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— Hey, what the hell is that?! Did you forget who's in charge here?! — La Sun Mi snapped, throwing her arms up, palms facing the ceiling, glaring at him — this smug, silver-haired man who, just a month ago, had been nothing but the co-pilot of their temporary jump gate. Brad Chapman. And now, thanks to a miscalculation in the mission software, he was: Lee Chang Seok, owner of a chain of hotels and nightclubs in late-’80s Seoul. His face serious and confident, as if he’d always been like this, and Sun Mi was truly no one — just a stripper, his mistress, someone he allowed too much.
— Don’t shout, Mi... — he rumbled with weight in his voice, slightly tilting his head and exhaling through his nose. — People are watching how you talk to me. It hurts the business and my reputation.
Sun Mi — who just a month ago had been Commander Thomas Rivers, the one in charge of the jump, seasoned in these kinds of missions — flared up. She clenched her fists, feeling her long, glossy nails dig into her palms. That voice... That calm, professional tone Brad — now Lee Chang Seok, the boss, the master of this half-year limbo — used to address her. Like she wasn’t a senior agent but a dolled-up toy, someone you spoke to in a lowered voice so she wouldn’t throw a tantrum.
— I don’t give a damn who sees what, Brad! — Sun Mi spat, stepping forward on those fragile, deliberately humiliatingly high heels, every step clicking like a slap to her pride. — Oh, sorry... Lee Chang Seok. Forgot what you’re called these days.
Her voice trembled, not from fear — from rage. From helplessness...(full story (8 600 characters) is open to subscribers)