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Sunggyu finally looked up at you and said, “I suppose it’s time to tell you. The meaning of life is napping.”
“I can’t stand you.” You rolled your eyes. “That doesn’t even relate to what I said, Gyu.”
“It does too!” He gestured to the mess on his desk. “The script isn’t done because a nap is the solution to all of my problems. I got stuck writing the scene, so I took a nap!”
You could only stare at him. “Fine. I’ll just tell Sungyeol you need more time. I’m not in the mood to play mind games with you.”
He jumped to his feet and grabbed your arm. “No! If you tell him, he’ll just pick someone else’s script. I can finish this, just gimme another day or two.”
“When he suggested I be your editor, he didn’t mention your slow as molasses work habit.” You frowned. “And I don’t wanna hold him up. He has deadlines, too.”
Sunggyu mirrored your frown. “I know, but if he doesn’t buy this script, I won’t be able to pay my half of the rent on the first. ______, please. I need this.”
“Then quit stalling and plant your narrow ass in that chair,” you pointed to his desk with the fancy chair he insisted he guy with his last check, “and finish writing that script.”
He pouted as he trudged over to it and plopped down in the chair. “I just needed a break. There’s no need to be mean about it.”
“I wouldn’t have to be mean if you hadn’t waited until the last possible minute to start writing.”
“My best work is done under pressure,” he replied with a snooty smile.
Your right eye twitched, and you could feel your blood pressure climbing. “Don’t kill him. He can’t make money if he’s dead.”
He looked at you with alarm. “What?”
“Nothing.” You turned and walked out, intending to get a shot of whiskey or vodka—something to curb the urge to get violent.
