I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair - it just won’t behave,

and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be

studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair

into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this

mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll

my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for

her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in

a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable.

Kate is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu.

Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega-industri-

alist tycoon I’ve never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been volunteered. I

have final exams to cram for, one essay to finish, and I’m supposed to be working this af-

ternoon, but no - today I have to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle

in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. As an exceptional

entrepreneur and major benefactor of our University, his time is extraordinarily precious

• much more precious than mine - but he has granted Kate an interview. A real coup, she

tells me. Damn her extra-curricular activities.

Kate is huddled on the couch in the living room.

“Ana, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another

six to reschedule, and we’ll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can’t blow this

off. Please,” Kate begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even

ill she looks gamine and gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair in place and green eyes bright,

although now red-rimmed and runny. I ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy.

“Of course I’ll go Kate. You should get back to bed. Would you like some Nyquil or

Tylenol?”

“Nyquil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder. Just press record

here. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“I know nothing about him,” I murmur, trying and failing to suppress my rising panic.

“The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long drive. I don’t want you to be late.”