Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades #1)(75)
Author: E.L. James

My flight is booked; my mother is in seventh heaven that I am visiting; I am packed, and Kate has agreed to drive me to the airport. Christian has ordered me to take my BlackBerry and the Mac. I roll my eyes at the memory of his overbearing bossiness, but I realize now that’s just the way he is. He likes control over everything, including me. Yet he’s so unpredictably and disarmingly agreeable too. He can be tender, good-humored, even sweet. And when he is, it’s so left field and unexpected. He insisted on accompanying me all the way down to my car in the garage. Jeez, I’m only going for a few days, he’s acting like I’m going for weeks. He keeps me on the back foot permanently.

"Ana Steele?" A woman with long, black, pre-Raphaelite hair standing by the reception desk distracts me from my introspection. She has the same bohemian, floaty look as the receptionist. She could be in her late thirties, maybe in her forties. It’s so difficult to tell with older women.

"Yes," I reply, standing awkwardly.

She gives me a polite smile, her cool hazel eyes assessing me. I am wearing one of Kate’s dresses, a black pinafore over a white blouse, and my black pumps. Very interview, I think. My hair is restrained in a ponytail, and for once the tendrils are behaving them-selves… she holds her hand out to me.

"Hello, Ana, my name’s Elizabeth Morgan. I’m head of Human Resources here at SIP.""How do you do?" I shake her hand. She looks very casual to be the head of HR.

"Please follow me."

We go through the double doors behind the reception area, into a large brightly decorated open plan office, and from there, head into a small meeting room. The walls are pale green, lined with pictures of book covers. At the head of the Maplewood conference table sits a young man with red hair tied in a ponytail. Small, silver, hooped earrings glint in both his ears. He wears a pale blue shirt, no tie, and grey flannel trousers. As I approach him, he stands and gazes at me with fathomless dark blue eyes.

"Ana Steele, I’m Jack Hyde, the commissioning editor here at SIP, and I’m very pleased to meet you."

We shake hands, and his dark expression is unreadable, though friendly enough, I think.

"Have you traveled far?" he asks pleasantly.

"No, I’ve recently moved to the Pike Street Market area."

"Oh, not far at all then. Please, take a seat."

I sit, and Elizabeth takes a seat beside him.

"So why would you like to intern for us at SIP, Ana?" he asks.

He says my name softly and cocks his head to one side, like someone I know – it’s unnerving. Doing my best to ignore the irrational wariness he inspires, I launch into my carefully prepared speech, conscious that a rosy flush is spreading across my cheeks. I look at both of them, remembering The Katherine Kavanagh Successful Interviewing Technique lecture – maintain eye contact, Ana! Boy, that woman can be bossy too, sometimes. Jack and Elizabeth both listen attentively.

"You have a very impressive GPA. What extra-curricular activities did you indulge in at WSU?"

Indulge I blink at him. What an odd choice of word. I launch into details of my librarianship at the campus central library, and my one experience of interviewing an obscenely rich despot for the student magazine. I gloss over the part that I didn’t actually write the article. I mention the two literary societies that I belonged to and conclude with working at Clayton’s and all the useless knowledge I now possess about hardware and DIY.

They both laugh, which is the response I’d hoped for. Slowly, I relax and begin to enjoy myself.

Jack Hyde asks sharp, intelligent questions, but I’m not thrown – I keep up, and when we discuss my reading preferences and my favorite books, I think I hold my own. Jack, on the other hand, appears to only favor American literature written after 1950. Nothing else.

No classics – not even Henry James or Upton Sinclair or F Scott Fitzgerald. Elizabeth says nothing, just nods occasionally and takes notes. Jack, though argumentative, is charming in his way, and my initial wariness dissipates the longer we talk.

"And where do you see yourself in five years’ time?" he asks.

With Christian Grey, the thought comes involuntarily into my head. My errant mind makes me frown.

"Copy editing perhapsMaybe a literary agent, I’m not sure. I am open to opportunities."He grins.

"Very good, Ana. I don’t have any further questions. Do you?" he directs his question at me.

"When would you like someone to start?" I ask.

"As soon as possible," Elizabeth pipes up. "When could you start?"

"I’m available from next week."

"That’s good to know," Jack says.

"If that’s all anyone has to say," Elizabeth glances at the two of us, "I think that concludes the interview." She smiles kindly.

"It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ana," Jack says softly as he takes my hand. He squeezes it gently, so that I blink up at him as I say goodbye.

I feel unsettled as I make my way to my car, though I’m not sure why. I think the interview went well, but it’s so hard to say. Interviews seem such artificial situations, everyone on their best behavior trying desperately to hide behind a professional fa?ade. Did my face fitI shall have to wait and see.

I climb into my Audi A3 and head back to the apartment, though I take me time. I’m on the red-eye with a stopover in Atlanta, but my flight doesn’t leave until 10:25 this evening, so I have plenty of time.

Kate is unpacking boxes in the kitchen when I return.

"How did they go?" she asks, excited. Only Kate can look gorgeous in an oversized shirt, tattered jeans, and a dark blue bandana.

"Good, thanks, Kate. Not sure this outfit was cool enough for the second interview."

"Oh?"

"Boho chic might have done it."

Kate raises an eyebrow.

"You and boho chic." She cocks her head to one side – Gah! Why is everyone reminding me of my favorite Fifty Shades"Actually, Ana, you’re one of the few people who could really pull that look off."

I grin.

"I really liked the second place. I think I could fit in there. The guy who interviewed me was unnerving though," I trail off – shit I’m talking to foghorn Kavanagh here. Shut up Ana!

"Oh?" The Katherine Kavanagh radar for an interesting tidbit of information swoops into action – a tidbit that will only resurface at some inopportune and embarrassing moment, which reminds me.

"Incidentally – will you please stop winding Christian upYour comment about Jose at dinner yesterday was out of line. He’s a jealous guy. It doesn’t do any good, you know."

"Look, if he wasn’t Elliot’s brother I’d have said a lot worse. He’s a real control freak.

I don’t know how you stand it. I was trying to make him jealous – give him a little help with his commitment issues." She holds her hands up defensively. "But – if you don’t want me to interfere, I won’t," she says hastily at my scowl.

"Good. Life with Christian is complicated enough, trust me."

Jeez, I sound like him.

"Ana," she pauses staring at me. "You’re okay, aren’t youYou’re not running to your mother’s to escape?"

I flush.

"No Kate. It was you who said I needed a break."

She closes the distance between us and takes my hands – a most un-Kate thing to do.

Oh no… tears threaten.

"You’re just, I don’t know… different. I hope you’re okay, and whatever issues you’re having with Mr. Moneybags, you can talk to me. And I will try not to wind him up, though frankly it’s like shooting fish in a barrel with him. Look, Ana, if something’s wrong, you will tell me, I won’t judge. I’ll try to understand."

I blink back tears.

"Oh, Kate." I hug her. "I think I’ve really fallen for him."

"Ana, anyone can see that. And he’s fallen for you. He’s mad about you. Won’t take his eyes off you."

I laugh uncertainly.

"Do you think so?"

"Hasn’t he told you?"

"Not in so many words."

"Have you told him?"

"Not in so many words." I shrug apologetically.

"Ana! Someone has to make the first move, otherwise you’ll never get anywhere."

What… tell him how I feel?

"I’m just afraid I’ll frighten him away."

"And how do you know he’s not feeling the same?"

"Christian, afraidI can’t imagine him being frightened of anything." But as I say the words, I imagine him as a small child. Maybe fear was all he knew then. Sorrow grips and squeezes my heart at the thought.