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landlord to find out when and where to pick up the keys.”
    “Of course,” Annie says. “We want you to settle in.”
    She almost closes the door, and then sticks her head back in. “By the way, it’s great to have you here,” she says, and she sounds so honest that it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling. I turn to the reports I’m supposed to be studying with renewed vigor. I’m going to have a wonderful time here; I can feel it. What could possibly go wrong?

4
    Looking up from the papers and my notes on them, a little later, I’m astonished to realize that it’s already almost three o’clock. I was so absorbed in the reports, that I didn’t even notice the time.
    I rub my eyes. I’m tired. Now I’m really feeling my lack of sleep, so I go into the kitchen to make myself a stimulating beverage. Annie wasn’t exaggerating; the room has every modern convenience and little luxury you could possibly wish for. There is a tea-maker and one of those very expensive coffee machines that allows you to choose what type of coffee you want. I deliberate for a moment, and then decide to have tea. I’m in England, after all, so I might as well get used to it.
    I take my mug to the window, and look out at the city of London. Huntington Ventures is in a modern building, but directly opposite, there’s one of those historic buildings downtown is famous for. I don’t know if it’s the Stock Exchange or the Bank of England, but I’m sure I’ll eventually find all that out. After all, I have plenty of time to explore the city at my leisure. It’s only the beginning of May, and my flight back to Chicago isn’t till the end of July, which means that I have twelve weeks to explore.
    I smile and look up at the sky. It’s not cloudy anymore like it was when I arrived but rather a clear blue. They’ve got the air conditioning on in here but the bright afternoon sun reflected in the windows of the building opposite suggests that it’s pleasantly warm outside.
    I’m about to turn away and go back to my office when I look down at the street and see a long black car pulling up. I recognize the limousine I rode in earlier today and, a second later, my heart gives a little lurch when I see two men stepping out onto the sidewalk directly beneath me. I recognize Jonathan Huntington right away, even at this distance, and the other one must be the Japanese man, Yuuto Nagako. They’re talking to each other as they get in and a second later the limousine drives off again and merges into traffic. It turns the corner and disappears from sight.
    There he goes, I think, feeling a little melancholy. Jonathan Huntington—the man you should keep your hands off. I snort quietly and shake my head. As if he wanted me to get my hands on him! Dream on, Grace. Or, better still, stop dreaming. Wake up.
    I quickly leave the kitchen and walk down the quiet corridor. Two of the glass doors up ahead are open, but it’s quiet nevertheless, everyone is working. Although I’ve finished the tasks they gave me, I don’t want to disturb anyone, so I return to my office, sit down at my desk and search for the number of the landlord I still need to call.
    The apartment, a small studio, is in Whitechapel, a neighborhood nor far from downtown London, centrally located, with good subway connections. At least, that’s what it said in the description. I was incredibly happy when I found the place online and jumped at it immediately, since the price was right too. Not that I had any idea what kind of a neighborhood it was in or how far it would be from work—but on the map it looked relatively close and the photos were fine, the rooms looked clean and halfway decently maintained. I had to pay a three-hundred-pound deposit in advance, converted from dollars, into the landlord’s bank account, but he assured me that I’d get it back when I moved out as long as nothing in the apartment was damaged. We had a lively email exchange and he seemed really nice.
    I finally