Mark Runyon sprinted up the steps of the modernized brownstone in Chicago's Jefferson Park and pulled open the grill-reinforced door. He stepped inside and grinned at Jack Delaney, the supervisor, through the long glass window of his office in Tivoli Terrace Apartments.

He glanced at the elevator briefly and shook his head. No, not the easy way up today. He'd been in meetings all day the last few days, and had had no time for his usual tennis game. Better take the stairs. He could handle four flights, no problem.

He loosened his tie and started climbing. In his briefcase, he carried the graphical representations of the new senior citizens' condominium he wanted to look over. David Roth, an associate, had commended Mark on the new advertising slant for REA Inc.

"You'll Know You're Home." The words sang in his mind like a jingle. It reminded him of the company's mission statement of putting the client first. This new project was his baby and he had had a special person in mind when he developed this idea.

Mark caught his breath as he remembered something. He hadn't been able to make the Children's Heart Foundation fundraiser the other evening, and now he'd never hear the end of it from Gran. Dear, lovable Gran. What was it she'd mentioned? That she had found a new housekeeper to replace dragon lady, Mrs. Babbitt. Good, he could stop ordering Chinese takeout from now on.

Footsteps slowing, Mark climbed on. He reached the fourth floor, unlocked the door, and walked into a large apartment bathed in the late afternoon sun. He stashed his briefcase on the side table in the hall and pulled off the tie that felt like a choke chain better used in dog obedience classes.

Suddenly, something appeared strangely wrong. Things were in place all right--the expensive oil paintings in their silver-bracketed frames in the hall, and the living room billowing out at the far end with its soft chamois leather upholstery furniture. The vases were filled with flowers, Mark's standing request to the cleaning temp.

Then why did he feel like the three bears walking in on Goldilocks? At the end of the hall, he spied two suitcases partly hidden by the wall, and a sneaker tumbled against it nearby. Alert to the last nerve, he followed the signs as a nature lover might follow markings in the woods.

On the sprawling living room sofa, a small, blonde, tousle-haired waif lay curled with an arm resting on a rounded cheek, her sneaker-clad foot dangling over the edge of the sofa. Her blue jeans were molded over eye-catching curves as she lay fast asleep, breathing evenly.

Mark stood there, his tie draped around his neck, a hand on one hip, and watched her for a few moments. A frown formed on his forehead and then slowly disappeared. Curled on the sofa in that childlike way, she looked pretty. Thick sooty lashes lay like veils over her eyes, and the white long-sleeved shirt with its sleeves rolled up gave her a tomboyish air that was curiously attractive.

Mark pulled himself together. He had no business standing here getting an eyeful of Sleeping Beauty. But who was she and how did she get in?

The girl stirred and opened her eyes. Green, he noticed, sea green. Mark cleared his throat. "Miss, I think you're in the wrong place."

"What? Oh ... I..." She sat up, her hand going to her head. "Ouch! This is Tivoli Terrace Apartments, isn't it? Ellen Carstens sent me. I'm Nikki Slater, the new housekeeper."

Mark slowly pulled the dangling tie off his neck and crumpled it in his hand. Had Gran lost her mind? Was this another one of the charity cases she forever championed? Did she really think this elf-like girl could handle the work of Mrs. Babbitt? Mrs. Babbitt even scared dust away, and when she left, she had brought in a temp just like herself--frontline combat material, the original drill sergeant. He unbuttoned his collar. "How did you get in?" This ought to be good, he thought.

"The super let me in. I have a note from Ellen." She fumbled in her jeans pocket for a while, wriggling every which way.

Mark looked away, very conscious of the girl's allure, the hair around her face in curly wisps, the perfect mouth.

"Here it is," she said finally, fishing out a crumpled piece of paper. "It's addressed to you, so the super agreed to let me in."

Mark took the note from her. "Dear Mark," it said. "I'm sending Nikki as promised. She's a good worker and will be a help to you. She needs a place to stay. Perhaps she could use the spare apartment adjoining yours? Take care of yourself and try not to work too hard. Love, Gran."

Mark allowed himself a half-chuckle, recognizing his grandmother's concern for him. How like her to spring a surprise like this on him! The girl looked as if she had packed her life's belongings into two suitcases. She probably needed the money badly and Ellen stepped in to help. Fine with him, he could go along with a gag to humor his grandmother.

The extent of the situation dawned on Mark like a neon light gaining power by the second. The girl sat groggily on the sofa and pushed the hair away from her eyes. It suddenly hit him that she was to stay in his spare apartment. Mark swallowed hard on that one. Too bad she couldn't leave at the end of the day as Mrs. Babbitt had done. Someone like her was too much to handle when the new construction project was just getting underway. He didn't want a distracting female hovering next door.

Mark raked his fingers through his hair. "If you can cook and keep the apartment clean, it's fine with me. The apartment you will use has a separate entrance. In fact," he said, going to a narrow closet and pulling out a key that hung on the inside of the door, "I'll show you around." He glanced at her suitcases. "You might want to bring those."

Nikki got up. Small built, she barely reached his shoulder. What was Gran thinking when she sent this puny little urchin his way? He hoped like heck she could do some work, though he doubted if she was much good. Mild irritation assaulted him as he led the way to the other apartment. He opened the door and stood aside to let her enter. "This door is left unlocked," he said.

They stood in the foyer flooded with the light of the setting sun. Mark watched with amusement as Nikki walked over to the window and stared at the scenery outside. He had to admit it looked nice this time of year when leaves were starting to come in the trees.

"It's beautiful," she said, coming away from the window. Her gaze fell on a glass and steel abstract structure on the black marble-topped table in the foyer.

"Like it?" he asked.

Nikki nodded. "But what is it?"

"It's a miniature skyscraper. It's in there somewhere, if you look hard enough." Mark laughed. "What's the matter?"

The dimpled smile that had looked promising turned into a puzzled expression. "What do you do?" Her eyes opened wide and a sharpness laced her tone.

"Construct buildings."

"You work for the Runyon Corporation?"

"My father and I own it. I'm Mark Runyon. We also have a battalion of relatives working for us. You sure you're okay? You look ill." Mark lurched forward suddenly and caught her by the arm to steady her. "Whoa."

What was the matter with her? This was an odd time to be groggy. Was she one of those party animals in a perpetual state of hangover? Or maybe she was just hungry, which was probably why Gran got involved. The girl was probably too poor to afford a square meal a day.

"Are you hungry? I was going to order Chinese food." He was, after all, a volunteer for Big Brothers, he could help one more down-and-out person, except he had to admit she didn't make him feel like any brother. Not with her curves and those come-hither bedroom eyes.

"No, no. I'm fine." She appeared to gain control of herself.

"Well, let me show you the apartment. Then you can settle in. Is this all the luggage you have?"

"For now. I sold my furniture since this place came furnished."

"Of course." Mark hoped he sounded convincing in accepting her words at face value.

He helped her carry the suitcases and crossed an archway leading to a suite of rooms: a living room, bedroom, and kitchen.

"This is it. Think you can manage here?" He hardly expected her to balk--it was furnished in a neat, elegant style. "When you're ready, you can come over to my apartment. I'd like to go over a few things with you."

He strode out leaving her standing in the hallway, suitcases standing on either side of her like two short, protective pillars. Did Gran have any idea what she'd gotten him into? Foisting on him a young woman with a propensity for taking naps in strange surroundings?