Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades #1)(31)
Author: E.L. James

After pulling on a pair of tight gray Calvin Kleins, I tug on my jeans and my Converse.

Grabbing my jacket, I dash into the bathroom and stare at my too-bright eyes, my flushed face – and my hair! Holy crap… just-fucked pigtails do not suit me either. I hunt in the vanity unit for a brush and find a comb. It will have to do. A ponytail is the only answer. I despair at my clothes. Maybe I should take Christian up on his offer of clothes.

My subconscious purses her lips and mouths the word ‘ho’. I ignore her. Struggling into my jacket, pleased that the cuffs cover the tell-tale patterns from his tie, I take a last anxious glance at myself in the mirror. This will have to do. I make my way into the main living room.

"Here she is." Christian stands from where he’s lounging on the couch.

His expression is warm and appreciative. The sandy-haired woman beside him turns and beams at me, a full megawatt smile. She stands too. She’s impeccably attired in a camel-colored fine knit sweater dress with matching shoes. She looks groomed, elegant, beautiful, and inside I die a little, knowing I look such a mess.

"Mother, this is Anastasia Steele. Anastasia, this is Grace Trevelyan-Grey."

Dr. Trevelyan-Grey holds her hand out to me. T… for Trevelyan?

"What a pleasure to meet you," she murmurs. If I’m not mistaken, there is wonder and maybe stunned relief in her voice and a warm glow in her hazel eyes. I grasp her hand, and I can’t help but smile, returning her warmth.

"Dr. Trevelyan-Grey," I murmur.

"Call me Grace," she grins, and Christian frowns. "I am usually Dr. Trevelyan, and Mrs. Grey is my mother-in-law." She winks. "So how did you two meet?" She looks questioningly at Christian, unable to hide her curiosity.

"Anastasia interviewed me for the student paper at WSU because I’m conferring the degrees there this week."

Double crap. I’d forgotten that.

"So you are graduating this week?" Grace asks.

"Yes."

My cell phone starts ringing. Kate, I bet.

"Excuse me." It’s in the kitchen. I wander over and lean across the breakfast bar, not checking the number.

"Kate."

"Dios mio! Ana!" Holy crap, it’s Jose. He sounds desperate. "Where are youI’ve been trying to contact you. I need to see you, to apologize for my behavior on Friday. Why haven’t you returned my calls?"

"Look Jose, now’s not a good time." I glance anxiously over at Christian who’s watching me intently, his face impassive as he murmurs something to his mom. I turn my back to him.

"Where are youKate is being so evasive," he whines.

"I’m in Seattle."

"What are you doing in SeattleAre you with him?"

"Jose, I’ll call you later. I can’t talk to you now." I hang up.

I walk as nonchalantly back to Christian and his mother. Grace is in full flow.

"… And Elliot called to say you were around – I haven’t seen you for two weeks, darling."

"Did he now?" Christian murmurs, gazing at me, his expression unreadable.

"I thought we might have lunch together, but I can see you have other plans, and I don’t want to interrupt your day." She gathers up her long cream coat and turns to him, offering him her cheek. He kisses her briefly, sweetly. She doesn’t touch him.

"I have to drive Anastasia back to Portland."

"Of course, darling. Anastasia, it’s been such a pleasure. I do hope we meet again."

She holds her hand out to me, her eyes glowing, and we shake.

Taylor appears from… where?

"Mrs. Grey?" he asks.

"Thank you, Taylor." He escorts her from the room and through the double doors to the foyer. Taylor was here the whole timeHow long has he been hereWhere has he been?

Christian glares at me.

"So the photographer called?"

Crap.

"Yes."

"What did he want?"

"Just to apologize, you know – for Friday."

Christian narrows his eyes.

"I see," he says simply.

Taylor reappears.

"Mr. Grey, there’s an issue with the Darfur shipment."

Christian nods curtly at him.

"Charlie Tango back at Boeing Field?"

"Yes sir."

Taylor nods at me.

"Miss Steele."

I smile tentatively back at him, and he turns and leaves.

"Does he live hereTaylor?"

"Yes." His tone is clipped. What is his problem?

Christian heads over to the kitchen and picks up his BlackBerry, scrolling through some emails, I assume. His mouth presses in a hard line, and he makes a call.

"Ros, what’s the issue?" he snaps. He listens, watching me, gray eyes speculative, as I stand in the middle of the huge room wondering what to do with myself, feeling extraordinarily self-conscious and out of place.

"I’m not having either crew put at risk. No, cancel… We’ll air drop instead… Good."

He hangs up. The warmth in his eyes has disappeared. He looks forbidding, and with one quick glance at me, he heads into his study and returns a moment later.

"This is the contract. Read it, and we’ll discuss it next weekend. May I suggest you do some research, so you know what’s involved." He pauses. "That’s if you agree, and I really hope you do." He adds, his tone softer, anxious.

"Research?"

"You’ll be amazed what you can find on the Internet," he murmurs.

Internet! I don’t have access to a computer, only Kate’s laptop, and I couldn’t use Clayton’s, not for this sort of ‘research’ surely?

"What is it?" he asks, cocking his head to one side.

"I don’t have a computer. I’ll see if I can use Kate’s laptop."

He hands me a manila envelope.

"I’m sure I can… err, lend you one. Grab your things, we’ll drive back to Portland and grab some lunch on the way. I need to dress."

"I’ll just make a call," I murmur. I just want to hear Kate’s voice. He frowns.

"The photographer?" His jaw clenches, and his eyes burn. I blink at him. "I don’t like to share, Miss Steele. Remember that." His quiet, chilling tone is a warning, and with one long, cold look at me, he heads back to the bedroom.

Holy crap. I just wanted to call Kate, I want to call after him, but his sudden aloofness has left me paralyzed. What happened to the generous, relaxed, smiling man who was making love to me not half an hour ago?

"Ready?" Christian asks as we stand by the double doors to the foyer.

I nod uncertainly. He’s resumed his distant, polite, uptight persona, his mask back up and on show. He’s carrying a leather messenger bag. Why does he need thatPerhaps he’s staying in Portland, and then I remember graduation. Oh yes… he’ll be there on Thursday.

He’s wearing a black leather jacket. He certainly doesn’t look like the multi-multi million-aire, billionaire, what-ever-aire, in these clothes. He looks like a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, maybe a badly behaved rock star or a catwalk model. I sigh inwardly, wishing I had a tenth of his poise. He’s so calm and controlled. I frown, recalling his outburst about Jose… Well, he seems to be.

Taylor is hovering in the background.

"Tomorrow then," he says to Taylor who nods.

"Yes sir. Which car are you taking, sir?"

He looks down at me briefly.

"The R8."

"Safe trip, Mr. Grey. Miss Steele." Taylor looks kindly at me, though perhaps there’s a hint of pity hidden in the depths of his eyes.

No doubt he thinks I’ve succumbed to Mr. Grey’s dubious sexual habits. Not yet, just his exceptional sexual habits, or perhaps sex is like that for everyone. I frown at the thought. I have no comparison, and I can’t ask Kate. That’s something I am going to have to address with Christian. It’s perfectly natural that I should talk to someone – and I can’t talk to him if he is so open one minute and so standoffish the next.

Taylor holds the door open for us and ushers us through. Christian summons the elevator. "What is it, Anastasia?" he asks. How does he know I’m chewing something over in my mindHe reaches up and pulls my chin.

"Stop biting your lip, or I will f**k you in the elevator, and I don’t care who gets in with us."

I blush, but there’s a hint of a smile around his lips, finally his mood seems to be shifting."Christian, I have a problem."

"Oh?" I have his full attention.

The elevator arrives. We walk in, and Christian presses the button marked G.

"Well," I flush. How to say this"I need to talk to Kate. I’ve so many questions about sex, and you’re too involved. If you want me to do all these things, how do I know – ?" I pause, struggling to find the right words. "I just don’t have any terms of reference."