My Client's Former Best Friend | MEANIE/MINWON

Chapter Twenty Two.

Wonwoo ditched his car a few blocks from Junhui's mansion. He hoped to God they were there. In the two days he'd known Junhui, they for some reason hadn't discussed Junhui's favorite haunts. If he had to search the city or fly commercial back to Mino, they'd be dead before he arrived.

His stomach lurched at the thought. In all his cases over the years, all the mayhem and fucked-up situations, he'd never been close to losing a client. Not to death, anyway. Now he stood to lose not only the first client he'd ever walked away from, but also the man he had weird and confusing feelings for.

He crept along the hedge toward the house. Thank God for rich socialites and their fascination with tall hedges.

At his gate, he peered down the long driveway, straining to see any sign of movement at the end. Here, however, the whims of the rich and famous foiled him. The street lamps, neon signs, and other various lights that kept the rest of the city at a bright, hazy glow even at one o'clock in the morning were entirely absent from Junhui's street. There was a light on in the upper part of the house and another in the area he thought was the summer kitchen, where he'd agreed to have sex with Rowoon in exchange for his silence not three days earlier. How much had changed in so short a time. As it was, he would give anything for Rowoon's presence right now. Sure, the police would make a lot of noise and Rowoon would give hin part four of his speech about how they were meant to be together, but at least the lights from the squad cars would cut through all this black nothingness.

Wonwoo debated the validity of his previous thoughts when he saw movement. A shape crossed in front of the weak light from the back of the house. In the near silence, he heard a car door open, and in the light from inside the car, he saw the outline of a massive figure. A voice from a second someone called to the person in the car in a loud hiss. It was a deep voice, even whispering. No doubt belonging to another huge, muscular guy. Minghao didn't travel light, that was certain. Even though he'd felt like James Bond at the hospital, Wonwoo wasn't about to take on Minghao's goons.

His phone buzzed and he jumped, coming down awkwardly on his foot. Shit, fucking shitty shit shit! She pulled the phone out and silenced it, his fingers shaking and his foot smarting from the landing. Some secret agent he was.

Speak of the devil and he shall call, he thought when he saw Rowoon's name flash across the screen. If Rowoon'd blown his cover with that call, he'd kill Rowoon. It would be the far less graceful way of getting out of the celebrity spin doctor business, but in a pinch, it'd work.

Wonwoo listened for signs that the men had heard the vibrating phone. The car door closed and their voices moved away from him, toward the back of the house. He let out his held breath and changed Rowoon's name in his phone to "fucking asshole." Childish, perhaps, but it gave him a small comfort as he set about scaling the ten-foot-high hedge in a rustling, graceless manner.

If any guards were still out front, they would have heard the commotion. By the time he dropped into the tree-lined drive leading to the mansion, his hands smarting from the poky branches, his clothes covered in leaves and dirt, he was convinced they'd all retreated indoors. Luck, it seemed, was temporarily on his side.

Wonwoo hadn't noticed on his previous visits, given he'd been driving and in kind of a hurry both times, but Junhui's front lawn was annoyingly devoid of cover. Across the lush green expanse of grass there were a few ornamental shrubs, a couple of twisting, tiny trees, a few flower beds that helped no one with anything, and not much else. Just picturesque, well-kept grass that stretched on along the grand driveway. He had never been so frustrated by a well-manicured lawn in his life. True, he'd also never been trying to break into a house in his life and, therefore, hadn't yet dealt with the challenges presented by landscaping. There may not have been a guard out front, but he wasn't taking any chances. He crept from tiny shrub to tiny tree, feeling like an idiot. All he needed was to start singing his own theme music and he'd be an ideal candidate for the mental ward, if he wasn't already.