Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 36143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 145(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
His well-known magnetism that’s made him so many fans.
“Didn’t get a chance,” Haneul replies. “She was doing the usual, running off scared, tail between those long”—he looks down—“pretty little legs thing.”
Embarrassed, I try to jerk away.
Ryan holds me firm. “We aren’t done talking business.”
“What are you?” I laugh nervously. “A Triad crime family instead of an idol group?”
He flinches at the mafia reference. “We’re doing something different. Under new management. Same label, just…different.”
“Good for you,” I say slowly. “Can I go now?”
“Two guys, two girls,” Ryan says quietly. “Us and…”
“And?” I’m a bit shocked. I only know of one group that’s successfully done that. “Who else do you have? And why does this concern me exactly?”
They’re both silent.
Someone knocks on the door, and then more trainees start stopping by, waving at the guys. Yeah, I guess they’re famous, but they’re still a newer group, even though it’s been two years.
Doesn’t matter, they’re both well known for their solo careers, too, and people want what they have.
They want what they see—the perfect idol life.
Which doesn’t exist. But that doesn’t keep people from trying to obtain it. Just like air. It’s there, but you can’t grasp it in your hand for longer than a second before it disappears, and you’re back to square one.
The fans will most likely bombard both guys and follow them the entire way back to the talent apartments. They’ll have already figured out the guys’ schedules by now, even though they constantly change them to prevent issues with the sasaeng. Those fans are absolutely terrifying and will stop at nothing to stalk their favorite idols.
Honestly, the biggest question at this point is why I’m getting pinned against the wall by Ryan as Haneul watches.
“Look…” Ryan releases me, but I still feel his thumbprint on my pulse. The sensation travels through my body like a searing drug that may just kill me dead if I give in to the madness of how good it feels. “We need one more girl.”
I freeze. Is he saying what I think he is? I almost stop breathing. “And—?”
“You,” he says finally. “You’re good, you don’t take any bullshit, and we need to move fast. Momentum from—”
He stops talking.
Haneul looks away and curses, running his hands through his hair.
“Is One21 disbanding?” I ask.
They both pale.
Holy shit.
My jaw drops.
“It’s not what you think, though,” Haneul says, though I can see in his gaze that it isn’t exactly good news. Which means they have a plan and must have had one for way longer than this conversation.
Ryan jerks his head at Haneul. “Think about it, Ah-Ri. All right? We’ll give you a day.”
“A day?” I nearly shriek. “And I don’t even have your phone—hey, what are you doing?”
He walks away and goes to the floor where I left my cell. He grabs it and then hands it to me. “Your passcode?”
I type it in with numb fingers and hold it out.
He puts in his number, then smirks and hands it back. Hey, at least he didn’t throw it at my head. I’m almost upset I have no reason to knee him in the balls like last time when he insulted me behind my back.
I glance at the screen. I have no time to process the name he typed in as his contact. I shake my head. Does the arrogance never end with this guy? What? Like he’s so much better than me? My insecurity screams, “Um, yes, he is, because he has a job and you’re still failing!” Why the hell did he give me his number?
And why am I still staring at the screen while the practice door opens and closes with a click. It’s like I’m unable to move or believe what just happened.
I shake my head. His name in my phone isn’t his name at all, but what I call him behind his back, only he added something special.
It’s Fallen Angel Forever.
And I wonder if it’s a bad omen.
Or good.
Maybe both.
Crap.
Chapter Two
Ah-Ri
“I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.”
I don’t mean to say it aloud as I grab a bottle of water, stare at my stupid bank card, and realize I have about ten dollars—or, basically, no money to my name.
I think about calling my parents, but they said that if I wanted this, I had to do it on my own. And if I failed…
College. A real job.
Life.
As if this isn’t one of the hardest jobs in the world.
Not only did I study until ten every night to finish school, but I had dance practice on top of voice training.
Thank God I didn’t need English lessons. Though I was told that if I actually debuted, I’d have to learn Chinese at the very least, which is such an umbrella concept since there are so many dialects.
Insert panic here.
Though, at the moment, I’m probably going to end up working in an office—that is, if I can even complete my college exams.