by E. L. James
“Chill out?” Those words out of her smart mouth sound odd but amusing. Besides, when do I get time to chill out? She has no idea what I do. But she looks at me again with those ingenuous big 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 attractive brunettes like her, and bringing them to heel…The thought makes me shift in my seat, but I answer her smoothly, omitting a few favorite hobbies.
“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?”
“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 transport food around the planet.
“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, awkward, obviously bright, and arousing as hell.
Yes, okay, I admit it. I find her alluring.
She recites the next question by rote. “Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?”
“I’m a very private person. 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 food.” 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 puzzled look, as if I’m a conundrum, but there’s no way I want her seeing into my dark soul. This is not an area open to discussion. Move it along, Grey.
“It’s shrewd business,” I mutter, feigning boredom, and I imagine fucking that mouth to distract myself from all thoughts of hunger. Yes, her mouth needs training, and I imagine her on her knees before me. Now, that thought is appealing.
She recites her next question, dragging me away from my fantasy. “Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”
“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?”
Yes, baby. You, for one. I frown, startled by the thought.
“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.
“I am.”
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 clothes from some cheap store like Old Navy or H&M—I know that isn’t it. She hasn’t grown up in an affluent household.
I could really take care of you.
Where the hell did that thought 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 woman. I try an agreeable smile. Nothing wrong with consumption—after all, it drives what’s left of the American economy.
“You were adopted. How much do you think that’s shaped the way you are?”
What does this have to do with the price of oil? What a ridiculous question. If I’d stayed with the crack whore, I’d probably be dead. I blow her off with a non-answer, 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!
My tone goes cold. “That’s a matter of public record, Miss Steele.”
She should know this, too. Now she looks contrite as she tucks an escaped strand of hair behind her ear. Good.
“You’ve had to sacrifice family life for your work.”
“That’s not a question,” I snap.
She startles, clearly embarrassed, but she has the grace to apologize and she rephrases the question: “Have you had to sacrifice family life for your work?”
What do I want with a family? “I have a family. I have a brother, a sister, and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”
“Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”
What the hell!
I cannot believe she’s said that out loud! Ironically, the question even my own family will not ask. How dare she! I have a sudden urge to drag her out of her seat, bend her over my knee, spank her, and then fuck her over my desk with her hands tied behind her back. That would answer her ridiculous question. I take a deep calming breath. To my vindictive delight, she appears to be mortified by her own question.
“No, Anastasia, I’m not.” I raise my eyebrows, but keep my expression impassive. Anastasia. It’s a lovely name. I like the way my tongue rolls around it.
“I apologize. It’s, um…written here.” She’s at it again with the hair behind the ear. Obviously it’s a nervous habit.
Are these not her questions? I ask her, and she pales. Damn, she really is attractive, in an understated sort of way.
“Er…no. Kate—Miss Kavanagh—she compiled the questions.”
“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”
“No. She’s my roommate.”
No wonder she’s all over the place. I scratch my chin, debating whether or not to give her a really hard time.
“Did you volunteer to do this interview?” I ask, and I’m rewarded with her submissive look: she’s nervous about my reaction. I like the effect I have on her.
“I was drafted. She’s not well.” Her voice is soft.
“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 gapes at me, looking confused. I stare at her. Out! Now! I’m busy with little Miss Steele here.
“Very well, Mr. Grey,” she says, recovering quickly, and turning on her heel, she leaves 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 that lovely face.
“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 of my charms.
“There’s not much to know,” she says, her blush returning.
I’m intimidating her. “What are your plans after you graduate?”
“I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.”
“We run an excellent internship program here.”
What possessed me ever to say that? It’s against the rules, Grey. Never fuck the
staff…But 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 replies. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask. What’s wrong with my company?
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Not to me.” I’m confounded by her response. She’s flustered again as she reaches for the recorder.
Shit, she’s going. Mentally I run through my schedule for that 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 Vancouver?” I glance out the window. It’s one hell of a drive, and it’s raining. 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 to my surprise, I don’t want her to go.
“Did you get everything you need?” I ask 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 for a 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 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.
I can’t let her go like this. It’s obvious she’s desperate to leave. It’s irritating, but inspiration hits me as I open my office door.
“Just ensuring you make it through the door,” I quip.
Her lips form a hard line. “That’s very considerate, Mr. Grey,” she snaps.
Miss Steele bites back! I grin behind her as she exits, and follow her out. Both Andrea and Olivia look up in shock. Yeah, yeah. I’m just seeing the girl out.
“Did you have a coat?” I ask.
“A jacket.”
I give Olivia a pointed look and she immediately leaps up to retrieve a navy jacket, passing it to me with her usual simpering expression. Christ, Olivia is annoying—mooning over me all the time.
Hmm. The jacket is worn and cheap. 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 stop your fidgeting, baby.
The doors open and she scurries in, then turns to face me. She’s more than attractive. I would go as far as to say she’s beautiful.
“Anastasia,” I say, in good-bye.
“Christian,” she answers, her voice soft. And the elevator doors close, leaving my name hanging in the air between us, sounding odd and unfamiliar, but sexy as hell.
I need to know more about this girl.
“Andrea,” I bark as I return to 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
Bank:
Wells Fargo Bank, Vancouver, WA:
Acct. No.: 309361:
$683.16 balance
Occupation:
Undergraduate Student
WSU Vancouver College of Arts and Sciences
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 Aug. 16, 2006,
divorced Jan. 31, 2007
m. 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 lip biting gets me every time.
And now here I am, parked outside Clayton’s, a mom-and-pop 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. I’d tried to resist. I’d waited five days, five tedious days, to see if I’d forget about her.
And I don’t do waiting. I hate waiting…for anything.
I’ve never 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. So here I am, an 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 mind. 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…I’ve been suffering from these lascivious 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 s
hould let him know. No. I don’t want him hounding me about his latest solution-based-therapy shit. I just need a distraction, and right now the only distraction I want is the one 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.
A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk into the store. It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside, and although it’s almost lunchtime the place is quiet, for a Saturday. There are aisles and aisles of the usual junk 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. Absentmindedly, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger. My cock twitches in response.
What am I, fourteen?
My body’s reaction is irritating. Maybe this 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 by her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. Salacious thoughts aside, she’s attractive, seriously attractive. I’ve remembered her well.
She looks up and freezes. It’s as unnerving as the first time I met her. She pins me with a discerning stare—shocked, I think—and I don’t know if this is a good response or a bad response.
“Miss Steele. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Mr. Grey,” she says, breathy and flustered. Ah, a good response.
“I was in the area. I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” A real pleasure. She’s dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans, not the shapeless shit she was wearing earlier this week. She’s all long legs, narrow waist, and perfect tits. Her lips are still parted in surprise, and I have to resist the urge to tip her chin up and close her mouth. I’ve flown from Seattle just to see you, and the way you look right now, it was really worth the journey.
