A/N: Oh my God, youse guys are the best! I usually respond individually to reviews but there are too many, too fast and if I did, I'd never have time to write more chapters. So I'm going to say thank you now to everyone who read and reviewed. The enormous encouragement should last at least until the next chapter update (I will sink to any level for compliments). Seriously, though, thank you a hundred times and I'm so glad you are enjoying the story. xoxoxo
Chapter 4
He's heartstoppingly gorgeous.
I can't prevent the gasp from tearing out of my throat and my hand flies up as if to contain it. Apart from the fact that he's chokingly handsome, he also looks familiar. I've seen him before. When we met at Irina's party, he told me I looked familiar and I assured him we'd never met. But now I know I've seen his face before.
The confidential disclosure agreement listed his name as C. Trevelyan Grey. The name does not ring any bells. But his is a face any woman with working ovaries or any hormones at all is not likely to forget.
I feel faint. Please, God, don't let me drop like dead weight again in front of this man. He'll think something's seriously wrong with me. Shakily, I rise to my feet. Though at 5 feet, six and a half inches, I'm not tiny, he towers over me, making me feel petite and delicate.
"I believe a more formal introduction is in order." That deep, rich voice makes things tingle in my body but I do my best to appear unaffected.
"Yes, I think so." Right now I'm incapable of saying anything witty at all. I'm lucky to force out any coherent words so, instead, I extend my hand in greeting.
He accepts it to shake and merely touching him again feels amazing and just a tad illicit, as if it's the precursor to more intimate touching.
"Hello, I'm Christian Grey. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Christian Grey? I knew he had to be someone rich and important but he's really rich and important. And now I know why he looks familiar.
"Anastasia Steele." I offer him the biggest smile I can manage. "At Irina's, you said I looked familiar and I assured you we'd never met, which is true. However, I was dining in a local restaurant not too long ago and my friend pointed you out to me. Maybe that's why we seem familiar to one another."
"Oh?" He looks as if he's trying to suppress a smile, as if he knows a secret that I'm not privy to. Normally, it would keep me fretting over what he knows that I don't, but right now I'm much too busy loving everything about his face. His lips are perfectly shaped and sensual; he has a beautiful straight nose that's neither too large or too small, his eyes are light and clear and fringed by lush, dark lashes and his brows are so elegantly arched they look as if they've been threaded by an artist. Christian Grey is, in a word, beautiful. Greek-god beautiful.
"Yes," I continue, my voice sounding slightly off center, "my friend Kate's parents took us to Dashiell's to celebrate our graduation from UDub. As we were led to our table, we passed by yours." I shrug. "Kate pointed you out to me."
His eyes blaze with the memory. "I actually remember that, too. I saw you walk by and you looked like an angel."
I laugh. "Funny because I thought your date looked like a Victoria's Secret model. Don't they call them angels?"
Left brow raised, he smirks. "Do they? So, I'm curious: what did your friend say about me?"
My face grows hot as I recall exactly what she said but sharing it with him? Yeah, so not happening. "Oh, she just mentioned that the man at the table in front of ours was none other than Christian Grey."
He chuckles. "Now, tell me the truth: did you know who I was?"
Despite pressing my lips together to try not to smile, I find I can't suppress my guilty grin. "Actually, no. She explained it all to me, though, castigating me for not knowing anything outside of my books."
"Books?"
"I like to read. Apparently it annoys Kate."
"Well, please thank Kate for me for the introduction. Saves me the trouble. All right, Ms. Steele, Carson tells me he can easily help you walk away from this overbearing debt of yours… so no more Madame Irina's, I hope?"
"No, I suppose not. Thank you so very much for your generous assistance."
"You are very welcome." As if he's about to continue, he then stops and pauses. Apparently coming to a decision, he smiles and asks, "Would you be interested in having coffee with me now? I can play hooky from the office until one o'clock when I have a conference to attend."
I look at my cellphone—it's barely eleven. "I'd love to, but we better hurry if you have a conference at one. It doesn't give us too much time."
"In that case, let's go." He offers me his arm and gingerly I place my hand in the crook of his elbow. As we pass reception, Christian pauses midstride to speak to the young woman who's seated at the front desk, headset on.
The overly made up brunette looks up at him as we near her and she appears as agitated as I feel, so obviously I'm not the only one who reacts strongly to Mr. Grey. He nods at her in an imperious fashion and she breaks into nervous giggles, then stops as if reprimanded and sits up straighter.
"Alicia. Please tell Carson that I left but that I'll see him later in the day. Thank you."
"Yes, Mr. Grey. You're welcome. Always," she adds slyly.
He pretends not to hear her little flirt, and we're both quiet as we ride down the elevator. He smells so good—a fresh, clean scent—and standing so close to him is putting all sorts of dirty thoughts into my head. This is so unlike me! What is this Christian Grey person doing to my inner prude? Marshaling all my forces, I resist the urge to inch even closer to him, inhale deeply and go mmmm. Soon enough the elevator arrives on the ground floor and we make our way out of the red brick building.
The late morning sun is high, drying the remnants of last night's teeming rain. Sneaking another peek at the man next to me, it doesn't even surprise me to see that the unforgiving brightness does nothing to diminish his looks, not even a teeny, weeny bit. He walks with purpose, leading me to whatever destination he has in mind. As I gape up at him dreamily, he throws me a sidelong glance and I feel my automatic blush.
I'm rewarded with another of his small, enigmatic smiles as he asks, "You like coffee, don't you?"
"Yes, I love it. Why?"
"It's too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, hence we're going to a small pasticceria that conjures up the best lattes in town, not to mention croissants that would do a Parisian proud. Sound good?"
"Oh, yes, absolutely. I'm not too much of a breakfast eater, but I can manage a croissant."
"Yes, I can tell."
What does he mean? That I look undernourished? Or that I eat a lot of croissants? I let the comment slide by me, unacknowledged.
Before long, he turns us into a doorway. It's a charming little café with a green and white striped awning on the door. The logo is painted on the large picture window and it's called Two Labs Bistro, with the profile of two dogs' heads encircled by the title logo.
We're seated quickly and a waiter rushes over to take our order. "Good morning, folks. What would you like?
Christian orders for both of us. I appreciate the gesture since I'm very nervous in his presence and the less I have to do, the better.
"Tell me, Ana," he says once the waiter leaves, "what do you plan to do now that you've graduated? Will you stay in Seattle?"
"I'm not exactly sure. My educational background allows me to pursue two different career paths so I've sent out resumes for both kinds of job. Thus far I've lined up only two interviews."
"Oh? What careers?"
"I have a double major in English and digital arts… I've been seeking editing jobs as well as anything involving web design."
He nods. "You say you're unsure if you'll stay in Seattle. No ties holding you here? Friends? Boyfriend?"
Almost imperceptibly I shake my head. "Not currently. Technically I'm still married, I suppose."
That gets him—his eyes fly up from his cup, shocked. "Married?"
"Didn't Mr. McEvoy tell you my story?"
"No, of course not. Attorney-client privilege. He merely told me he could help you."
"Oh. Well… it's sort of a convoluted saga."
He glances at his watch—it's a beautiful one and probably cost a couple of years' worth of my apartment rent. Or more.
"I think I might have enough time to hear at least the bare facts."
"Do you really want to know?"
His silvery eyes gleam. "I do."
Why would he possibly find my life of any interest? I cannot imagine but I owe it to him at the very least. I launch into the story but the waiter interrupts us with our order. I wait patiently as he places our respective coffees and the platter of warm croissants, and a bowl of butter and preserves. Mmm, it all smells so good.
After the waiter leaves, he prods me. "Please continue."
He sips his coffee and I'm momentarily distracted by his lips on the cup. I'd like to be that cup right about now. Stop it, Ana! I mentally shake myself.
I manage to get through the whole sorry tale quickly. He's focusing his attention on stirring his coffee but as I finish, his eyes swivel up. "That's quite a tale. Without knowing you very well, if at all, I can already say you're far too generous and kind, Ana. People like you tend to get into trouble." He wags a finger at me. "Always remember the adage, The road to hell is paved with good intentions."
"Yes," I add, "and don't forget, No good deed goes unpunished."
He laughs. "That, too, of course."
Feeling slightly more in control of myself, I decide to ask him a question. "So now you know all about me. What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Why were you at Irina's? Your brother… is he your brother?"
"Elliot? Yes, my half-brother."
"Yes, your brother told me he was helping out a friend and he dragged you with him."
"Yes. His friend had the misfortune for falling for a woman who works as an escort with Irina and he wanted us to accompany him for moral support. He's not one to frequent that kind of establishment."
"Ah. That was nice of you. I wondered why you were there."
He nods, his eyes cast down. "That's not the whole story, I'm afraid."
I say nothing, just wait patiently for him to continue but I'm not certain he will. A long minute drags by so I turn my attention to my coffee and, unable to resist, tear off a small piece of a croissant.
"Now come on. You're surely going to eat more than that shred of the croissant."
My face flushes with heat as the blood rushes in. "Yes, I…uh…like to pick. I'm sorry." I shove the shred in my mouth so I don't have to keep stammering idiocy. I know he's stalling because he doesn't want to reveal the rest of his story.
"You do realize that the information I divulge falls under the purview of the confidential disclosure agreement, don't you—regardless of the context?"
That bad, huh? I feel my heart rate accelerate in automatic response. "Of course. I cannot even conceive of a situation when I would disclose personal information about a friend or acquaintance, legal contract or not."
Nodding, he plunges ahead. "Until fairly recently, I was a regular client of Madame Irina's. I didn't avail myself of the escort service but rather of one of the specialties the house offers."
Instantly the memory of him standing watch while Minx was stretched out on that contraption streams through my brain. That specialty is what he's referring to. Bitterly, I smirk at the euphemism.
"Nothing to say? What's the smile about, pray tell?"
The conversation is descending into a place I can't tolerate with someone I don't know well. My face is burning and suddenly I want to flee his company. "I…um…was just thinking how humorous some euphemisms are." At his lifted brow, I add, "Specialty? To describe that awful room?"
His face reflects a reaction I can't immediately identify: is it shame or anger? Perhaps not either, but I feel I should apologize anyway. He's been nothing but kind and gallant to me. "I'm sorry," I whisper quickly.
Those silver eyes penetrate right through any and all of my defenses. "Not at all—you're honest, and that's more than I can say for all the sycophants I'm surrounded with on a daily basis." He continues to study me. "I suppose it is awful for people—especially women—who don't understand it… or require it."
Frowning, I snap, "How can anyone require it?" Too late I remember Minx and what she told me and I feel petty for the thoughtless remark.
A brief scowl descends over his expression and then he wipes it clean, his countenance entirely blank. "I'd rather not engage in this conversation, Ana." He angles his wrist and gives his watch another cursory glance. "As a matter of fact, I should be getting back to my office for the meeting." Gesturing with a chin thrust toward the basket of croissants, he says, "Please feel free to stay and finish your coffee. Again, it's been a complete pleasure."
He scrapes his chair back and stands. I rush to stand with him. "No, I'm finished, too. I'll walk out with you."
A fleeting smile and curt acknowledgement are all I get. He removes his wallet from a jacket breast pocket and throws down two twenties. "Shall we?"
Forty dollars for two coffees and a couple of croissants? That waiter is going to love him…if he doesn't already. I caught him eyeing my dark-haired beauty often enough. No, not your beauty, Ana, not yours at all, I tell myself. In fact, if that wasn't an obvious brush-off he just dealt me, I don't know what is.
We step outside into the sunshine. I don't want to part on this awkward footing but I don't know what to do to salvage the situation. "Which way are you walking?" I ask, hoping I can stay with him a minute or two longer.
"I'm not, Ana. I'm going to take a cab so I'll say goodbye here."
"It's not yet twelve-fifteen. Couldn't you walk a block or two with me?"
"Actually, I think it prudent if I do not." He reaches for and grasps my hand. "Ana, I wouldn't want to mislead you in any way. I'm not in the market to develop any kind of relationship with a woman, especially one as innocent as yourself. I'm just glad I was around to assist you out of a difficult situation."
I can feel the storm gathering and I don't want him to see it. Any second now, tears will well up in my eyes and I'll start crying at his rejection. My only hope is to run—right now. As soon as the thought slides through my brain, I act on it. "I completely understand. Thank you so much for everything."
I do an about-face, horrified that I heard a quiver in my voice as I said goodbye. I begin walking as fast as my feet could take me in the stupid heels I'm wearing. I get about a third of a block when I feel him grab my arm and my momentum spins me around. God, I don't want him to see the tears streaming down my face. My makeup is probably all smeared right now, too. But there's no avoiding it, for I end up staring right into his handsome face, about two feet away from my ruined one.
Immediately his expression turns troubled. "I'm sorry, Ana. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I just…" He runs out of words apparently.
"It's fine, I'm fine. I just tend to be emotional when I get up before ten a.m. It's nothing that a long nap and a hot shower won't cure." I turn back around to make my escape. This time he lets me and I continue on uninterrupted, not stopping until I close my apartment door behind me. At that point, I allow myself to indulge in a good long cry. I don't even know what I'm weeping over. It's not as if we had any kind of relationship—not even a friendship. It's probably an accumulation of grief that I've been piling on my psyche ever since I received that phone call last month, now exacerbated by my snarky comment to Christian and his instant rebuke. I'll get over it.
I hope.