"Kate, if you're too sick I understand, but if not could you please maybe spend some time this morning organizing some of my notes? I was supposed to be studying today and I really need to do well on my finals, and since I'm going to be at this interview I thought maybe you could type in my Psych 305 outlines and email them to me?"
Kate nods from the couch and coughs while I struggle with my hair in the mirror.
Of every reason I have to be upset with Katherine Kavanagh today, my bed-hair is not one of them. And yet that seems to be the main point of frustration that my brain is fixated on as I stare into the mirror and furiously brush it into submission. I begin to notice a useless train of thought, and decide instead to reflect on the circumstances that led me to rush through my bedtime routine last night instead of giving myself the proper time.
Ultimately, it was my choice to sleep with my hair wet. I had decided to make today a "stay in and study" day, which I had told myself gave me time to spend an extra half hour reading. Of course, I had told myself this while thoroughly engrossed in the story I was reading, so I wasn't exactly giving myself a fair chance to weigh my priorities. It wouldn't normally be a problem, but of course Kate choosing today of all days to scuccumb to the flu was not in my list of readily-available scenarios. I commit to preplanning my bedtime at least 2 hours before bed in the future - starting tonight - so that I can respond more flexibly in the future.
Today I'm "responding flexibly" to Kate, my roommate, who works for the student newspaper. Because she has succumbed to the aforementioned flu, she cannot attend the interview she'd arranged to do with some mega-industrialist tycoon that I've never heard of. So we bargained - she will stay home and organize my final exam notes for me, and I will drive one hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
I've already committed to this, and it would be exceptionally awkward to back out - moreso, I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn't back out now even if I pretended to decide to. So really I'm just left with sitting down later and working out whether my off-the-cuff decisions are really aligned with my long-term goals, and then figuring out what to do about that. It's only the gnawing sense of friendly obligation to Kate and the formidable sense of prestige surrounding Mr. Grey that makes me feel like his time is much more precious than mine - not that realizing this makes me feel any less nervous or pressured. Kate is huddled on the couch in the living room, and her patheticness strikes a definite chord of sympathy.
"Of course I will, Ana. And I'm really sorry about this. It took me nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we'll both have graduated by then. As the editor, I can't blow this off. Please," Kate begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice.
Kate is one of the pretty people, and I've always been susceptible to that kind of halo effect. Even a sick Kate is beautiful: strawberry blonde hair, bright green eyes, long and elegant limbs. I try to ignore my pang of unwelcome sympathy, but I know better than to assume that it isn't influencing my behavior right now.
"I already agreed I'd go, Kate. You should get back to bed. Would you like some NyQuil or Tylenol?"
"NyQuil, please. Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder, just press record here. Make notes, I'll transcribe it all."
I pause, thinking of a way to get rid of some of my resentment and maybe some of my panic.
I've been thinking about trying tit-for-tat negotiations with Kate for a few weeks now, ever since I resolved to be less of a pushover. Today was the first day that I'd managed to build up the courage to actually ask her. Knowing that she's agreed to help me out in return for this helps, even though we both know I'm doing a much bigger favor for her than she's doing for me.
"I know nothing about him", I murmur, my rising panic starting to peek through into my voice.
"The questions will see you through. Go. It's a long drive; I don't want you to be late."
"You're letting me borrow your car, Kate. I won't be late. Tell me what I'm getting into."
Kate glares at me. "You're getting pushy, Ana. Fine. He's twenty eight, he's gorgeous, he owns his own private multi-billion-dollar financial and telecommunications empire, and no one knows practically anything about him. He's going to be giving away the diplomas at this year's graduation ceremony."
I look at Kate. "At twenty-eight? Geez, what have we been doing with our lives?"
Kate coughs. "Going to college. Please, Ana. Don't be late, he's supposed to be a real control-freak."
"Okay, I'm going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up later." I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Kate, would I do this.
"I will. Good luck. And thanks Ana, as usual, you're my lifesaver."
I gather my satchel and head for the car. I cannot believe I have let Kate talk me into this without anything in return. But then, Kate can talk anyone into anything. She'll make an exceptional journalist. She's articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative, beautiful - and she's my dearest, dearest friend. There's probably some hero-worship holding that up at the bottom, which may not be entirely healthy... but I'm not sure I'm ready to face that yet.
I'm lost in thought as I drive Kate's Mercedes through Washington traffic towards Seattle. Twenty-eight. Privately owned company. Multi-billionaire. What am I getting into?
The first hint of my answer confronts me as I reach my destination. 'Grey House' is a massive twenty-story office building made of curved glass and steel, with an impressive white sandstone lobby. The entire structure is designed to intimidate, and suddenly I feel that have a somewhat clearer picture of Mr. Grey.
I am actually unsurprised by the young, immaculately-groomed blonde woman smiling up at me from behind the desk. I am becoming more acutely aware by the second of how well-designed my surroundings are to throw my judgment off balance. I steel myself and look the receptionist straight in the eye, hoping I'm not giving away how nervous I am.
"I'm Anastasia Steel, I'm here to see Mr. Grey on behalf of Kate, er, Katherine Kavanagh."
Shit.
"Excuse me one moment, Miss Steele." She arches her eyebrow slightly as I stand self-consciously before her. I borrowed one of Kate's formal blazers, which is having a surprising effect on my confidence. I catch a brief glimpse of my reflection in the glass behind the receptionist - creme blazer, grey skirt, sensible brown boots, slightly mussed brown hair. For me, this is a smart look.
I straighten up and tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my ear to show the receptionist that she doesn't intimidate me, but my stomach is still churning.
"Miss Kavanagh is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Steele. You'll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor." She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, and I sign in.
She hands me a security pas that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can't help my smirk. "Do you think they can't tell I'm a visitor? It's not like I fit in here."
It's suddenly the receptionist's turn to seem slightly flustered. "Well," she begins, "security is very important to Mr. Grey."
I thank her and walk over to the bank of elevators past the two imposing security men in well-cut black suits. I smile at one of them; he very pointedly doesn't smile back.
The elevator propels me upwards to the twentieth floor fast enough to feel the pit of my stomach lurch. The doors slide open, and I'm in another large lobby - again all glass, steel, and white sandstone. I'm mentally updating my theory of what kind of person Mr. Grey must be to command all this when I am confronted by another sandstone desk and another young blonde woman. This one looks a little younger, and nervous, as she rises to greet me.
"Miss Steele, could you wait here, please?" She points to a seated area of white leather chairs.
Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a stunning vista of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city towards the Sound.
I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel, and go through them. Twenty-eight. Owns his own business. Likes impressive displays. The process calms me a little, but something about this place is making me feel inferior and vulnerable in a way that's really hard to push aside, and I want to be at home alone, or even better - curled up in a chair at the campus library, reading a classic British novel. Not sitting here twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice to some young man's arrogance.
I roll my eyes at myself. This is exactly what I've been working on controlling. Stop drowning and start focusing on now.
Yet another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It's like Stepford in here. So, Mr. Grey likes to hire people who go with the decor. I'm thinking through the implications when she makes eye contact with me. I take a deep breath and stand up.
"Miss Steele?"
"Yes." I look her squarely in the eye.
"Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?"
"No, thank you."
"Have you been offered any refreshment?"
I open my mouth, then realize that answering 'yes' might get Blonde Number One in trouble. I decide to practice being assertive, and hope that I can distract Blonde Number Two from the potential faux pas. "Thank you, I would like a glass of water, if you please."
Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes poor Blonde Number One. Yep, called it.
"Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a glass of water." Her voice is about as stern as I was expecting, at this point. Poor Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.
"Please be seated. Mr. Grey will be another five minutes."
Olivia returns with a glass of iced water. I manage to notice through my panicked haze that it's interesting how being in trouble has humanized her to me - the fact that we're both out of our element makes her feel less like a fixture and much more like a kindred spirit.
Unlike Blonde Number Two, who marches over to the large desk with her heels clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their work.
A million questions race through my mind. Is it even legal to hire all blondes? And what is that saying about Mr. Grey? It's like he's hiring them just to make sure they go with the decor or something. And is Olivia going to be alright? Now that I'm more aware, I can see the nervous tension she's carrying in her neck and shoulders and ankles as she types away. I also notice how Blonde Number Three's desk is oriented so that she can stare at Olivia's back while she works. I shudder, thinking how unnerving it must be to always be wondering if you're being watched while you try to do your job. Poor Olivia.
My reverie is interrupted by the opening office door. There is a man exiting - a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African-American man. He turns and says through the door, "Golf, this week, Grey." I listen to hear Grey's reply, hoping to get some sense of him from his voice, but I hear nothing coming through the door.
The dark and handsome man in the doorway turns and smiles genuinely at me. Poor Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator... she's definitely more nervous than I am. Somehow this comforts me a little.
"Good afternoon ladies", he says as he departs through the sliding door.
"Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. Do go through", Blonde Number Two says. I stand confidently, gather my satchel, and make a point of placing my glass of water on Blonde Number Two's desk before making my way to the partially open door.
I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office.
I start to curse my clumsiness as I sit on hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. Grey's office, except something doesn't quite seem right - what did I trip on? What are my surroundings?
There's a white leather L-shaped couch to my left, a darkly stained wooden coffee table in front of that, and matching white leather seats on the other side. Beyond them - my God this office is huge - is a massive, darkly stained wooden desk that matches the table. Behind that, floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Everything but the wood is immaculately white, and the whole thing presents a sort of overwhelming majesty. Mr. Grey is - Mr. Grey is behind me?
His hands wrap gently around me, helping me to stand. It feels warm and comforting but something seems - holy cow, he's so handsome!
"Miss Kavanagh." He extends a long-fingered hand to me once I'm upright. "I'm Christian Grey. Are you alright? Would you like to sit?"
So young - and attractive. Very attractive. Tall. Fine gray suit, white shirt, black tie. Unruly dark copper colored hair. Intense, bright gray eyes regarding me shrewdly. It takes a moment for me to find my voice.
"Um. Actually-" I mutter. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me. I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. I can feel my brain trying to normalize this, and I'm not sure I can fight it.
"Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Grey."
"And you are?" He's projecting an air of cultivated warmth, politeness, and amusement through an utterly impassive expression. This is clearly a man who is very good at guiding people towards feeling what he wants them to feel.
Right. This is - I was reading about this. This is a technique that people use to gain control of the conversation. This is dominance. This is - what was I thinking again?
"Anastasia Steele. I was studying English Literature with Kate, umm... Katherine... um... Miss Kavanagh at Washington State."
"Was?", he says, quirking one eyebrow.
"I've changed majors to Behavioral Psychology."
"I see", he says simply. He continues to present that faintest hint of a smile in his expression, almost certainly intending me to notice without being certain of what I'm seeing. I thought this would be easier to fight, but he's just so damned charming.
"Would you like to sit?" He waves me toward the couch.
My eyes are drawn to a cluster of small paintings hung on the wall by the door, the only non-white object in my field of view besides me, Mr. Grey, and the coffee table bettween us. Thirty-six exquisite little studies arranged in a square - a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs. Displayed together, they are breathtaking.
"A local artist. Trouton", says Grey when he catches my gaze.
I want to keep my wits about me, but all I can manage is a distracted murmur. "They're lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary."
Mr. Grey cocks his head to one side and regards me intently. "I couldn't agree more, Miss Steele", he replies, his voice soft. I find myself blushing, and realize that I am a novice locked in combat with a Master.
Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. It clearly reflects the personality of the Adonis - no, the Narcissus - who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me. I cannot allow myself to be distracted here.
First, I retrieve Kate's questions from my satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Mr. Grey says nothing, exuding calm patience, as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. You are losing to this man, Ana, now get it together! I force myself to look up at him, and confirm that he's watching me with one hand cupping his chin, curling his index finger across his lips. I can't tell if he's actually trying to suppress a smile or deliberately acting as if he's suppressing a smile, but I'm not going to take anything for granted here. Then I fully meet his eyes and wish that I hadn't.
"S-sorry", I stutter. "I'm not used to this." The novice stumbles, wide open.
"Take all the time you need, Miss Steele", he says. The Master presses for ground.
"I would like to record your answers. Is that acceptable?"
"After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you ask me now?"
I flush. I know he's negging, but the strike still lands. I straighten my back and lock eyes with him and say "Ye-hh-uh... yes."
He makes an obvious gesture of relenting. "No, I don't mind."
I clench my stomach, and redouble my efforts to power through this. I force the most professional voice and demeanor I can manage.
"Did Miss Kavanagh explain the purpose of the interview?"
"Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I shall be conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony."
"Good," I nod curtly. "I have some questions, Mr. Grey." I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
"I thought you might", he says, deadpan. He's laughing at me - or he wants me to think that he is. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. I press the start button on the recorder and try to maintain a veneer of professionality.
"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?" I glance up at him. His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.
"Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well." He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare. "My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do hat. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it's always down to good people."
"And luck and opportunity, of course." This isn't on Kate's list - but he's so arrogant. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.
"Opportunity, absolutely. But I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele. The harder I work, the more luck I seem to have. It really is about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said, 'the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership'".
"You sound like a control freak." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
"Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele", he says without a trace of humor in his smile. I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.
I'm being influenced. I will not let myself be influenced. I will stay strong and alert for danger.
"Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things", he continues, his voice soft.
Shit. There it is.
"Do you feel that you have immense power?" Narcissist.
"I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility - power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.
My mouth drops open. This isn't just a lack of humility, this is sociopathy.
"And you don't even have a board to answer to." I ask, disgusted.
"Of course not. I refuse to be beholden to others, Miss Steele."
I decide to change tack. "And do you have any interests outside your work?"
"I have... varied interests, Miss Steele. He performs the hint-of-a-smile face again. "Very varied." His eyes are alight with some wicked thought, and it strikes me that this one might involve me. Damnit, Kate, what did you get me into?
I decide to press. At this point, I just want this to be over with before I slip up. "Such as?"
"Sailing, flying. Various physical pursuits." He shifts comfortably in his chair. "I'm a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, with expensive and absorbing hobbies."
I glance at Kate's questions to rescue me from this topic. This direction was a bad idea.
"You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?" I will not let this man make me uncomfortable.
"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?"
He's subtly changed both his body language and his voice to be more relaxed. I notice that it's causing me to relax as well. Damnit, why does he have to be better at this than I am?
"I find it interesting that you moved from... logic and facts, to something more from the heart."
He gives me a fuller smile, but still somehow controlled, and visibly appraises me. "Possibly. But there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."
"Why would they say that?" He's going to either play this off or ramp it up.
"Because they know me well."
Ramp it up. Okay. Straight to the damn point. Next question.
"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 to eat."
I was actually surprised by this. He seemed extraordinarily genuine when he said that. "That sounds... unexpectedly philanthropic. Is feeding the world's poor something you feel passionate about?"
He gave a very non-committal shrug, and I noticed my mind trying to find some way to see him in a good light.
"It's shrewd business", he murmurs, and I actually think he's being disingenuous. What if the controlling sociopath is an act? Or am I being played at more than one level? I look down at Kate's notes... aha! Maybe the next question will give me some insight.
"Do you have a philosophy, Mr. Grey?"
"Not as such. Maybe a guiding principle? Carnigie says '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."
There's a slight shift in his eye contact with me, and I notice it.
"Some people don't want to be controlled, Mr. Grey."
"Then they should try harder to avoid it. We all have a responsibility to ourselves, don't you agree? And I find that most people end up where they really want to be, one way or another."
"So you want to possess things? And people?"
His eyes light up. "I want to deserve to possess them." Somehow I feel another wave of heat, and with it butterflies in my stomach. "But yes. Bottom line, I want to possess things. And people."
His smile isn't reaching his eyes. I feel caught in the gaze of a hungry wolf, and I realize that I need to end this interview now. Kate had better have enough material now, because I'm leaving. I struggle to unzip my satchel with one hand as I hold the list of questions shakily in the other.
"Don't you want to ask me the next question?"
"I'm not s-sure I need to, Mr. ... Mr. Grey."
He smiles more warmly, and I feel myself relaxing despite myself. "These are not your own questions, are they, Miss Steele?"
I look at him.
"No, Kate - that is, Miss Kavanagh, compiled the questions."
"And you're colleagues, then, on the student paper?"
I square my shoulders and look straight at him.
"No. I'm doing this as a favor for her. She's my roommate."
"And you volunteered to do this interview?" His voice has gone eerily quiet.
"I was drafted. She's not doing well. Mr. Grey, I believe I was supposed to be interviewing you."
He ignores my last sentence. "I'm going to rescue you, Anastasia. Hand me those questions."
He looks over the remaining list of questions with a frown.
"How old was I when I was adopted..." he looks at me with feigned irritation. "That's a matter of public record, you know." He suddenly seems tense and defensive.
"You seem private about your family, Mr. Grey." Fuck. He was giving me an out and I just slammed it shut on myself. What was I thinking? What was I thinking?
"You're right. I'm a very private person in general, Miss Steele. And I go a long way to protect my privacy." Shit, that sounded like a threat. "And I don't often give interviews."
I lean forward, seeing an opening. "So why did you give this one?"
He suddenly relaxes again. "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." His response almost seems scripted.
He reads the next one and tenses. "You've had to sacrifice a family life for your work. Miss Anastasia, and Miss Kavanagh if you are reading this later, that is not even a question. But I have a brother, a sister, and two loving parents, and no interest in expanding my family beyond that."
"Am. I. Gay." He glares at the paper with Kate's questions on it, then crumples it up, sits up straighter, reaches across to my side of the table, and turns off the recorder. He looks intently into my eyes.
"Am I gay, Anastasia? What do you think?"
His eyes are locked to mine, and I find myself flushing again. This is... this is not how this was supposed to go. Damnit, Kate, how did you get me into this?
I'm saved by a knock at the door. It's Blonde Number Two.
"Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes."
"We aren't finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting."
Andrea visibly hesitates. Now it's her turn to look as confused and out of her element as poor Olivia. He turns to look at her, and she flushes bright pink. I'm beginning to get a much fuller picture of how Mr. Grey conducts his affairs.
Andrea mutters "Very well, Mr. Grey" as she exits. He's turning his attention back to me. Crap.
"So, where were we, Miss Steele?"
"I believe you should take your next meeting, Mr. Grey."
"No. I want to know about you now. I think that's only fair." He leans forward and projects an intense and commanding interest. My mind feels like machinery dipped in molasses.
"There's nothing to know, Mr. Grey."
"Nonsense. You're about to graduate. What are your plans afterwards?"
"I haven't made any yet, Mr. Grey. Right now I just want to focus on my final exams, which I should really be getting back to studying for today."
"We run an excellent internship program here, Anastasia. And I'm certain that someone with your competence and dedication will do well on your finals, even if you spend a day pursuing your longer-term future. Would you like me to show you around?"
"I - are you offering me a job, Mr. Grey? Because I really don't think I'd fit in here."
"Why do you say that?" He's affecting the half-hidden amusement again. Damn if it isn't actually effective.
"Well, besides my lack of coordination and grooming, Mr. Grey, I'm not blonde."
He actually gives a hearty laugh at that that seems almost genuine.
"You would be surprised, Miss Steele. Please, let me show you around. I insist."
"I'm sorry Mr. Grey, but I really need to get back to my sick roommate. But thank you for the offer."
He shows a slight disappointment, but I can feel a sense of tension behind it. "You're driving all the way back to WSU in Vancouver?" As if on cue, a flash of lightning and peal of thunder illuminate, then rattle the window behind him.
"Well, you'd better drive carefully." His tone is creepily stern. "Did you get everything you need?"
"Yes." God, please, all I need right now is out of here.
"Thank you for your interview, Mr. Grey."
"The pleasure has been all mine, I assure you", he says, and he holds out his hand as I rise.
"Until we meet again, Miss Steele." Meet... again? It sounds so much like a threat that I involuntarily shudder. He's rich, he's powerful he's amazingly attractive, he's probably sociopathic, and he has taken an interest in me. What have I done?
As I take his hand, the skin-on-skin contact triggers a deeply biological sense of attraction. No, I tell myself. Hell no. Christian Grey: Not even once.
He pads like a lion to the door, and opens it for me. "Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele." He's trying to fluster me by making me think about my awkward entrance.
"Thank you, Mr. Grey, I'm sure I can manage." I stride confidently out the door... and manage to trip on the way out again.
His hands are on me again, helping me up from behind, and I am again reminded how harsh a mistress Mother Nature can be. I steel myself: Not. Even. Once.
His voice shows genuine concern as he helps me to my feet. "Are you certain you're alright?"
I pull myself fully upright and walk into the foyer, maintaining eye contact with Olivia. She's reaching for my coat...
... and she hands it straight to Grey, who was already reaching for it. He holds it up and I begrudgingly shrug into it, and the contact again throws my thoughts and my emotions into stark contrast.
"Anastasia", he says, and then he hands me my recorder.
I'm so genuinely relieved that I didn't forget it that I forgot to steel myself to be cold to him. I look up at him and our eyes meet, and I reflexively blush and smile.
"Christian." I hold my composure all the way to the elevator, and then the doors mercifully close behind me.
I inwardly swear at myself all the way down to the car. With any luck, this is the last I will see of Christian Grey.