Chapter Text
It starts how things often do: with a business meeting.
In this case, it’s really the aftermath of one. Soyeon is pushing her seat back from the eight-person conference table at Windy Burger’s head office, a disposable coffee cup pressed to her lips as she scans for unread emails on her phone. She’s about to leave the room when one of the other directors barks a laugh and turns his own screen to the wider group.
“Have you seen this?”
Soyeon offers up a quick, disinterested glance at the video, but doesn’t make much of it.
“Oh, my kid showed me the clip this morning,” someone else says with a little more verve. “From Undercover Boss, isn’t it? The new season, it’s really trending these days.”
Soyeon thinks, with some disdain, that the middle-aged suits in her periphery today wouldn’t know a trend if it bit them twice daily. Not without a plotted line graph in their faces, underscored with a set of bullet points to really add value. A slideshow of information for easy consumption.
Anyway, she’s already sniped back about a number of company matters in the last three hours (three, a complete waste of time), so her mood isn’t too accommodating. They’re not horrible people, any of them, but she really needs a break. Her stomach is rolling in agitation because she skipped lunch for this. And they’re all still hovering, bird-like, by the glass door to chit-chat about menial things.
“I can’t believe they had to shut the whole place down. How oblivious can you be, to let it get that far?” This again from the first man, who continues, “They were practically haemorrhaging money, wasting stock like it was in free supply. Hiring layabouts off the street on top of that. And this is a Michelin star restaurant? Crazy.”
“Well now, that’s what you get when your CEO is fresh out of college. They think they can scale the pyramid with a ski lift, these young start-up types.”
Soyeon doesn’t have to turn her head to know where that’s directed.
She moves the coffee in her mouth from one cheek to the other with a flat expression. When she swallows, the bitter tang of americano leaves a poor aftertaste; it’s possible they changed the blend at her usual spot, with mixed results. Is it cheaper? This crap has no business being in her mouth at the same price she’s always paid.
Her phone has picked up ten new emails in the last two minutes.
“He gave it a good run,” one of the female directors says generously. “Though he was no use in the kitchen. I’m surprised the real staff there didn’t clock him on day one.”
“It would be much the same if any of us tried to flip a burger,” another man says, and they all laugh in unison at the ridiculous suggestion. Nobody in the room today has seen the back room of a Windy Burger restaurant. Most have never even tried the product.
“I could do it.”
Their laughter subsides almost immediately once Soyeon pipes up. She knows her reputation as the local ball-buster at these meetings, the tenacious five-foot two woman who comes in at the youngest executive they’ve ever had.
A less than flattering email chain once made the rounds suggesting Soyeon had a quote-unquote permanent resting bitch face, before landing directly in her own inbox. The intended recipient being, most likely, Jeon Somi who works in another sector of the company. It’s enough for a HR case, but she’s saving it for a rainy day.
Because this kind of attention doesn’t phase Soyeon much, and she’s quite comfortable leaning into that affect if it means they give her a wide berth to do her job. She can’t help that her features are sharper than most, or that she’s short, or that she doesn’t have double eyelids. Her bank account is comfort enough when those things actually do start to prick at her a little.
“Oh yes, is that right?” One of them finally acknowledges her comment, pushing wiry glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Soyeon lifts one shoulder imperiously as she crosses the room to pass the group of idlers by the door. She misses the foot of one director by a bare inch with the knife-point tip of her heel; they all step back out of range after that. “I’m not so out of touch that I think myself above it. Isn’t that what you meant?”
Nobody says another word to her then, but their eyes track her route down the hall to the waiting elevators. She can read the mood clear as day, but it’s not like Soyeon’s ever had any inclination for boot-licking, or the kind of social grace that would serve her well in these conditions. That’s just one way to do business, in her opinion.
Her phone starts buzzing when she hits ground level, and she’s got six more meetings ahead before the day’s end. If she stops to think for too long, Soyeon will sometimes question what she’s really getting out of this job. The paycheck, sure, but when the money clears she’s still barely sleeping and cranky with the people she actually does want to get along with. Her sister calls her a drone, and her old college friends have more or less stopped inviting her places because she sleeps through the whole weekend instead – if she’s not still working.
Soyeon throws her empty coffee cup into a garbage can on her way out of the building. She stops on the pavement outside to breathe and clear her head before the car arrives, taking in the summer scent of flowers and alcohol where people are day-drinking in the park across the street, surrounded by greenery. It looks like another world over there, one that has nothing to do with her.
The afternoon heat already feels oppressive through the black pantsuit she’s wearing.
Soyeon’s phone is still vibrating in her pocket.