Chapter 5 First Job

"It's on."

No blue flames, just a burning icon on the stove. So sophisticated. I am amazed.

"Okay, hurry up and cook. I must attend a court hearing this morning," Adam said.

I shook my head. No, I'm afraid the stove will be damaged. If He asks for compensation, selling my kidney may not even cover the price.

"Can't use it yet? I taught you. Hopefully, you can cook according to the order."

Adam took a frying pan and an open tubular mould on both sides. The mould is placed on the frying pan. Making fried eggs is complicated; all you have to do is break them in the frying pan. Why use all the moulds? It is thought to make a sponge this time.

"I'm the one who broke the egg," I said.

My job is to break chicken eggs, not his eggs behind his pants. Maybe it will be his turn to break my virginity on the first night.

I wanted to say that but was afraid of being fired, so I dared to say it in my heart. It doesn't matter in my heart first; it will come true.

I took an egg the size of an ordinary chicken egg but had a light skin colour resembling a free-range chicken egg. Do rich people want to eat mixed-breed chicken eggs?

I'm good at breaking chicken eggs; I can use one hand. It's a shame the egg yolk broke when I cracked it.

"I don't want to use it. Throw it away," said Adam.

"Too bad, Baby. I will eat that."

Adam shook his head. "Throw away."

I might be visited by your spirit from nature there. You taught me not to waste food. Here, the egg only breaks the yolk; he doesn't want to eat it.

Adam took an egg from the container and washed it. He breaks eggs with two hands. Then, the yolks are pushed using chopsticks to fit in the middle. Rich people always be complicated. Don't they know all the food would be mixed inside the stomach? I usually eat white rice, peanuts with anchovies, Balado eggplant, and spinach, all combined in one plate.

"The eggs are cooked for 40 seconds. Set a timer."

Adam turned on the 40-second timer. Oh my... I often cook instant noodles using half-boiled eggs. It's white in the form of an amoeba; sometimes, it looks like Samosir Island. The intention is half cooked, sometimes still raw or even overcooked. But I've never been fussy when I eat. All left is the 'hap', which must be complete.

"Heat the bread toaster while waiting for the eggs to cook."

Adam heated the toaster. Forty seconds later, the sunny-side-up eggs are cooked. Adam lifted the mould.

"Hurray!" I said, clapping. Excellent shape, perfectly round.

Adam lifted his egg, shifting it to a plate. After that, he inserted two slices of half-boiled wheat bread into the toaster.

Ting!

Not long after, the buns that had been toasted earlier jumped out. I took a tissue and put it on Adam's chest.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"You know, just like in the movies, you must have a napkin tied around your neck when eating. You look like royalty, Honey."

"Old school," Adam waved his hand.

Adam sat at the dining table. I thought he would use a fork and knife. As usual, rich people are complicated and have lots of rules. Everything easy is made difficult. But not. Adam ate wheat bread and fried eggs with his hands.

"Pour the orange juice. It's in the fridge."

Hah? What are frits? Brits? What do you mean by the bridge? Bridge? The only English I know is I love you.

"Fridge," Adam repeated louder.

I look around. My problem is not in the ear but in English. Even if I want to shout using a loudspeaker, if I don't understand, that's the same as lying. But I want to keep trying. I'm a secretary. What else can I do? I looked at the kitchen counter; there was no orange juice box. Not at the dinner table, either.

I heard Adam take a deep breath. He stood up, walked over to the fridge, and took out a box of orange juice.

"Oooooooh, refrigerator. Refrigerator," I said.

Adam poured the box's contents into a glass cup to accompany his breakfast. I think Adam doesn't need a secretary. He can cook everything; I was just told to pay attention. I'm just happy if my task is easy like that. Without him telling me, my job is to see him.

Money can indeed make people handsome and beautiful. If you want a face like a rotten tomato to be run over by an intercity bus between provinces, if you have the money, all you have to do is operate in Korea.

I enjoyed watching Adam eat. Is this how rich people eat? He has to keep his mouth fresh so he can't eat anything that smells bad. I'm just speculating. Adam's client could be someone important. Artists like that, for example. Instead, I pay attention to the way Adam eats. Slow like anything, reluctantly. Why is it? Not good, huh? However, I prefer a breakfast of duck rice, tofu stew, and fried tempeh.

"You have eaten?" he asked.

"Already at home."

"How did you get here? It's not difficult, right?" he asked again.

"No, Honey."

I am also surprised that Adam is not angry at being called Honey like this. Does he need affection?

"What did you come here for?"

"With Grandpa."

"Did your grandfather deliver? Where is he now? Tell him to go upstairs. Has he had breakfast yet?" Adam fired like a machine gun.

"Relax, Honey. My Grandpa has already eaten. He's eating gasoline."

Adam's brow furrowed deeper. Maybe he thinks that I am a crazy granddaughter. Can't Grandpa be fed gasoline? Perhaps he wants to say that this time.

"Grandpa is my motorbiker. My Dad inherited him. He is ancient and has a hobby of breaking down. So, I give call it Grandpa."

I have to explain before being accused of premeditated murder. Remember, you have to be extra careful when dealing with lawyers. Please don't give the slightest gap to trap us with sometimes sought-after articles.

Adam's lips turned slightly upwards. Very thin and then down again. Resembling him, he was confused about whether to laugh or maintain authority.

"By the way, busway, the secretary's job is to cook and accompany you for breakfast, right?" I asked.

"You are a secretary only temporarily. I want to educate you to become a professional lawyer. For me, being a professional lawyer is a job that must be seen and how he lives. I wake up every day at 3 am, then read client files. At 4 am, I exercise for an hour in the gym downstairs. At 5 o'clock I take a shower. I just now had breakfast. I have lived this pattern of life for five years since graduating from college."

Very disciplined. Am I still dreaming of being married to Kim Soo-Hyun at 3, and at 4, I must water my mother first to wake up for the dawn prayer?

"So, Honey, did you wake up at 3 am instead of 6 am? Then why did you ask me to come at 6 to wake you up?"

"Just tell me to come at 6, you're late. What else at 3 am."

You see, debates with lawyers are endless. I have to learn this too.

"If you wake up, Honey, at 3 am, I'd better stay here," I answered casually. It's just logic; if I'm told to come here at 3 am, what time do I get up, and what time do I leave? It's the same as accompanying the ghost patrol, anyway.

"That is right." Adam pondered.

It doesn't smell good. What's the proper try? When am I right? If what I say is true, it means the signs of the end of the world.

"Okay," Adam pounded the table, "you will stay here tomorrow. Bring your clothes."

"Ha?"

"Do you have any objection? Do you want to resign?" Adam challenges me.