Page 5

“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.