because, really, he just didn’t want to deal with it. After walking away from Junhui’s case last night, he’d gone home and crashed, hard. Now, in the proverbial cold light of this air-conditioned rental, he felt unhinged. He was angry—angry at himself for getting into the mess, angry that he still felt an obligation toward Junhui when they didn’t even have a contract, angry that Seungcheol hadn’t called to find out why he’d bailed.

  “Yes, I got your messages. All 364 of them. I just got home and was already dialing your number into my phone.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He coughed back a snort and actually coughed instead. “Since you have me on the phone now, why don’t you tell me what this is about?”

  There was a lot of background noise on Rosé’s end. It sounded like she’d put silverware in a blender and set it on high. Knowing her, that wasn’t an unlikely option.

  “Where are you, and for God’s sake, what’s that noise?” Wonwoo asked, rubbing his temples and holding the phone six inches from his ear.

  “Oh that? That loud, grinding racket that won’t stop?” Rosé was shouting, and not entirely for Wonwoo’s benefit. “Hoseok has decided to try some fucking DIY. The asshole is destroying my house, Wonwoo. He just drilled through a fucking wall.”

  Rosé’s voice was so sarcastic and venomous, Wonwoo couldn’t hold back his laughter. He pressed his hand over his mouth, swallowing furiously so it wouldn’t come bubbling up. Hoseok was doing DIY. Wonwoo could picture it—Hoseok's spiky, gelled, highlighted hair clashing with the plaid shirt and tight denim he’d no doubt adopted, a power drill in one hand and a beer in the other. With that petite, slim body and the little bit of muscle that he could barely hang on to, it was a wonder he hadn’t sent himself to the hospital.

  Once he’d calmed down enough, Wonwoo tried to think of a solution, turning back and forth in his chair considering the options. Nothing came to him, so he stalled. “Why’s he still there? I thought I read that you two had ended things for good?”

  “Yeah, well, no thanks to you. You’re supposed to be dealing with this shit. Instead I had to break up with him. On my own. And now the bastard won’t leave. He says he likes it here! And that we’d make a good couple if we ever put all that pop star shit behind us. We would not make a good couple, J. And what pop star shit? I was so mad at him I locked myself in my room. But then he decided to impress me with some fucking home improvement and started drilling fucking holes in my fucking wall!”

  Wonwoo wanted to know what Hoseok could possibly be building. A bedroom bar? No, a fold-out massage table? Or a shrine to Rosé? Now was not the time to ask. However, the conversation was turning out to be exactly what he needed after the intensity of the past few days. He found himself wishing he could tell Mingyu all about it, to cheer him up after the whole twice-dislocated-shoulder thing. But he probably wasn’t speaking to Wonwoo either.

  Wonwoo got his silent giggles under control and tried to fake indignation. “That’s terrible! But at least he’s trying. And really, as your publicist, I shouldn’t get involved in your relationship. It sounds like this is between the two of you.”

  “What the fuck do I pay you for? You’re the one who brought him here, and then you weren’t even here when I had to break up with him. You’d better make him leave. God, I’m so beyond furious I can’t fucking talk to you right now.”