Soyeon is ecstatic. “But what was she doing at Clayton’s?” Her curiosity oozes through the phone. I’m in 
the depths of the stock room, trying to keep my voice casual. “She was in the area.” “I think that is one huge coincidence, Jiyeon. You don’t think she was there to see you?” 
she speculates. My heart lurches at the prospect, but it’s a short-lived joy. The dull, disappointing reality is that she was here on business. 
“She was visiting the farming division of SNU. She's funding some research,” I mutter. “Oh yes. She’s given the department a $2.5 million grant.” Wow. “How do you know this?” 
“Ji, I’m a journalist, and I’ve written a profile on the girl. It’s my job to know this.” “Okay, Sherlock, keep your hair on. So do you want these photos?” “Of course I do. The question is, who’s going to do them and where.” “We could ask her where. She says she’s staying in the area.” 
“You can contact her?” “I have her cell phone number.” 
Soyeon gasps. 
“The richest, most elusive, most enigmatic bachelor in Seoul, just gave you her cell phone number.” 
“Er... yes.” “Jiyeon! She likes you. No doubt about it.” Her tone is emphatic. “Soyeon, she’s just trying to be nice.” But even as I say the words, I know they’re not true 
– Park Hyomin doesn’t do nice. She does polite, maybe. And a small quiet voice whispers, perhaps Soyeon is right. My scalp prickles at the idea that maybe, just maybe, she might like me. After all, she did say she was glad Soyeon didn’t do the interview. I hug myself with quiet glee, rocking from side to side, entertaining the possibility that she might like me for one brief moment. Soyeon brings me back to the now. 
“I don’t know who we’ll get to do the shoot. Lee, our regular photographer, can’t. He’s home in France for the weekend. He’ll be pissed that he blew an opportunity to photo one of America’s leading entrepreneurs.” 
“Hmm... What about Eunjung?” 
“Great idea! You ask her – she’ll do anything for you. Then call Hyomin and find out where she wants us.” Soyeon is irritatingly cavalier about Eunjung. 
“I think you should call her.” “Who, Eunjung?” 
Soyeon scoffs. “No, Hyomin.” “Ji , you’re the one with the relationship.” “Relationship?” I squeak at her, my voice rising several octaves. “I barely know the 
girl.” “At least you’ve met her,” she says bitterly. “And it looks like she wants to know you 
better. Jiyeon, just call her,” she snaps and hangs up. She is so bossy sometimes. I frown at my cell, sticking my tongue out at it. 
I’m just leaving a message for Eunjung when Jeonghan enters the stock room looking for sand- paper. 
“We’re kind of busy out there, Jiyeon,” he says without acrimony. “Yeah, um, sorry,” I mutter, turning to leave. “So, how come you know Park Hyomin?” Jeonghan's voice is unconvincingly nonchalant. “I had to interview her for our student newspaper. Soyeon wasn’t well.” I shrug, trying 
to sound casual and doing no better than him. “Park Hyomin in Clayton’s. Go figure,” Jeonghan snorts, amazed. He shakes his head as  if to clear it. “Anyway, want to grab a drink or something this evening?” Whenever he’s home he asks me on a date, and I always say no. It’s a ritual. I’ve never considered it a good idea to date the boss’s brother, and besides, Jeonghan is cute in a whole- some boy-next-door kind of way, but he’s no literary hero, not by any stretch of the imagination. Is Hyomin? My subconscious asks me, her eyebrow guratively raised. 
I slap her down. “Don’t you have a family dinner or something for your brother?” “That’s tomorrow.” “Maybe some other time, Jeonghan. I need to study tonight. I have my finals next week.” "Jiyeon, one of these days, you’ll say yes,” he smiles as I escape out to the store floor. 

“But I do places, Jiyeon, not people,” Eunjung groans. “Eunjung, please?” I beg. Clutching my cell, I pace the living area of our apartment, star- 
ing out of the window at the fading evening light. “Give me that phone.” Soyeon grabs the handset from me, tossing her silken chestnut 
hair over her shoulder. “Listen here, Ham Eunjung, if you want our newspaper to cover the opening of your 
show, you’ll do this shoot for us tomorrow, capiche?” Soyeon can be awesomely tough. “Good. Jiyeon will call back with the location and the call time. We’ll see you tomor- 
row.” She snaps my cell phone shut. “Sorted. All we need to do now is decide where and when. Call her.” She holds the 
phone out to me. My stomach twists. “Call Hyomin, now!” I scowl at her and reach into my back pocket for her business card. I take a deep, 
steadying breath, and with shaking fingers, I dial the number. She answers on the second ring. Her tone is clipped, calm and cold. “Park.” “Err... Ms. park? It’s Jiyeon.” I don’t recognize my own voice, I’m so nervous. There’s a brief pause. Inside I’m quaking. “Miss Park. How nice to hear from you.” Her voice has changed. She’s surprised, I 
think, and she sounds so... warm – seductive even. My breath hitches, and I ush. I’m suddenly conscious that Park Soyeon is staring at me, open, and I dart into the kitchen to avoid her unwanted scrutiny. 
“Err – we’d like to go ahead with the photo-shoot for the article.” Breathe, Jiyeon, breathe. My lungs drag in a hasty breath. “Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, ma'm?” 
I can almost hear her sphinx-like smile through the phone. 
“I’m staying at the Heathman Hotel. Shall we say, nine thirty tomorrow morning?” 
“Okay, we’ll see you there.” I am all gushing and breathy – like a child, not a grown woman who can vote and drink legally in Seoul . 
“I look forward to it, Miss Park Jiyeon.” I visualize the wicked gleam in her brown eyes. How can she make seven little words hold so much tantalizing promise? I hang up. Soyeon is in the kitchen, and she’s staring at me with a look of complete and utter consternation on her face. 
“Park Jiyeon. You like her! I’ve never seen or heard you so, so... affected by anyone before. You’re actually blushing.” 
“Oh Soyeon, you know I blush all the time. It’s an occupational hazard with me. Don’t be so ridiculous,” I snap. She blinks at me with surprise – I very rarely throw my toys out of the pram – and I briefly relent. “I just find her... intimidating, that’s all.” 
“Heathman, that figures,” mutters Soyeon. “I’ll give the manager a call and negotiate a space for the shoot.” 
“I’ll make supper. Then I need to study.” I cannot hide my irritation with her as I open one of cupboards to make supper. 
I am restless that night, tossing and turning. Dreaming of smoky brown eyes, coveralls, long legs, long fingers, and dark, dark unexplored places. I wake twice in the night, my heart pounding. Oh, I’m going to look just great tomorrow with so little sleep, I scold myself. I punch my pillow and try to settle. 
The Heathman is nestled in the downtown heart of Seoul. Its impressive brown stone edi ce was completed just in time for the crash of the late 1920s. Eunjung, Boram and I are traveling in my Beetle, and Soyeon is in her CLK, since we can’t all fit in my car. Boram is Eunjung's friend and gopher, here to help out with the lighting. Soyeon has managed to acquire the use of a room at the Heathman free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article. When she explains at reception that we’re here to photograph Park Hyomin CEO, we are instantly upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparently Ms. Park is already occupying the largest one in the building. An over-keen marketing executive shows us up to the suite – He’s terribly young and very nervous for some reason. I suspect it’s Soyeon's beauty and commanding manner that disarms him, because he’s putty in her hands. The rooms are elegant, understated, and opulently furnished. 
It’s nine. We have half an hour to set up. Kate is in full flow. 
“Eunjung, I think we’ll shoot against that wall, do you agree?” She doesn’t wait for her reply. “Boram, clear the chairs. Jiyeon, could you ask housekeeping to bring up some refreshments? And let Ms.Park know where we are.” 
Yes, Mistress. She is so domineering. I roll my eyes, but do as I’m told. Half an hour later, Park Hyomin walks into our suite. Holy Crap! She's  wearing a tight pencil skirt, and a tucked in button down long sleeve, with the top collars popped slightly open! Her unruly hair is still damp from a shower. My mouth goes dry looking at her... she’s so freaking hot. Hyomin is followed into the suite by a man in his mid-thirties, all buzz-cut and stubble in a sharp dark suit and tie who stands silently in the corner. His hazel eyes watch us impassively. 
“Miss Park Jiyeon, we meet again.” Hyomin extends her hand, and I shake it, blinking rapidly. Oh my... she really is, quite... wow. As I touch her hand, I’m aware of that delicious current running right through me, lighting me up, making me blush, and I’m sure my erratic breathing must be audible. 
“Ms. Park, this is Soyeon,” I mutter, waving a hand toward Soyeon who comes forward, looking her squarely in the eye. 
“The tenacious Miss Soyeon. How do you do?” She gives her a small smile, looking genuinely amused. “I trust you’re feeling better? Jiyeon said you were unwell last week.” 
“I’m fine, thank you, Ms. Park.” She shakes her hand firmly without batting an eyelid. I remind myself that Soyeon has been to the best private schools in Seoul. Her family has money, and she’s grown up confident and sure of her place in the world. She doesn’t take any crap. I am in awe of her. 
“Thank you for taking the time to do this.” She gives her a polite, professional smile. “It’s a pleasure,” she answers, turning her powerful gaze on me, and I ush, again. Damn it. 
“This is Ham Eunjung, our photographer,” I say, grinning at Eunjung who smiles with affection back at me. Her eyes cool when she looks from me to Hyomin. 
“Ms. Park,” she nods. “Ms. Ham,” Hyomin's expression changes too as she appraises Eunjung. “Where would you like me?” Hyomin asks her. Her tone sounds vaguely threatening. But 
Soyeon is not about to let Eunjung run the show. “Ms. Park – if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables. And then 
we’ll do a few standing, too.” She directs her to a chair set up against the wall. Boram switches on the lights, momentarily blinding Hyomin, and mutters an apology. Then Boram and I stand back and watch as Eunjung proceeds to snap away. She takes several photographs hand-held, asking Hyomin to turn this way, then that, to move her arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, Eunjung takes several more, while Hyomin sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes. My wish has come true: I can stand and admire Hyomin from not-so-afar. Twice our eyes lock, and I have to tear myself away from 
her cloudy gaze. “Enough sitting.” Soyeon wades in again. “Standing, Ms. Park?” she asks. She stands, and Boram scurries in to remove the chair. The shutter on Eunjung's Nikon 
starts clicking again. “I think we have enough,” Eunjung announces five minutes later. “Great,” says Soyeon. “Thank you again, Ms. Park.” She shakes her hand, as does Eunjung. “I look forward to reading the article, Miss Soyeon,” murmurs Hyomin, and turns to 
me, standing by the door. “Will you walk with me, Miss Jiyeon?” She asks. “Sure,” I say, completely thrown. I glance anxiously at Soyeon, who shrugs at me. I 
notice Eunjung scowling behind her. “Good day to you all,” says Hyomin as she opens the door, standing aside to allow me out 
First. Holy hell... what’s this about? What does she want? I pause in the hotel corridor, fidgeting nervously as Hyomin emerges from the room followed by Mr. Buzz-Cut in his sharp suit. “I’ll call you, Taylor,” she murmurs to Buzz-Cut. Taylo