Home > Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian(3)

Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian(3)
E.L. James

“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.

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