Unbound (2 page)

Elizabeth Armstrong suddenly appears next to me in the mirror, replacing the woman who had just been standing there. I turn to look at her, surprised but pleased.

“Are you doing a little primping, my dear? Unlike me, you really don’t need it.” She winks at me, then yawns vigorously, and rinses her hands with cold water.

I knew it—she’s tired and it’s my fault because I wouldn’t let her sleep. She’s still smiling though, as we both wash our hands, and I find myself smiling back at her.

She reminds me a bit of my grandmother, Rose, back home in Lester, Illinois, the small town where I grew up. Grandma looks totally different from her—she’s worked outside all her life, and there’s no comparison between her and Elizabeth, who is so delicate. But they do have the same mischievous sense of humor.

“I need to look good, because they’re going to meet me,” I explain superfluously. My travel companion knew that perfectly well already, after I had explained to her what seemed like three hundred and seventy times over the past few hours just how important this internship is to me. She just nods.

“Perhaps someone will come and pick you up after all,” she says, and goes over to the hand dryers to let the jet of air blow the water off her hands. The dryer makes such a loud hum that I almost don’t hear my cell phone start to ring. I had switched it back on as soon as I got off the plane—just in case Huntington Ventures had left me any important messages. But I obviously overestimated my importance to the firm because the only person to have sent me a text message was my sister. And she’s also the one calling me now, as I see from the display. I hurriedly wipe my fingers dry on my skirt and take the call.

“Hi Gracie! Did you land safely?”

It’s so good to hear Hope’s familiar voice that I suddenly feel a lump in my throat.

“Yeah, I just landed. I’m just waiting for my suitcase. Just a sec.”

I press my cell phone against my chest and say goodbye to Elizabeth, who pats me on the arm and wishes me luck, before taking lipstick out of her purse and bending forward to reapply it. Elizabeth winks at me again in the mirror, and I wave to her before pushing the door open and exiting into the luggage claim area with my cell phone pressed to my ear. The suitcases are just arriving, and while I’m waiting for mine—of course one of the last to appear on the conveyor belt, as usual—I give Hope the lowdown on the flight. It’s fun to talk to her. She makes things seem reassuringly normal and, in my current nervous state, I really need that.

“Well, what now?” she asks as I lift the black brute off the conveyor belt. I’d borrowed it from my mom because I’d have to travel with three bags in order to take as much as I was able to fit in there. Once I have the suitcase in front of me, I push the handle up. Thank God it has wheels, even if it’s still so heavy it nearly dislocates my arm. I pull it doggedly toward customs.

“I’m going to have to hurry, if I still want to get there on time.”

“Are you wearing the black skirt and the black blouse?”

“Yes, why?”

Hope giggles. “Because I was afraid you would.”

“Doesn’t it look good?” I’m seized by panic. Couldn’t she have told me earlier?

“Of course it does, it’s just that it’s so like you to try to hide. You really don’t need to, Gracie. You’re so pretty. The English men are going to notice that, believe me. And, anyway, black doesn’t suit you at all—it’s not the right color for spring.”

I wish I could believe her. I really do. It’s easy for Hope to say, with her dream figure. If I were five-foot-seven, blond, and athletic, I probably wouldn’t wear anything at all—or, at least, I’d wear a lot less than I am now. You can certainly see that she has Scandinavian roots. As for me, I seem to have inherited our family’s few remaining Irish genes from some ancestor or other, since no one in my family is a redhead, not even my father—at least, as far as I can remember, since it’s been ages since I last saw him. And I’m also the only short and curvy one. I’m not fat, it’s true, but I’m rounded in places where enviable women like my sister and the flight attendant are athletic and toned.

“Black is slimming, okay?” I excavate my passport from my purse because I’ll have to show them soon. “I’ll call you right back.”

Hope’s voice suddenly sounds worried. “Look after yourself, won’t you, Gracie? And promise me that you’ll call me tonight and tell me everything—every last detail.”

I promise and hang up with a wry smile. She’s my little sister—but she acts like my mother. And perhaps she’s right. In many ways, Hope’s the more experienced of the two of us. I put my cell phone away with a sigh. At least she’s never been to England. That’s one advantage I have over her now.

The man behind the counter only glances briefly at my passport and the customs officers don’t frisk me either—as I said, apart from my hair, I’m completely unremarkable, nobody pays any attention to me—so it’s quickly over, and I arrive at the exit leading out of the airport building.

When I get through the door, there are so many more people than I was expecting that I stop, shocked, and the man behind me has to swerve around me. He gives me an annoyed look before hurrying on. Thank you. You’re welcome. Same to you.

People are streaming past me. Friends and relatives are waving and hurrying toward each other. People are holding up signs with names on them, reunions are happening, people hugging each other, welcoming each other back. Elizabeth walks past me, toward a young man who is clearly happy to see her again. He takes her in his arms. She pays no further attention to me.

I don’t want to feel lost, so I straighten my purse decisively. It’s time to get going. I jolt into motion again, ready to seek directions to the subway—only to stop again a second later, when I catch sight of a man who stands out among the crowd. He’s just standing there casually, with his eyes fixed on the exit. Watching me.

My heart stops for a moment and then immediately starts thumping again when I see the smile on his lips. He nods at me almost imperceptibly.

Jonathan Huntington.

No, it can’t be. I blink, but he’s still there. It’s him, it’s definitely him, even though he looks much more attractive in real life than in the magazine photo.

He uncrosses his arms, which he had folded across his chest, and his posture shifts. He’s not waiting anymore; he’s ready. Even though he’s not moving, he’s poised to go. He’s looking at me. He’s …been expecting me.

Oh. My. God.

My feet seem to move of their own accord. I walk toward him in a kind of trance.

“
Hello, Mr. Huntington.” I’m standing right in front of him and holding out my hand. “I’m Grace Lawson.”

As I walk toward him, he doesn’t take his eyes off me for a second. Those eyes of his were mesmerizingly blue in the photo. But in real life they look …different somehow. Deep. Shimmering. I stare at him, soaking in every last detail.

He’s tall, much taller than I thought, and is dressed in black from head to toe: black pants, black shirt, black jacket. Just like me. Only he isn’t wearing a colorful scarf, of course. Ha ha. His hair is black, too, and rakishly long, covering his forehead and reaching to just below his collar. Unlike mine, his skin is tanned, which makes the contrast with his blue eyes even more striking. And he clearly didn’t shave today; there’s a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks.

I notice all this in the seconds during which my hand is hovering in the air between us—but he doesn’t take it. My gaze shifts to his mouth. There is no longer a smile on his lips and his blank expression suddenly makes me feel uneasy.

He’s looking at me as if he has no idea what I want from him. I clear my throat and leave my hand outstretched.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you—sir.” He’s an aristocrat, isn’t he? How do you address someone like that? Darnit. I don’t know what to say. “I mean, I really wasn’t expecting you to come and pick me up. But I …I’m looking forward to it. To the internship. Very much, actually. It’s really a …huge …”

The last words come out in a disjointed stammer. Something isn’t right about this.

“Jonathan?” I hear a deep voice with a strange accent that I can’t place, coming from right behind me and, when I look up, startled, there’s a man standing there. A Japanese man. He’s not quite as tall as Jonathan Huntington, but he’s tall enough to make me feel like a dwarf next to the two of them. There are two more men behind him, also Japanese, but shorter. They must belong to the same party as the first man. And it’s only now that I notice a blond giant and a somewhat shorter dark-haired man, both in suits, have come up behind Jonathan Huntington, as if rushing to his aid. And they’re all looking at me with the same puzzled expressions. Oh my God. My cheeks are burning as I realize what an incredibly embarrassing mistake I’ve just made. Jonathan Huntington isn’t here to pick up his new intern from Chicago from the airport. He’s been waiting for the Japanese businessman behind me, who, by some unlikely coincidence, arrived at exactly the same time as I did. I’ve just made a complete fool of myself. More than a fool, a total idiot. A complete and utter imbecile.

For a few excruciating seconds no one says a word while I stand there squirming. I shut my eyes in despair and, almost immediately, I feel a warm hand enclosing mine, which I’m still holding out.

When I open my eyes again, Jonathan Huntington is looking at me. It’s his hand that’s holding mine. Gripping it firmly. Pleasantly. Reassuringly. He’s smiling and I notice that one of his canine teeth has an entire tip missing. It gives his smile a youthful quality, which I wasn’t expecting and makes me go weak at the knees. Or perhaps it’s just that I feel so incredibly embarrassed that my legs simply don’t want to hold me up anymore.

“Miss Lawson, what a pleasure.” He still has no idea who I am. But he’s rescuing me. The warmth from his hand is spreading through my body.

You should excuse yourself and leave, a voice inside me is saying loud and clear, but, as if frozen to the spot, I keep on staring at Jonathan Huntington’s face as if hypnotized. I just can’t get over how attractive he is.

Then he lets go of my hand and I return to my senses. He indicates the tall Japanese man, whose age I find hard to guess.

“May I introduce Yuuto Nagako, a business associate of mine, who has just arrived from Tokyo?” I turn around and nod at the man who is observing me with an odd, penetrating gaze. Jonathan Huntington says the names of the other four and they silently bow their heads, but I can only remember that the tall blonde is called Steven—I forget the other names right away. My brain doesn’t seem to be working properly.

“And this is our new …intern, Miss Lawson?” Jonathan Huntington continues. He says it in a joking sort of way; it sounds condescending. Something in his tone makes me feel defensive. He really is very arrogant. That’s what my sister called him, when we looked at his photo together. She was obviously right about that.

On the other hand, it gradually dawns on me that he didn’t expose me for my idiotic mistake and my gratitude soon outweighs all other feelings. If that’s what they mean by proper English manners, I’m willing to put up with a little bit of arrogance.

“I …yes. From …Chicago,” I stammer, as if I were trying to explain why I behaved so incredibly stupidly. I can tell the Japanese man is getting impatient. I have the feeling that I wouldn’t have gotten away with it so lightly if I’d made a scene like that in front of him—at least, that’s how I interpret the way he’s still staring at me.

At last my brain seems to have started working again. I feel lucky. I was so naïve; it hurt. Now at least I won’t have to spend the rest of my life praying the ground will swallow me. But if I stand around for much longer, that might change.

“I must get going—to catch the subway. Because I’ve got an appointment to get to.” I look at Jonathan Huntington and the whole thing seems so absurd that I shrug my shoulders and can’t suppress a smile. “With you.”

He raises his eyebrows in astonishment. “With me?”

“Um, yes, no, I mean—with your company. You know. The internship.” Now I’m squirming again. For God’s sake, Grace, don’t try to be funny. After this performance, he’ll probably cancel their partnership with the University of Chicago because he’s had quite enough of the dim-witted American girls they’ve been bringing into the country. I should go before I make things even worse. “Well. Goodbye.”

I grip the handle of my suitcase and pull it after me. The men step in closer to each other and start talking right away, closing the gap in their circle, as if they had just been waiting for me to finally leave. I turn around briefly once more, but when my eyes meet those of the Japanese man, who’s talking to Jonathan Huntington, I turn my head away at once. I sincerely hope they are talking business and not about me.

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of the suitcase tugging at my arm, as I roll it along after me. Well, that was it—I met Jonathan Huntington. You did a great job, Grace, a really great job. When I meet him again at the office I can only hope he’s forgotten what I look like—or else I’d better hide behind a filing cabinet for the next three months. I feel a hand around my arm, stopping me from moving. I turn round, startled—and find myself looking straight into Jonathan Huntington’s blue eyes.

“You’re coming with us, Miss Lawson,” he explains, in that same condescending tone which leaves no room for argument.

If I could get my breath back, I’d be able to respond. But Steven, the blond giant, is standing behind him and, before I realize what’s happening, he’s grabbed my suitcase and is pulling it away, back toward the Japanese businessmen. Jonathan Huntington is still holding onto my arm. And at last, my brain starts functioning again.

“Hey!” I free myself from his grasp. “No! Wait!” I shout at the blonde’s retreating back and he stops right away. But Jonathan Huntington gestures for him to carry on. Then I feel his hand on my back, pushing me forward with determination.

“My assistant just wants to help you with your luggage,” he explains and looks at me again as if I might be nuts. But then again, maybe I am.