Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed

by E. L. James

  Her mouth pops open at my response. That’s more like it. Suck it up, Miss Steele. I feel my equilibrium returning.

  “Don’t you have a board to answer to?”

  “I own my company. I don’t answer to a board,” I respond sharply. She should know this. I raise a questioning brow.

  “And do you have any interests outside of your work?” she continues hastily, correctly gauging my reaction. She knows I’m pissed, and for some inexplicable reason this pleases me enormously.

  “I have varied interests, Miss Steele. Very varied.” I smile. Images of her in assorted positions in my playroom flash through my mind: shackled on the cross, spread-eagled on the four-poster, splayed over the whipping bench. Fucking hell! Where is this coming from? And behold—there’s that blush again. It’s like a defense mechanism. Calm down, Grey.

  “But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

  “Chill out?” I grin; those words out of her smart mouth sound odd. Besides when do I get time to chill out? Has she no idea of the number of companies I control? But she looks at me with those ingenuous blue eyes, and to my surprise I find myself considering her question. What do I do to chill out? Sailing, flying, fucking … testing the limits of little brown-haired girls like her, and bringing them to heel … The thought makes me shift in my seat, but I answer her smoothly, omitting my two favorite hobbies.

  “You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?”

  Her question drags me rudely back to the present.

  “I like to build things. I like to know how things work, what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?” They distribute food around the planet—taking goods from the haves to the have-nots and back again. What’s not to like?

  “That sounds like your heart talking, rather than logic and facts.”

  Heart? Me? Oh no, baby. My heart was savaged beyond recognition a long time ago. “Possibly, though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

  “Why would they say that?”

  “Because they know me well.” I give her a wry smile. In fact, no one knows me that well, except maybe Elena. I wonder what she would make of little Miss Steele here. The girl is a mass of contradictions: shy, uneasy, obviously bright, and arousing as hell. Yes, okay, I admit it. She’s an alluring little piece.

  She recites the next question by rote.

  “Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?”

  “I’m a very private person, Miss Steele. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews.” Doing what I do, living the life I’ve chosen, I need my privacy.

  “Why did you agree to do this one?”

  “Because I’m a benefactor of the university, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.” But I’m glad it’s you who turned up and not her.

  “You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”

  “We can’t eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.” I stare at her, poker-faced.

  “That sounds very philanthropic. Is that something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?” She regards me with a quizzical expression as if I’m some kind of conundrum for her to solve, but there is no way I want those big blue eyes seeing into my dark soul. This is not an area open to discussion. Ever.

  “It’s shrewd business.” I shrug, feigning boredom, and I imagine fucking her smart mouth to distract myself from all thoughts of hunger. Yes, that mouth needs training. Now that thought is appealing, and I let myself imagine her on her knees before me.

  “Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?” she recites by rote again.

  “I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle, Carnegie’s ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control … of myself and those around me.”

  “So you want to possess things?” Her eyes widen.

  Yes, baby. You, for one.

  “I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

  “You sound like the ultimate consumer.” Her voice is tinged with disapproval, pissing me off again. She sounds like a rich kid who’s had all she ever wanted, but as I take a closer look at her clothes—she’s dressed in Walmart, or Old Navy possibly—I know that isn’t it. She hasn’t grown up in an affluent household.

  I could really take care of you.

  Shit, where the fuck did that come from? Although, now that I consider it, I do need a new sub. It’s been, what—two months since Susannah? And here I am, salivating over this brown-haired girl. I try a smile and agree with her. Nothing wrong with consumption—after all, it drives what’s left of the American economy.

  “You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?”

  What the fuck does this have to do with the price of oil? I scowl at her. What a ridiculous question. If I’d stayed with the crack whore, I’d probably be dead. I blow her off with a nonanswer, trying to keep my voice level, but she pushes me, demanding to know how old I was when I was adopted. Shut her down, Grey!

  “That’s a matter of public record, Miss Steele.” My voice is arctic. She should know this shit. Now she looks contrite. Good.

  “You’ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.”

  “That’s not a question,” I snap.

  She blushes again and bites down on that damned lip. But she has the grace to apologize.

  “Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”

  What do I want with a fucking family?

  “I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

  “Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”

  What the fuck! I cannot believe she’s said that out loud! The unspoken question that my own family dares not ask, much to my amusement. How dare she! I have to fight down the urge to drag her out of her seat, bend her across my knee, and spank the living shit out of her, then fuck her over my desk with her hands tied tightly behind her back. That would answer her question. How frustrating is this female? I take a deep, calming breath. To my vindictive delight, she appears to be acutely embarrassed by her own question.

  “No, Anastasia, I’m not.” I raise my eyebrows, but keep my expression impassive. Anastasia. It is a lovely name. I like the way my tongue rolls around it.

  “I apologize. It’s um … written here.” Nervously, she tucks her hair behind her ear.

  She doesn’t know her own questions? Perhaps they’re not hers. I ask her, and she pales. Fuck, she really is very attractive, in an understated sort of way. I would even go so far as to say she is beautiful.

  “Er … no. Kate—Miss Kavanagh—she compiled the questions.”

  “Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

  “No, she’s my roommate.”

  No wonder she is all over the place. I scratch my chin, debating whether to give her a really, really hard time.

  “Did you volunteer to do this interview?” I ask, and I’m rewarded with her submissive look: eyes large, nervous about my reaction. I like the effect I have on her.

  “I was drafted. She’s not well,” she says softly.

  “That explains a great deal.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and Andrea appears. “Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

  “We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.”

  Andrea hesitates, gaping at me. I stare at her. Out! Now! I’m busy with little Miss Steele here. Andrea blushes scarlet, but recovers quickly.

  “Very well, Mr. Grey,” she says and, turning on her heel, she leave
s us.

  I turn my attention back to the intriguing, frustrating creature on my couch. “Where were we, Miss Steele?”

  “Please don’t let me keep you from anything.”

  Oh no, baby. It’s my turn now. I want to know if there are any secrets to uncover behind those beautiful eyes.

  “I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” As I lean back and press my fingers to my lips, her eyes flick to my mouth and she swallows. Oh yes—the usual effect. And it is gratifying to know she isn’t completely oblivious to my charms.

  “There’s not much to know,” she says, her blush returning. I’m intimidating her. Good.

  “What are your plans after you graduate?”

  She shrugs. “I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.”

  “We run an excellent internship program here.” Fuck. What possessed me to say that? I’m breaking a golden rule—never, ever fuck the staff. But Grey, you’re not fucking this girl. She looks surprised, and her teeth sink into that lip again. Why is that so arousing?

  “Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” she mumbles. Then as an afterthought she says, “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.”

  Why the hell not? What’s wrong with my company?

  “Why do you say that?” I ask.

  “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Not to me.” I’m confounded by her response.

  She’s flustered again as she reaches for the digital recorder. Shit, she’s going. Mentally I run through my schedule for the afternoon—there is nothing that won’t keep.

  “Would you like me to show you around?”

  “I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.”

  “You’re driving back to WSU in Vancouver?” I glance out the window. It’s one hell of a drive, and it’s raining. Shit. She shouldn’t be driving in this weather, but I can’t forbid her. The thought irritates me. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” My voice is sterner than I intend.

  She fumbles with the recorder. She wants out of my office, and for some reason I can’t explain, I don’t want her to go.

  “Did you get everything you need?” I add in a transparent effort to prolong her stay.

  “Yes, sir,” she says quietly.

  Her response floors me—the way those words sound, coming out of that smart mouth—and briefly I imagine that mouth at my beck and call.

  “Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey.”

  “The pleasure’s been all mine,” I respond—truthfully, because I haven’t been this fascinated by anyone in a long while. The thought is unsettling.

  She stands and I extend my hand, eager to touch her.

  “Until we meet again, Miss Steele.” My voice is low as she places her small hand in mine. Yes, I want to flog and fuck this girl in my playroom. Have her bound and wanting … needing me, trusting me. I swallow. It ain’t going to happen, Grey.

  “Mr. Grey.” She nods and withdraws her hand quickly … too quickly.

  Shit, I can’t let her go like this. It’s obvious she is desperate to leave. Irritation and inspiration hit me simultaneously as I see her out.

  “Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele.”

  She blushes on cue, her delicious shade of pink.

  “That’s very considerate, Mr. Grey,” she snaps.

  Miss Steele has teeth! I grin behind her as she exits, and I follow in her wake. Both Andrea and Olivia look up in shock. Yeah, yeah. I’m just seeing the girl out.

  “Did you have a coat?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I scowl at simpering Olivia, who immediately leaps up to retrieve a navy coat. Taking it, I glare at her to sit down. Christ, Olivia is annoying—mooning over me all the time.

  Hmm. The coat is from Walmart. Miss Anastasia Steele should be better dressed. I hold it up for her, and as I pull it over her slim shoulders, I touch the skin at the base of her neck. She stills at the contact and pales. Yes! She is affected by me. The knowledge is immensely pleasing. Strolling over to the elevator, I press the call button while she stands fidgeting beside me.

  Oh, I could so stop your fidgeting, baby.

  The doors open and she scurries in and then turns to face me.

  “Anastasia,” I murmur, saying good-bye.

  “Christian,” she whispers. And the elevator doors close, leaving my name hanging in the air, sounding odd, unfamiliar, but sexy as hell.

  Well, fuck me. What was that?

  I need to know more about this girl. “Andrea,” I snap as I stalk back into my office. “Get me Welch on the line, now.”

  As I sit at my desk and wait for the call, I look at the paintings on the wall of my office, and Miss Steele’s words drift back to me. “Raising the ordinary to extraordinary.” She could so easily have been describing herself.

  My phone buzzes.

  “I have Mr. Welch on the line for you.”

  “Put him through.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Welch, I need a background check.”

  Saturday, May 14, 2011

  Anastasia Rose Steele

  DOB: Sept 10, 1989, Montesano, WA

  Address: 1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7, Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888

  Mobile No: 360 959 4352

  Social Security No: 987-65-4320

  Banking Details: Wells Fargo Bank, Vancouver, WA 98888

  Acct No: 309361: $683.16 balance

  Occupation: Undergraduate Student

  WSU Vancouver College of Liberal Arts

  - English Major

  GPA: 4.0

  Prior Education: Montesano JR-SR High School

  SAT Score: 2150

  Employment: Clayton’s Hardware Store,

  NW Vancouver Drive, Portland, OR

  (part-time)

  Father: Franklin A. Lambert

  DOB: Sept 1, 1969, Deceased Sept 11, 1989

  Mother: Carla May Wilks Adams

  DOB: July 18, 1970

  m Frank Lambert

  - March 1, 1989, widowed Sept 11, 1989

  m Raymond Steele

  - June 6, 1990, divorced July 12, 2006

  m Stephen M. Morton

  - August 16, 2006, divorced January 31, 2007

  m Robbin (Bob) Adams

  - April 6, 2009

  Political Affiliations: None Found

  Religious Affiliations: None Found

  Sexual Orientation: Not known

  Relationships: None indicated at present

  I pore over the executive summary for the hundredth time since I received it two days ago, looking for some insight into the enigmatic Miss Anastasia Rose Steele. I cannot get the damned woman out of my mind, and it’s seriously beginning to piss me off. This past week, during particularly dull meetings, I’ve found myself replaying the interview in my head. Her fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the lip biting. Yes. The fucking lip biting gets me every time.

  And now, here I am, parked outside Clayton’s, the modest hardware store on the outskirts of Portland where she works.

  You’re a fool, Grey. Why are you here?

  I knew it would lead to this. All week … I knew I’d have to see her again. I’d known it since she uttered my name in the elevator and disappeared into the depths of my building. I’d tried to resist. I’d waited five days, five fucking days to see if I’d forget about her. And I don’t do waiting. I hate waiting … for anything. I’ve never actively pursued a woman before. The women I’ve had understood what I expected of them. My fear now is that Miss Steele is just too young and that she won’t be interested in what I have to offer … will she? Will she even make a good submissive? I shake my head. There’s only one way to find out … so here I am, a fucking ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland.

  Her background check has produced nothing remarkable—except the last fact, which has been at the forefront of my m
ind. It’s the reason I’m here. Why no boyfriend, Miss Steele? Sexual orientation unknown—perhaps she’s gay. I snort, thinking that unlikely. I recall the question she asked during the interview, her acute embarrassment, the way her skin flushed a pale rose … Shit. I’ve been suffering from these ludicrous thoughts since I met her.

  That’s why you’re here.

  I’m itching to see her again—those blue eyes have haunted me, even in my dreams. I haven’t mentioned her to Flynn, and I’m glad because I’m now behaving like a stalker. Perhaps I should let him know. I roll my eyes—I don’t want him hounding me about his latest solution-based shit. I just need a distraction … and right now the only distraction I want is working as a salesclerk in a hardware store.

  You’ve come all this way. Let’s see if little Miss Steele is as appealing as you remember. Showtime, Grey. I climb out of the car and stroll across the lot to the front door. A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk in.

  The store is much bigger than it looks from the outside, and although it is almost lunchtime the place is quiet, for a Saturday. There are aisles and aisles of the usual crap you’d expect. I’d forgotten the possibilities that a hardware store could present to someone like me. I mainly shop online for my needs, but while I’m here, maybe I’ll stock up on a few items … Velcro, split rings—Yeah. I’ll find the delectable Miss Steele and have some fun.

  It takes me all of three seconds to spot her. She’s hunched over the counter, staring intently at a computer screen and picking at her lunch—a bagel. Unthinking, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger. My cock twitches in response. Fuck! What am I, fourteen? My reaction is fucking irritating. Maybe this adolescent response will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her … and not necessarily in that order. Yeah. That’s what I need.

  She is thoroughly absorbed in her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. Salacious thoughts aside, she is attractive, seriously attractive. I’ve remembered her well.

  She glances up and freezes, pinning me with intelligent, discerning eyes—the bluest of blue that seem to see right through me. It’s as unnerving as the first time I met her. She just stares, shocked I think, and I don’t know if this is a good response or a bad response.