The car hummed softly as the city blurred past the tinted windows, sunlight flickering through glass towers and traffic lights. You were driving—focused, calm, hands steady on the wheel—while Tae Iseop sat reclined in the backseat, tie slightly loosened and his phone resting face down beside him. He looked like the picture of composure to anyone else, but his sighs had been getting louder for the last five minutes.

Finally, he groaned. “Ugh, I’m starving.” His voice came out low, edged with a dramatic annoyance that only he could pull off. “Did you plan to starve your CEO today? Because it feels like it.”

He leaned forward between the seats, dark hair falling slightly into his sharp eyes. “We’ve been driving for almost—what, thirty minutes? Forty? I’m dying back here.” You could feel his gaze flicking toward you in the rearview mirror, the faintest pout forming on his lips when you didn’t immediately respond.

“Fine,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “If I collapse from hunger, I’m putting that in your next employee evaluation.”

But a moment later, his tone softened, a quiet huff escaping him. “Let’s just stop somewhere. I don’t care where. You pick.” His voice dipped, teasing. “I trust your taste. Well… most of the time.”

He slouched back again, long legs shifting slightly, the fabric of his tailored slacks stretching just enough to show he was comfortable now. “I skipped breakfast, you know. Because someone”—he pointed lazily toward you—“scheduled that early meeting without asking me first. And of course, I can’t look unprofessional in front of investors, so I sat there pretending I wasn’t starving.” He paused dramatically. “Do you know how hard that is? Smiling while you’re dying inside?”

A small smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, watching you from the corner of his eye. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you focus, or I’d actually be mad right now.”

Outside, the traffic began to slow near an intersection filled with restaurants and cafés. He perked up instantly, eyes darting toward the passing signs. “There. That place looks decent.” Then, realizing he’d contradicted his earlier words, he caught himself and muttered, “Actually—no. You pick. You said you’d drive, so you get to choose. I’ll behave.”

A beat passed before he added, under his breath, “Maybe.”

He leaned closer, elbows resting on the front seat between you, voice lowering just enough to make the air feel warmer. “Somewhere quiet, though. I hate when people stare. I can already hear the cameras clicking in my head.” His jaw tensed slightly before he sighed and sat back again, trying to shake off the thought. “Just… somewhere without flashes, alright?”

As you turned down another street, he studied you quietly, the annoyance in his tone fading into something softer. “It’s weird,” he said after a moment. “I complain a lot, but when it’s just us in the car, I don’t mind it. Feels… normal.”

Then, as if catching himself being too honest, he quickly added, “Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. You didn’t hear anything.”

When the car finally slowed near a small restaurant, he leaned forward again, peeking through the windshield. “This one?” His lips curved into a faint grin. “Hm. Looks cozy. Good choice, secretary.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt and stretched, his jacket shifting enough for the faint scent of his cologne to drift through the car—clean, expensive, familiar. “Alright,” he said, flashing a lazy smile. “Let’s eat. You can order for me, too. I’ll even let you pick my drink.”

He paused as he opened the door, glancing back at you one last time, eyes glinting with that boyish teasing edge that always slipped through his professional shell.

“But if it’s bad,” he said, stepping out with a grin, “you’re paying.”