Chapter 4

“Vice President?”

Han Bom, carrying the meeting notes, froze at the sight before her.

Seol Tae-gun—who usually kept his pomaded hair immaculate and his suit pristine—looked completely disheveled. His tie was loose, his hair a mess.

This was the same man who nitpicked even the smallest crease in another person’s outfit during work hours. Yet here he was, looking as though he’d just come out of a fight.

“What… what were you doing?”

“Se–Secretary Han? Why… why do you ask all of a sudden?”

Tae-gun hurriedly smoothed his hair, tugging at his suit jacket as if he could erase the mess. At first Bom thought he was unwell—but no, this was something else entirely.

“Vice President, are you perhaps—”

She stepped fully into the office and quietly closed the door behind her.

Thud—

Startled, Tae-gun whipped his head up, his hands frozen mid-motion in his hair.

“Why! Why are you barging in like that without permission?”

But Bom simply walked straight toward him. The guilty run first, they say—and Tae-gun’s heart pounded from the very thoughts he had been entertaining just moments earlier.

“W-What is it now?”

Her suspicious eyes sent his pulse lurching.

“Excuse me, then.”

Bom reached out and pressed her palm lightly against his forehead.

“…As I thought. You’ve got a slight fever.”

“……”

“I’ll push your schedule back by an hour each.”

Her hand withdrew as calmly as it had arrived. Her gaze, however, lingered on his loosened tie.

“I’ll fix your tie for you.”

Tae-gun immediately shook his head.

“No, no—it’s fine.”

But she was already close. At such a short distance, he had only to lower his eyes for them to meet hers. He froze.

It was nothing unusual—she often adjusted his tie when it went astray. Yet this time, he couldn’t breathe.

Because in The President’s Secret Taste, the novel he had been reading, the tie had been the favored tool in the protagonists’ risqué games.

How could she wear such an innocent expression… while I’m remembering something like that?

Thump—thump—

His heartbeat thundered. A strange vibration spread through his entire body.

“I—I’ll do it myself!”

At last, Tae-gun slapped her hand away.

“Secretary Han, from now on, don’t just touch me whenever you feel like it.”

Bom blinked, baffled, at his sudden flare of temper. He scrambled to justify himself.

“I’m not a child. I can at least manage this on my own.”

“…My apologies.”

Despite his sharp tone, Tae-gun clasped his hands together nervously and avoided her gaze.

Why is it that she always smiles so easily with everyone else, yet shows me nothing but cold faces?

She often scolded him, glaring, snapping, laying her emotions bare. At times he wondered if she wasn’t some kind of split personality.

And ever since he had started reading that damned web novel, he couldn’t shake the thought—

Could she actually have multiple personalities? How else could such a clear, innocent face imagine such wild things…

Bom, meanwhile, was turning things over rapidly in her mind. Serving Seol Tae-gun—so sensitive, so finicky, and lately even more unbearable—was backbreaking labor.

But she knew:

Every one of his actions always has a reason.

What reason, then, lay behind his recent strangeness?

While she pondered, Tae-gun cleared his throat, embarrassed by how conscious he was of her.

Get a hold of yourself.

He straightened his back.

“Why did you come in here, anyway? I didn’t call for you.”

Bom held up the folder in her hands.

“I’ve organized the contents of the meeting we just had with Rugal’s team.”

“You should know I don’t need things like that. It’s all in my head already—”

“I’m well aware of your brilliant memory, Vice President.”

She cut him off smoothly, her tone coaxing.

“I only thought you might confirm whether I missed anything.”

Of course, she never missed anything—she recorded every meeting and double-checked. No, this was just an excuse to peek into his state.

Tae-gun, feeling cornered, fiddled with his tie again before dragging a chair out to sit.

“…Very well, then. Let’s see it.”

She set the folder on his hand—but didn’t release it.

His eyes flicked up. She looked deadly serious.

“Vice President, forgive my boldness… may I ask you something personal?”

“W-What is it?”

Bom leaned forward, still holding the file, bowing until her face was only inches from his.

“Have you perhaps… picked up a new hobby these nights?”

Tae-gun’s breath caught.

Her eyes scanned his face, unblinking, relentless.

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s just… your face has been looking very haggard lately. And maintaining your condition is part of my duty, after all.”

“I told you, no.”

He turned his eyes aside, heat flooding his face. Her sharp gaze swept over him like a scanner, and he swallowed hard.

Every time he met her like this, memories of that novel flashed, leaving his skin burning.

I really should quit reading… but it’s too late. Once you’ve had a taste, it’s not easy to stop.

“Unless…”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Every night… something strange—”

A shiver ran down his back.

“Secretary Han!” His voice cracked. “Just what outrageous nonsense are you imagining now?”

“……”

“What on earth is in that head of yours, to even think such ridiculous—hah!”

Bom only stared at him, bewildered.

“I meant… are you cutting into your sleep to exercise, Vice President?”

She let go of the folder.

It was like a taut rubber band snapping. Tae-gun collapsed back against his chair, limp.

He fanned his face with the folder, then buried himself in the papers, avoiding her eyes.

Bom’s sharp gaze stayed fixed on the crown of his head.

Has his energy weakened? Should I prepare some restorative medicine for him?

“You should leave now, Secretary Han. I’ll review this slowly.”

“Yes, understood.”

She bowed and turned, already recalling the names of reputable oriental clinics.

“And Secretary Han.”

His disgruntled voice followed her to the door.

“Yes?”

“…That.”

He hesitated, frowning.

“Those red shoes. Don’t wear them at the office again.”

Click—

She glanced down at her heels, then back at him, incredulous.

Atto Beauty had no strict dress code. Sneakers were fine, bleached hair too. She had always kept things neat, adding just enough style to remain professional.

But this? This was pure nitpicking.

Her jaw tightened.

“And what, precisely, about my shoes displeases you, Vice President?”

Her voice was polite, but there was an icy edge beneath.

“The color, the material, the shine—the entire thing. I dislike it all.”

She lowered her eyes to the glossy pair. They weren’t gaudy, just a neat accent to her outfit. If he had such a problem, he should’ve said so long ago.

But only now?

Her lips curled in a faint, chilly smile.

“These shoes have been with me for three years. On average, I wear them three times a month. Thirty-six times a year. In total, I’ve worn them over seventy-two times to this office. And yet, you’ve only now chosen to object?”

Her voice was crisp, measured, each word pressed down with contained irritation.

Those shoes had been a gift from her younger siblings, bought together with their pooled savings. She wore them sparingly, treasuring them.

Now he dared to criticize them?

She straightened her spine, daring him to counter.

Tae-gun faltered, caught off guard. How was he supposed to know they’d been a gift? Besides—why did the secretary in that blasted novel wear red shoes, of all colors?

Or worse—what if she had worn black ones? That would’ve been catastrophic.

He stammered.

“Three years, five years—doesn’t matter. That red! I don’t like it. From now on, it’s banned. Absolutely no red!”

It was a childish outburst.

But Bom didn’t yield.

“Banned, after three years of wearing them? That sounds less like reason and more like whimsy. And for the record, Vice President…”

Her eyes sharpened.

“These aren’t simply ‘red’ shoes.”

Tae-gun blinked.

“…They’re not?”

“No.” She spoke with icy precision.

“They’re Brick Rose.”

“…Br… what?”