Red Distraction
Chapter 1: Red Distraction
Reason #1 I Hate Lee Minjae: He fired me before my coffee got cold.*
“Miss Hana Malik. You’re fired.”
Day 1. 9:03 AM. I hadn’t even logged into my computer.
Lee Minjae, CEO of LJM Group, stood in front of 40 employees. Black suit. Face like a Greek statue carved by someone angry. He pointed at me.
“Reason?” I asked. My voice didn’t shake. My hands did.
“Your lipstick,” he said.
The room went silent.
I was wearing Chanel Rouge Allure. Shade 99. Pirate. My armor. “My... lipstick?”
“Red,” he said, like it was a crime. “It’s distracting. Unprofessional. This is a company, not a club. HR will escort you out.”
I got fired for wearing lipstick. By a man who looked like he’d never smiled.
Reason #2 I Hate Him: He rehired me 3 hours later.*
His assistant found me crying in a café. “Mr. Lee made a mistake. The position is yours if you want it. Dress code amended.”
Why? Because I was the only applicant fluent in Urdu, English, and Korean. His Dubai deal was collapsing without a translator.
I took the job. Wore the red lipstick. Every. Single. Day.
War.
Reason #3 I Hate Him: He stares at my mouth when I talk.*
Week 1 of being his assistant was hell.
“Translate this,” he’d snap, dropping 50-page contracts on my desk.
I’d read them, red lips moving. His eyes would flick to my mouth. Then back to his laptop. Jaw tight.
“Problem, Mr. Lee?” I’d ask, popping my ‘p’.
“You talk too much,” he’d say.
“You listen too little,” I’d say back.
Reason #4 I Hate Him: He knows exactly how to piss me off.
He banned coffee from my desk. “It spills.”
He moved my desk 2 inches further from his. “Distractions.”
He scheduled meetings at 7 AM. “Discipline.”
I started wearing the reddest lipstick I owned. Drawing the letters on his coffee cup: _H-A-T-E U_.
He never said anything. But the cups stopped disappearing. He kept them.
Reason #5 I Hate Him: He saved me, and I hated that.
Week 2. Late night. Alone in the office. I was translating when 3 drunk investors from the Dubai deal cornered me.
“Pretty girls shouldn’t work so late,” one slurred, blocking the door.
I was about to scream when the office lights turned on.
Minjae. 11 PM. Suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He looked like violence.
“Gentlemen,” he said, voice ice. “You’re in my office. Touch my assistant again, and LJM will pull out of Dubai. Permanently.”
They ran.
He didn’t look at me. Just said, “Go home, Miss Malik. And... carry pepper spray.”
Reason #6 I Hate Him: I saw him human.
That night I forgot my phone. Went back. His office door was open.
He was at his desk. Head in his hands. The _H-A-T-E U_ coffee cups lined up like trophies. One in his hand.
He wasn’t drinking. He was holding it like it was keeping him warm.
Reason #7 I Hate Him: He caught me caring.
Next morning, he slammed a file on my desk. “You forgot this.”
It was my phone. Screen cracked. He’d put a screen protector on it.
“I didn’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t have to,” he cut me off. “Distracted employees are inefficient. Now translate. And Miss Malik?”
“What?”
“Your lipstick is smudged.”
He reached out. Thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. One touch. His thumb came away red.
He stared at it like it burned him.
My brain stopped working.
“Fix it,” he said, voice rough. Then walked away.
Reason #8 I Hate Him: I can’t stop thinking about his thumb.
After that, the war got worse. Or better.
He’d find excuses to stand close. “This sentence is wrong.” His chest would brush my shoulder.
I’d “accidentally” drop pens so he’d have to kneel to pick them up. His eyes would drag up my legs.
“Careful, Miss Malik,” he’d murmur. “You’re being distracting again.”
“Good,” I’d whisper back. “Retaliation for the firing.”
Reason #9 I Hate Him: He finally snapped.
Friday. 9 PM. Rain. Everyone gone.
He found me in the break room, reapplying my lipstick for the walk home.
“Still distracting me,” he said from the doorway.
I met his eyes in the mirror. “Still looking.”
He crossed the room in 3 steps. “Do you know what you do to me?”
“No,” I lied.
He caged me against the counter. One hand on either side. Not touching. But I could feel the heat of him. “You walk in here every day with that red on your mouth. Arguing. Fighting. Making me want things I don’t want to want.”
“Like what?” I breathed.
“Like this.”
He kissed me.
It wasn’t sweet. It was 3 weeks of hate and stolen glances and _H-A-T-E U_ cups exploding. His mouth was angry, desperate, starving. He tasted like coffee and restraint breaking.
I dropped my lipstick. It rolled across the floor, leaving a red trail.
His hands were in my hair. Mine fisted his shirt. He bit my bottom lip — not hard, but enough to make me gasp.
“You’re fired,” he growled against my mouth.
“Again?” I gasped back.
“For being impossible to ignore,” he said, and kissed me harder.
The kiss was war. Teeth. Tongue. His desk phone ringing ignored. My red lipstick now smeared on his mouth, his collar, his sin.
He pulled back, breathing hard. Stared at me. At my ruined lipstick. At his reflection in the microwave — his mouth red with me.
“Shit,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Shit.”
Reason #1 I Love Him: He hates my lipstick. But he just devoured it.
To be continued...
