She had never felt any need to know exactly. To be honest, she had never once wondered about Jae-geon’s number.
They were together every day—Tuesday through Saturday, workdays—and then spent every Saturday night together.
Simply put, she spent almost every day of the week with him, except one.
They weren’t so attached that they told each other every little detail about the short time they spent apart. Besides, there wasn’t really much to talk about.
Jae-geon never asked—and though he likely already knew—neither had she. That was the only reason she did not have his number. It had nothing to do with how deep their feelings ran.
Yet now, staring at the blank space beside Jung Jae-geon in her contacts, she kept sighing.
She was afraid this undefined relationship, more than lovers but too blurry to call it a partnership, would end just as easily as it had begun.
At the thought of not seeing Jae-geon again, a hollow ache opened in her chest.
Where on earth had he vanished to?
Hae-som arrived home clutching her cookbook to her chest. She showered until she was clean, then picked up her phone.
She called Jong-myeong. Before the second ring, he answered.
“Yeah, Hae-som?”
“What’s the Chef’s phone number?”
Something in the tone on the other end of the line felt strange. After a short pause, Jong-myeong asked:
“…He’s right here with me. Want me to put him on?”
No. That was not something she could say over the phone.
Hae-som politely declined and ended the call. Then she burrowed deep beneath her blankets.
She could not sleep, so eager was she for his return tomorrow.
Hae-som arrived at work early, as she always did, and had begun sorting through the day’s deliveries when she paused.
“Hey, Bambi. In early, I see.”
Jun-won leaned against the doorframe, grinning.
“I always come in at this time, Manager. What brings you in so early yourself?”
“Your high-and-mighty Chef called an early morning meeting.”
“A meeting? At this hour?”
“Jung Jae-geon’s the type to spill every detail, so you’ll find out soon enough anyway.”
Jun-won cracked his knuckles and walked off, muttering that he would not let this slide if it turned out to be nothing. His empty space was soon filled by the CDPs filing in one after another. Every face looked worn, as if last night’s fatigue had yet to fade.
Jong-im and Seung-jun merely nodded a quiet greeting, looking in no mood for conversation, while Jun-young and Woon-seop stood blocking Hae-som in place.
Jun-young nervously picked at a rough spot on his lip before asking,
“Song Hae-som… did the Chef say anything to you?”
“Nothing at all.”
“From leaving service early yesterday out of nowhere, to calling this emergency meeting… something feels really off. Are you sure you don’t know anything?”
“I’m telling you, I don’t.”
Woon-seop rubbed his large palms together, trying to ease the tension.
“Seo Jun-young, you really do worry over nothing. I’m sure there’s no cause for alarm.”
“That’s because you’re far too optimistic, hyung.”
“Probably just to finalize the menu selection. We haven’t even settled on an outline yet, have we?”
“At the crack of dawn? It’s not even twelve hours since we left work.”
It’s barely dawn, Hae-som thought, holding back a smile. For all his complaining, Jun-young was quite the drama queen. Meanwhile, she had been arriving at this hour without complaint for as long as she could remember.
The door flew open, and a familiar scent filled the room. Jae-geon stepped through the soft morning sunlight.
Relief and joy made her move before she could speak. Hae-som stepped directly in his path and called out, voice trembling with feeling:
“Chef!”
She had half-expected him to pull her into an embrace, pleased that she had chosen to stay. But wait as she might, he gave no sign of recognition.
…Was he angry?
Yet if he was angry, his voice gave nothing away. When he turned to ask Woon-seop a question, he sounded almost too calm.
“The others aren’t here yet?”
“In the changing rooms, Chef.”
“Meeting in the office. Everyone inside in five minutes.”
“Yes, Chef.”
Jun-young and Woon-seop tactfully stepped aside. Finally, Hae-som was alone with Jae-geon.
She did not know how to begin. Should she confess what had kept her awake all night? Or tell him first that she wanted him to reconsider her internship?
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a pounding pestle. She took a steadying breath to calm her voice, and parted her lips to speak—
In an instant, he swept past her like a gale-force wind.
His arm nearly grazed her nose, yet Jae-geon did not so much as glance at her. Without the slightest flicker of hesitation, he strode away.
He had been gone barely a single day, yet the stack of documents awaiting him was more than double his usual workload.
Add to that three prospective sponsors coming for tastings, and a new menu planning meeting—matters concerning a mere intern had been pushed to the very back of his mind long ago.
It was just as well. If Song Hae-som had come barging in with her nonsense, he felt he might have wrung that slender neck of hers then and there.
Holding his rage in check behind the respectable pretense of a meeting was helping him regain his composure, slowly but surely.
Jun-won scanned the list of sponsors and their proposed terms, then clicked his tongue in disgust.
“These so-called ‘partnership proposals’ read like we’re billboard space! Fine—cooking classes, I can stomach that. But why on earth would we appear on a terrestrial broadcast cooking show?”
He knew Jae-geon hated public appearances that drew unwanted attention. Jae-geon replied calmly,
“It’s a fifteen-minute chef challenge program. They want to supply their ingredients through us and get promotion in return.”
“It’s extortion, is what it is! Do they think a three-star restaurant is some cheap billboard? If the pay were generous, perhaps—but honestly, ugh!”
The fee they offered was low compared to their usual rates, but these were some of the few sponsors outside Cha Ji-won’s influence. All things considered, the terms were good enough.
Putting his face on television would be tedious, certainly. But it was hardly a matter of life and death for Nok.
The CDPs exchanged glances and silent nods, then Han Seung-jun stepped forward as their spokesman.
“Chef… if you begin appearing at public engagements, we shall need a Sous-Chef overseeing the kitchen, will we not?”
“A Sous-Chef?”
“Each of us already heads our own station,” Seung-jun explained. “If someone takes leave or falls ill, the Senior Chef must fill in. No one will have the time or attention to oversee the Chef’s Table as well.”
Jae-geon gave them a cold look. These men already had the rank and experience to handle such work, yet here they stood, complaining.
“Who covered the pass in my place yesterday?”
Woon-seop met that piercing gaze head-on and shifted his broad shoulders feeling awkward.
“Ah… I began service, Chef. Then Heads of Department Moon, Seo, and Han took turns assisting as needed.”
Just as Jun-won had instructed. So what, exactly, had gone wrong?
“It was Hae-som—Song Hae-som—who ran the Chef’s Table throughout.”
At that name—three characters he had been dreading to hear—Jae-geon felt a dull, throbbing ache creep up the back of his neck.
Woon-seop, not realizing the trouble he was causing, continued,
“She followed your timing perfectly and put everything together so well. Says she learned it all from you, Chef.”
Of course she did. Song Hae-som—sharing her nights with a man who bore a striking resemblance to her late beloved, yet all the while furthering her own career.
The anger he had barely managed to suppress rushed back, clouding his mind. His pulse raced, and veins stood out on his forehead.
But Jae-geon refused to admit it. To admit he had been played by a mere intern… to admit that the person he felt such bitter jealousy toward was a dead man… that reality was too ugly to bear.
As it happened, Song Hae-som’s internship was due to end this Saturday. If he turned a blind eye for just a few more days, he could see her gone quietly, without fuss or disruption. He need only endure a little longer.
He needed something else to focus his mind. He gripped the folder in his hands so tightly the edges crumpled.
“Here are the draft proposals for the autumn menu. Appetizers: truffle custard, confit octopus tentacles, and Song Hae-som’s burdock root ceviche…”
Han Seung-jun spoke up quickly.
“Then where do you propose assigning Song Hae-som’s dishes? The dessert she developed alongside Woon-seop hyung was also selected for the menu. It seems perfectly suited to appear on the main menu as is.”
At that, Lee Woon-seop and Moon Jong-im objected in unison.
“Now hold on—Hae-som and I were working on that dessert together from the start!”
“Easy, hyung. Naturally her ceviche should be placed as an appetizer, where it stands alone! And besides—Hae-som herself expressed particular interest in the appetizer station, did she not?”
“Regardless of what anyone says—Song Hae-som’s work belongs on the main menu.”
“Would she not appreciate the chance to try her hand at entrées as well?”
With Seung-jun taking Hae-som’s side and Jun-young joining in, the atmosphere became somewhat warm and supportive. Everyone was arguing in her defense.
So quick to treat her coldly when she needed help… and now this.
Or perhaps… perhaps they could see something he couldn’t. Perhaps they had swung without hesitation, never realizing there was nothing there to hit…
Jae-geon smiled coldly. His eyes turned to ice.
“Everything will be finalized and her employment ended by the end of this week.”
