Welcome to chapter 2! Reviews are wonderful, as are my readers! :-)


My heart is pounding, and I'm starting to feel like I can't breathe.

The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open. I race for the wide glass doors, and I'm free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, soothing my mind.

No panic attack no panic attack no panic attack it's okay I'm out I'm fine no one touched me I'm fine

I take a few more breaths, then walk to the car.

As I leave the city limits, I reflect on the interview. I did very well, considering how some of my past introductions to strangers have been. That enigmatic tycoon needs to get off his high horse, in my opinion. He's cold and arrogant. There's a fine line between respectably proud of one's accomplishment's and pure arrogance, and that man has clearly crossed it. Yes, he has done very well for someone his age, but he has no right to look down on others so distastefully.

It's over. I don't have to see him again. Only for a second at graduation. I relax, turn up the music, and speed along the interstate.


"Ana! You're back!" Kate sits in our living area, submerged in books. She's been studying for finals in her pink flannel pajamas covered with little cartoon rabbits, the set she reserves for breakups, illnesses, and general moody depression. She leaps up to me and hugs me tightly. "I was worried; I expected you earlier."

"I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over." I murmur, getting the recorder from my bag.

"Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?"

"I suppose it went well enough, but it could have gone better. I'm glad I don't ever have to interact with him again. He's very... intense. I wish I had been more prepared." I add, glaring at her.

"Jeez, Ana, I'm sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I'll start transcribing the interview."

I hand over the recorder and questions, saying, "You look better." "I'm feeling better." she says, smiling.

"I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton's." I say as I go back to my bedroom. I change my skirt for jeans and my white flats for black Converse.

"Ana, you'll be exhausted." Kate insists

"I'll be fine. I'll see you later."

I've worked at Clayton's Hardware Store since I started at WSU. It's the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I've worked here, I've come to know a little bit about most everything we sell. Though I'm not hugely into DIY; I leave all that to my dad. I'm glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn't Christian Grey.

We're busy - it's the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me.

"Ana! I thought you weren't going to make it today."

"My appointment didn't take as long as I thought, so I can do a couple of hours."

"Wonderful."

She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I'm soon absorbed in the task.


When I arrive home later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop.

Her nose is still pink, but she's deep into a story, so she's concentrating and typing furiously. I'm thoroughly drained - exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton's. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven't done today because I was busy up with that bastard.

"You've got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can't believe you didn't take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you." She gives me a quizzical look.

"Kate, I'm sure he just wanted to show me around to show me that he is lord of all he surveyed." I say, sighing.

"Did you take any notes?" she asks.

"No, I didn't."

"That's fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don't have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn't he?"

"I suppose so." I mumble with a careless shrug.

"Oh come on, Ana - even you can't be immune to his looks." She arches a perfect eyebrow at me. "Katherine, I am not interested right now. Sure, he's handsome - good for him. But I'm not going to swoon because his face is merely a pretty cover for his suck-ass personality."

"Come on, Ana - he practically offered you a job. Given that I put this on you at the last minute, you did very well."

"So what did you really think of him?"

"He's very driven, controlling, and arrogant. He intimidates others to get what he wants, which is a ridiculous tactic to achieve one's goals. If he really was a good businessman, he would know there are other, better methods to getting what you want."

"Well alrighty then, Miss Opinionated." she mutters. "You asked for my opinion, and I gave it." I reply, heading to the kitchen.

I start gathering the makings of a sandwich.

"Why did you want to know if he was gay?"

"Whenever he's in the society pages, he never has a date."

"Well that is too personal, Kavanagh. If he's gay, he can be gay either in private or publicly - whichever he wants. Though I don't see how anyone of any gender could tolerate being around him." I add.

"Ana, he's not that bad. I think he's taken with you."

Taken with me?! Kate, hon, I think you have a bad fever.

"Would you like a sandwich?" I ask.

"Please."

We talk no more of Christian Grey that evening, much to my relief. Once we've eaten, I sit at the dining table with Kate while she works on her article, and I work on my essay on Tess of the D'Urbervilles. That woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century.

By the time I finish, it's midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, tired but pleased that I've accomplished so much.

I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my quilt around me, close my eyes, and I'm instantly asleep.

That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and gray eyes.


For the rest of the week, I bury myself into my studies and my job at Clayton's. Kate is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits pajamas.

Later that evening, I call Ray - my stepdad and my mother's second husband, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It's a brief conversation. Ray is not a talker. But he's still alive, he's still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he's not. All seems well with him.

Friday night, Kate and I are debating what to do with our evening - we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers - when the doorbell rings.

Standing on our doorstep is my friend Jose, clutching a bottle of champagne.

"Jose! Great to see you! Come in."

Jose is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did.

We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we've been friends ever since.

Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Jose Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too.

Jose is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He's pretty bright, but his real passion is photography; he has a great eye for a good picture.

"I have news." He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.

"Don't tell me - you've managed not to get kicked out for another week," I tease, and he scowls playfully at me.

"The Portland Place Gallery is going to show my photos next month."

"That's amazing - congratulations!" Delighted for him, I beam as Kate hugs him.

"Way to go, Jose! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She grins.

"Let's celebrate.I want you to come to the opening." Jose looks intently at me.

"Both of you, of course," he adds, glancing nervously at Kate.

Jose and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he'd like to be more. He's cute and funny, but he's just not for me. Katherine often teases me that I'm missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is - I just haven't met anyone who I'm attracted to.

Sometimes I wonder if perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are way too high.

But in reality, I know why it's hard for me to be attracted to others.

I watch Jose open the bottle of champagne. The cork makes its loud pop, and Jose looks up and smiles.


Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by people wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick - the two other part-timers - and I are all rushed.

But there's a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I'm sitting behind the counter. I'm fairly engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we've ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match.

A presence o n ther other side of the counter sends tingles up my spine. I straighten and look up into intense gray eyes.

"Miss Steele. What a lovely surprise." His gaze is unwavering.

What the hell is he doing here?! The bastard lives in Seattle, why would he come to damn Portland?!

"Mr. Grey," I greet, and my voice sounds bored.

"I was in the area," he says by way of explanation. Cryptic much? "I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele." His voice is warm and husky .

"My name is Ana," I state. "What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?"

A brief flash of confusion sparkles in his eyes, then he smiles. "There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties," he murmurs, his gray eyes cool.

"We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?" I offer, my tone professional but still uninterested.

A slight frown mars Grey's rather lovely brow.

"Please. Lead the way, Miss Steele," he says.

"They're in with the electrical goods, aisle eight." I say as I move away from the barrier that is my counter.

"After you," he murmurs, gesturing with hand. I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Portland?

Why is he here at Clayton's? From the farthest reaches of my mind comes the thought: he's here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. The idea is absurd, and I kick it out of my head violently.

"Are you in Portland on business?" I ask as a means of conversation.

"I was visiting the WSU farming division. It's based at Vancouver. I'm currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science." he says professionally.

He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock. I cannot picture him as someone who enjoys DIY projects, but what do I know about him? His fingers trail across the various packages displayed. He bends and selects a packet. "These will do," he says with a smirk.

"Is there anything else?"

"I'd like some masking tape."

"Are you redecorating?" Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate?

"No, not redecorating," he says quickly then smirks again.

"This way," I mutter. "Masking tape is in the decorating aisle."

I glance behind me as he follows.

"Have you worked here long?" His voice is low, and he's gazing at me, gray eyes concentrating hard.

"Four years," I say as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock.

"I'll take that one," Grey says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him.

"Anything else?" Get the hell out of the store, creep.

"Some rope, I think." His voice husky.

"This way."

"What sort of rope would you like? We have synthetic and natural filament rope, twine, cable cord... " I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening in that frightening way.

"I'll take five yards of the natural filament rope please."

Quickly,I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot gray gaze is on me. Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot.

"Were you a Girl Scout?" he asks, lips curled in amusement.

"Organized group activities aren't really my thing, Mr. Grey."

He arches a brow. "What is your thing, Anastasia?" he asks, his voice soft.

"Books," I say with no emotion.

"What kind of books?" He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested?

"Classics. British literature, mainly. Some of the new stuff isn't bad, though."

He rubs his chin with his index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer, but I refuse to give him any more of my time.

"Anything else you need?"

"I don't know. What else would you recommend?"

I don't even know what you're doing, dipshidiot!

"Well, it depends on the task at hand, but generally people are concerned about keeping what they're not redecorating clean and untouched. For example, coveralls or tarps for the floor."

He nods, gray eyes alive with wickedness.

"Coveralls?" he questions, tilting his head. "You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing." I reply.

"I could always take them off." He smirks.

I scowl and frown. Sexual innuendo in the workplace is a no-no, Mr. Grey.

"I'll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing," he says dryly.

I go the opposite end of the aisle and take a set of coveralls. "Do you need anything else?" I ask as I hand him the blue folded cloth.

He ignores my question. "How's the article coming along?"

"I'm not writing it; Katherine Kavanagh, my roommate, is. She's very happy with it. She's the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn't do the interview in person. Her only concern is that she doesn't have any original photographs of you."

Grey raises an eyebrow.

"What sort of photographs does she want?" "I'm not entirely sure." I say with a shrug.

"Well, I am around. Tomorrow, perhaps... " he trails off.

"You'd be willing to attend a photo shoot?" I question. This selfish weirdo would do that? Kate will be in seventh heaven if this happens.

"Kate will be delighted - if we can find a photographer." I'm so pleased, I smile at him. His lips part, like he's taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow .

"Let me know about tomorrow." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. "My card has my cell number on it." he says, passing the stiff recantangle to me. "You'll need to call before ten in the morning."

"Very well."

"ANA!"

Paul, Mr. Clayton's youngest brother, has appeared at the other end of the aisle. I'd heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn't expecting to see him today.

"Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey." Grey frowns as I turn away from him.

"Ana, hi, it's so good to see you!" he gushes.

"Hello Paul, how are you? Homefor your brother's birthday?"

"Yep. You're looking well, Ana, really well." He grins as he examines me. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It's good to see Paul, but he's always been over-familiar.

When I glance up at Christian Grey, he's watching us like a hawk, his gray eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard, impassive line. He's changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else - someone cold and distant.

"Paul, I'm with a customer. Someone you should meet," I lead Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic.

"Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place."

"Mr. Clayton." Christian holds his hand out, his look unreadable.

"Mr. Grey," Paul returns his handshake. "Wait up - not the Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprises Holdings?" Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Grey gives him a polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Wow - is there anything I can get you?"

"Anastasia has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She's been very attentive." His expression is impassive.

"Cool," Paul responds. "Catch you later, Ana."

"Sure, Paul." I watch him disappear toward the stock room. "Anything else, Mr. Grey?"

"Just these items." His tone is clipped and cool. Whatever. I turn and head for the checkout counter.

I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties.

"That will be forty-three dollars." I look up at Grey, and he's watching me closely, his gray eyes intense and smoky. It's unnerving.

"Would you like a bag?" I ask as I take his credit card.

"Please, Anastasia."

Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier.

"You'll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?" I nod and hand back his credit card.

"Good. Until tomorrow perhaps." He turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh - and Anastasia, I'm glad Miss Kavanagh couldn't do the interview." He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder.