I fidget with my hands as my feet tap unconsciously, my eyes move once more in the direction of the guy from the hotel and stop, widening slightly when they make contact with his pale blue ones.
For a second panic seizes my heart, and I fear he'd stand up from the couch and yell 'I know you!'. But instead, he looks away as if dismissing my presence.
My shoulders slump in relief when the realization sets in, he doesn't recognize me.
Turning my attention to the other two, my gaze connects with the grey eyes of the man leaning against the shelves. He stares at me with a calculating gleam in his eyes that is so intense and imploring, I have to force myself not to look away immediately.
Noting they're yet to speak, I clear my throat to ask. "What is it you want to talk about because am sure I wasn't called here so you can stare at me all day?"
"Sorry to make you uncomfortable," Strip-suit apologizes sincerely. "I don't know if you know me but my name is Kim Dae-Hong and this man here," He indicated to the guy leaning against the shelf. "Is Kevin Dean."
Kevin Dean… why does the name sound so familiar?
"And him?" I ask, pointing to the one sitting on the couch.
If our paths are going to keep fucking crossing like this then I need to know who he is, after all, I can't keep calling him "the guy from the hotel"… even if I only do so in my head.
At my question they stare at me in astonished surprise, their eyes wide with disbelief. "What?"
"You don't know him?" The man named Kevin asks sceptically, and I shake my head.
"Am I supposed to?"
They turn silent, the three of them exchanging looks with one another, before Kevin's lips slowly stretch into a calculated grin.
"An even better reason why she's perfect. There won't be any fuss with her."
"You may be right..." Dae-Hong agrees, and I just stare between the two of them with a scowl. "This time anyway." He finishes with a side smirk and Kevin sends him a glare.
"Can you stop talking about me like I'm not here?"
"My apologies," Dae-Hong smiles.
He's so damn polite it's hard to stay pissed.
"The person to your right is Cameron Kyong. One of Korea's young and talented teenage K-pop Idol."
I turn to him and we both bow in greeting before I look away, I don't like the way he's studying me and I'll rather just avoid his gaze altogether.
"The reason we called you here—" Kevin starts, pulling my attention towards him. "—was to ask if you know about the new music show being produced?"
At first, I was confused by the question, also a little annoyed that I was called here so they could ask me this, but then I remember the commercial I'd seen on TV just last week and my gaze moves to stare Dae-Hong.
Oh right, he's the guy in the TV commercial about a music competition.
"Yeah, I think I do."
"Then you must be aware the competition has looked through various schools for the perfect contestants to join the show."
I don't like where this is going.
"And out of all these top art schools we've searched through, K-Star High is one of the lucky picks we settled on for our competition."
I really don't like where this is going.
"We've already decided on the participants we're going to draw from this school and you, are one of the lucky few. You'll have the chance to be mentored and trained by Cameron."
I purse my lips in irritation. "Look, thanks for the consideration–"
"We also need one thing from you," He interrupts rudely, cutting me off mid-sentence. "And that's to have you be one of the faces of LIGHT UP THE STAGE!"
"—But I'm going to have to decline your offer." I finish in irritation.
Face scrunched in a frown; he stares at me with a tilted head as if he couldn't understand my words.
"Decline what exactly?"
"Both offers."
"But... you can't." Dae-Hong blinks, his expression a picture of shock.
"Am pretty sure I can."
He pulls out stapled sheets of paper from a brown envelope I hadn't noticed in his hand and flips through the pages before Kevin handed it over to Dae-Hong who slides it over to me.
I lean forward to look it over after a deliberating second and frown at the sight of my signature at the edge of the last page.
Dragging it closer, I flip the contact back to its front page and see the form I'd filled out.
Unexpectedly, the edges of the form and the first five pages of the contract had been neatly folded above the line of my signature.
It's folded so neatly that it appears as if the signature was signed on the form rather than the contract, unfolding the edges I scoff in disbelief.
"I meant it when I said you can't decline. As you see here you are legally bound to follow through with the competition, and whatever decision we make regarding what it is you have to offer the show."