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Chapter Two
Persuade her to stay, Grey. "Get everything you need?" I add in a transparent effort to prolong her stay. Stay. Stay.
"Yes, sir," she says quietly.
Her response floors me –the way those words sound, the things I'd like to do to that smart mouth –I imagine briefly what I could do to her at my unquestioned beck and call.
"Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey."
"The pleasure's been all mine," I say truthfully, because I haven't been this fascinated by anyone in a long while. The thought is rather unsettling. She stands and I automatically extend my hand, aching to touch her.
"Until we meet again, Miss Steele." My voice has turned low and seductive; she places her hand in mine. Yes, I want to fuck this girl in my playroom. To have her bound and waiting… Needing me, trusting me. I swallow. It's not going to happen, Grey.
"Mr. Grey." She nods and withdraws her hand far too quickly …. Too quickly?
Shit, I can't let her go like this. It's obvious she is desperate to leave. Irritation and inspiration hit me at the same time as I see her out of my office.
"Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele." She blushes as on cue, her cheeks light up a delicious shade of pink.
"That's considerate, Mr. Grey," she snaps.
Feisty. Little Miss Steele has teeth! I grin behind her as she exitsandI follow in her out into reception. Both Andrea and Olivia look up in shook. Geez... Yeah, yeah I'm just showing the girl out.
"Did you have a coat?" I ask.
"Yes."
I scowl at thesimpering Olivia, who immediately leaps out of her seat to retrieve a navy coat. Taking it, I glare at her to sit down. Christ, Olivia is annoying –mooning over me all the time. Hmm. This coat is from Wal-Mart. Miss Anastasia Steele should be better dressed… or undressed. I hold it up to her, forgetting my irrational thoughts. I pull the coat over her slim shoulders. I touch the skin at the base of her neck. She stills at the contact and pales. Yes! She is affected by me! The knowledge is immensely pleasing. Strolling over to the elevator, I press the call button whilst she fidgets beside me. Oh would you please stop fidgeting baby!
The doors open and she scurries in and then turns to face me.
"Anastasia," I murmur, saying good-bye. Taking in the last few moments of herexquisite beauty.
"Christian," she whispers.
The elevator doors close, leaving my name hanging in the air, sounding odd, unfamiliar, yet compelling and sexy as hell.
Well, fuck me. What was that? I need to know more about this girl.
"Andrea," I snap as I carelessly stomp back to my office, her head snaps up looking at me intensely. "Get me Welch on the line, now"
Not really caring for an answer, I walk back through to my office.
Leaning back in my chair as I wait for the call, I look at the paintings on the wall of my office, and Miss Steele's words drift clearly back to me. "Raising the ordinary to extraordinary." She could so easily have been describing herself. Thinking about that sexy smart mouth, I am interrupted by the sound of my phone buzzing.
"I have Mr. Welch on the line for you."
"Put him through."
"Yes, Sir."
"Mr. Grey?" Welch's voice is replaced by Andreas.
"Welch, I need a background check."
"Certainly, Sir. What's the name?"
"Miss Anastasia Steele, she is currently studying at WSU in Vancouver, English Literature. Got it? "
"Yes, Sir. I'll get on it now."
"Fast as you can." Then the line goes dead.
Five minutes later. My email pings, it's from Welch:
From: Alan Welch
Subject: Anastasia Rose Steele
Date: May 14 2011 MST 14:34
Mr. Grey,
Hope this is all you wanted to know. I've got the whole background check on Miss Steele listed below:
ANASTASIA ROSE STEELE
D.O.B: SEPTEMBER 10,1989, MONTESANO,WA
ADDRESS: 1114 SW GREEN STREET, APARTMENT 7,
HAVEN HEIGHTS, VANCOUVER, WA 98682
MOBILE NO: 360 555 4352
SOC SECURITY NO: 333-55-4333
BANKING DETAILS: WELLS FARGO BANK, VANCOUVER, WA 98682
ACCT NO: 309361: $683.16 BALANCE
OCCUPATION: UNDERGRADUATE STUDENT
WSU VANCOUVER COLLEGE OF LIBERAL ARTS
- ENGLISH MAJOR
GPA: 4.0
PRIOR EDUCATION: MONTESANO JR-SR HIGH SCHOOL
SAT SCORE: 2150
EMPLOYMENT: CLAYTON'S HARDWARE STORE,
NW VANCOUVER DRIVE, PORTLAND, OR
(PART-TIME)
FATHER: FRANKLIN A. LAMBERT
DOB: SEPTEMBER 1,1969, DOD: SEPTEMBER 11, 1989
MOTHER: CARLA MAY WILKS ADAMS
DOB: JULY 18, 1970
M FRANK LAMBERT
- MARCH 1, 1989, WIDOWED SEPTEMBER 11, 1989
M RAYMOND STEELE
- JUNE 6, 1990, DIVORCED JULY 12,2006
M STEPHEN M. MORTON
- AUGUST 16, 2006, DIVORCED JANUARY 31, 2007
M ROBBIN (BOB) ADAMS
- APRIL 6, 2009
POLICICAL AFFLIATIONS: NONE FOUND
RELIGIOUS AFFLIATIONS: NONE FOUND
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: NOT KNOWN
RELATIONSHIPS: NONE INDICATED AT PRESENT
Alan Welch
Security Advisor to Christian Grey CEO Grey Enterprise Holdings Inc.
Saturday May 19th, 2011
For the past two days I have been frantically glancing over the executive summary of Miss Anastasia Steele that Welch sent me. Asking myself the same silly questions, no relationship status? Perhaps she can be my Sub, should I go to Claytons and find her?
I cannot get that damn women out of my mind, and it's seriously beginning to piss me off. This week during particularly dull meetings I have found myself replaying the interview in my head. Her fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the lip biting. Yes, the fucking lip biting. Every time!
And now, I'm parked outside Clayton's, the modest hardware store on the outskirts of Portland where she works. You're a fool, Grey. Why are you here? I knew it would lead to this. All week… I knew I'd have to see her again. I had known it since she stumbled into my office. I had known it since she whispered my name in the elevator and disappeared into the depths of my building.
I have tried to resist. I've waited five days. Five fucking days to see if I'd forget her but I don't want to wait anymore, I hate waiting… I can't stand it. I don't wait for anything. I have never actively pursued a woman before, so this is a first for me. My fear now is that Miss Steele is just too young that she won't be interested in what I have to offer…
Will she? Will she want to become my submissive? Will she be good enough? I shake my head at the thought. There's only one way to find out…. So here I am, a fucking ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland. Her background check has produced nothing remarkable –except the last fact, which has been at the forefront of my mind. It's the reason I'm here. Why no boyfriend, Miss Steele? Her information said sexual orientation unknown –perhaps she's gay. I snort, thinking that is highly unlikely. Though as I recall during the interview she did ask me the same question, her acute embarrassment, the way her skin flushed pale rose…. Shit.
I've been suffering from these ludicrous thoughts since I met her. That's why you're here, Grey. I'm itching to see her again –those blue eyes have haunted me, even in my dreams. I haven't mentioned her to Flynn, and to be honest I'm glad, I've been behaving like a stalker. Perhaps I should let him know…. He might help me understand this craziness. I roll my eyes –I don't want him hounding me about his latest solution-based shit again. I just need a distraction, that's all. And right now the only distraction I want is working as a salesclerk in a hardware store.
You've come all this way. Let's see if little Miss Steele is as appealing as you remember. Showtime, Grey. I climb out of the car and stroll across the lot to the front door. A bell chimes a flat note as I walk in. The store is much bigger than what it looks like from the outside, and although it is almost lunchtime the place is quiet, for a Saturday. There are aisles and aisles of the usual crap you'd expect. I'd forgotten the possibilities that a hardware store could present to someone like me. I mainly shop online for my needs, but while I'm here, maybe I'll stock up on a few items… Velcro, split rings –yeah... I'll find the delectable Miss Steele and have some fun.
It takes me all of three seconds to spot her. She's hunched over the counter, staring intently at a computer screen and picking up her lunch –a bagel. Unthinking, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her mouth and thensucks on her finger. My cock twitches in response. Fuck! What am I fourteen? My reaction is fucking irritating. Maybe this adolescent response will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her… and not necessarily in that order. That's definitely what I need.
She is thoroughly absorbed in her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. Leaving my thoughts aside, she is attractive, seriously attractive. She glances up and freezes, pinning me with her intelligent, discerning eyes –the bluest of blue that seems to see right through me. It's as unnerving as the first time I met her. She just stares, shocked I think, and I don't know if this is a good response, Shit maybe I shouldn't of come here.
"Miss Steele. What a pleasant surprise."
"Mr. Grey," she whispers, breathy and flustered. Ah…. Good response.
"I was in the area. I need to stock up on a few things. It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele." A real pleasure. She's dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans, not the shapeless shit she was wearing before. She's all long legs, small waist, and perfect tits.
She continues to gape at me, and I have to resist the urge to lift her chin to close her mouth. I've flown from Seattle just to see you, and the way you look right now, it was worth the journey.
"Ana. My name's Ana. What can I help you with, Mr. Grey?" she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders like she did during the interview, and gives me a fake smile that I'm sure she reserves for customers. Game on, Miss Steele.
"There are a few items I need. To start with, I'd like some cable ties." Her lips part as she inhales sharply. You'd be amazed what I can do with a few cable ties, Miss Steele.
"We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?"
"Please. Lead the way, Miss Steele."
She steps out from behind the counter and gestures toward one of the aisles. She's wearing Chucks. Idly I wonder what she'd look like in skyscraper heels. Louboutins… nothing but Louboutins.
"There in with the electrical goods, aisle eight." Her voice wavers and she blushes…again. She is affected by me. Hope blossoms in my chest. She's definitely not gay then. I smirk.
"After you," I murmur, holding my hand out for her to go first. Letting me her walk ahead gives me the space and time to admire her fantastic ass. She really is the whole package: sweet, polite, beautiful with all of the physical attributes I value in a submissive. But million-dollar question is; could she be a submissive? She probably knows nothing of the lifestyle –my lifestyle –but I very much want to introduce her to it. You are getting way ahead of yourself on this deal, Grey.
"Are you in Portland on business?" she asks interrupting my thoughts. Her voice is high, trying to feign disinterest. It makes me want to laugh, which is refreshing. Women rarely make me laugh.
"I was visiting the WSU farming division based in Vancouver," I lie. Actually, I came here to see you Miss Steele. She flushes, and I feel like shit.
"I'm currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science." That, at least, is true.
"All part of your feed-the-world plan?" Her lips shift to a half-smile.
"Something like that," I mutter. Is she laughing at me? Oh I'd love to put a stop to that if she is. But how the hell do I start? Maybe with dinner, rather than the usual interview?
We arrive at the cable ties, which are arranged I an assortment of lengths and colours. Absentmindedly my fingers trace over the packets. I could ask her out for dinner. Like on a date? Would she come? When I glance at her she's examining her knotted fingers. She can't look at me… this is promising. I select the longer ties. They are more flexible after all –they can accommodate both ankles, wrists or one of each at once.
"These will do," I murmur, and she blushes again.
"Is there anything else?" she says quickly –is she being super attentive or does she want to get me out of the store, I don't know which.
"I'd like some masking tape."
"Are you redecorating?"
I suppress my snort. "No, not redecorating." I haven't held a paintbrush in a long time. The thought makes me smile; I have people to do that shit.
"This way," she murmurs, looking chagrined. "Masking tape is in the decorating aisle."
Come on, Grey. You don't have long. Engage her in some conversation. "Have you worked here long?" Of course, I already know the answer. Unlike some people, I do my research. She blushes once more –Christ this girl is shy. I don't have a hope in hell. She turns quickly and walks down the aisle toward the section labeled 'Decorating'. I follow her eagerly. What am I a fucking puppy?
"Four years," she mumbles as we reach the masking tape. She bends down and grabs two rolls, each a different width.
"I'll take that one," I say. The wider tape is much more effective as a gag. As she passes it to me, the tips of our fingers touch. An electric shock runs through my body and it resonates at my groin. Fuck!
She pales. "Anything else?" Her voice is soft and husky.
Christ, I'm having the same effect on her that she has on me. Maybe…
"Some rope, I think."
"This way." She quickly scoots up the aisle, giving me another chance to appreciate her fine ass.
"What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope…twine…cable cord…"
Shit –stop. I groan inwardly, trying to chase away the image of her suspended from the ceiling of the playroom, though my last experience with that didn't end well.
"I'll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please." It's coarser and chafes more if you struggle against it… my rope of choice.
A tremor runs through her fingers, but she efficiently measures out five yards. Pulling a utility knife from her right pocket, she cuts the rope in one swift gesture, coils it neatly, and ties it off with a slipknot. Impressive.
"Were you a Girl Scout?"
"Organized group activities aren't really my thing, Mr. Grey."
"What is your thing, Anastasia?" I catch her gaze, and her irises dilate as I stare. YES!
"Books," she whispers.
"What kind of books?"
"Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly." British literature? Bronte and Austen, I bet. All those romantic hearts and flowers types. Fuck, that's not good.
"Anything else you need?"
"I don't know. What else would you recommend?" I want to see her reaction.
"For a do-it-yourselfer?" she asks, surprised.
I want to hoot with laughter. Oh baby, DIY is not my thing. I nod, her eyes flick down to my body and I tense. She is checking me out. Oh fuck me!
"Coveralls," She blurts out.
It must havebeen the most unexpected thing I've heard out of her sweet, smart mouth since the 'Are you gay' question.
"You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing." She gestures to my jeans with her chin, embarrassed once more.
I can't resist. "I could always take them off." I gaze at her a smirk on my lips, eyeing her reaction.
"Um." She says flushing beet red as her eyes automatically turn away from me and drift to the floor.
"I'll take the coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing." I say trying to put her out of her misery. Without a word, she turns and walks briskly up the aisle and once again I follow in her enticing wake.
"Do you need anything else?" she says breathlessly, handing me a pair of blue coveralls. She's mortified, eyes still cast down, and face flushed. Christ! How does she do this to me?
"How's the article coming along?" I ask in the hope she might relax a little.
She looks up at me and gives the briefest relieved smile. Finally. "I'm not writing it, Katherine is. Miss Kavanagh. My roommate, she's the writer. 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."
It's the longest sentence she's addressed to me since we first met, and she's talking about her roommate? Interesting.
Before I can comment she says, "Her only concern is that she doesn't have any original photographs of you."
The tenacious Miss Kavanagh wants photographs. Publicity stills, eh? Oh I'm sure I can do that. Think about it, Grey. You'll get to spend more time with little Miss Steele over there.
"What sort of photographs does she want?"
She gazes at me for a moment, and shakes her head.
"Well, I'm around. Tomorrow perhaps…" I can stay in Portland, and work from the hotel. The Heathman always has a suite available for me. I have my laptop,I'll need Taylor to come down and bring some clothes. Or Elliot –unless he's screwing around, which is his usual MO over the weekend.
"You'd be willing to attend a photo shoot?" She cannot contain her surprise.
I give her a brief nod. . You'd be amazed what I'd do to spend more time with you, Miss Steele… In fact, so am I.
"Kate would be delighted –if we can find a photographer." She smiles and her face lights up like a summer dawn. Christ, she's utterly breathtaking.
"Let me know about tomorrow." I reach into my jacket and pull out my wallet, pulling out my business card. "It has my cell number on it. You'll need to call before ten." And if she doesn't, I'll head on back to Seattle and forget about this stupid venture. The thought depresses me.
"Okay," She continues to grin.
"Ana!" We both turn as a young man, casually but expensively dresses, appears at the far end of the aisle. He's all fucking smiles for Miss Anastasia Steele. Who the hell is this prick?
"Um… excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey." She walks towards him, and the fucker engulfs her in a gorilla-like hug. My blood runs cold, leaving chills running up and down my spine. Maybe she is in a relationship. I continue to stare at them his hands running up and down her back. Get your mother fucking paws off her! I fist my hands and am only slightly mollified when I see her make no move to hug him back. They fall into a whispered conversation. Welch must have been wrong; maybe this really is her boyfriend. He looks the right age, and he can't take his greedy eyes off her. He holds her for a moment at arm's length, examining her, and then stands with his arm leisurely resting on her shoulder. It's a seemingly casual gesture, but I know he's staking a claim and telling me to back off. She seems embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot.
Shit, maybe I should go. The she say something to him and moves out of his reach, touching his arm, not his hand. It's clear they aren't close. Good.
"Um… Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place." She gives me an odd look that I don't understand and continues, "I've known Paul ever since I've worked here, though we don't see each other that often. He's back from Princeton, where he's studying Business Administration."
The boss's brother, not a boyfriend. The extent of the relief I feel is unexpected, and it makes me frown.
This woman really has gotten under my skin.
"Mr. Clayton," I say as my tone in my voice is deliberately clipped.
"Mr. Grey." He shakes my hand limply. Wet fucker. "Wait up –not the Christian Grey of Grey Enterprise Holdings?" In a heartbeat I watch him transform from territorial to obsequious.
Yeah, that's me, you prick.
"Wow –is there anything I can get you?" Yes… you to leave.
"Anastasia has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She's been very attentive." Now piss off.
"Cool," he gushes, all wide-eyed and deferential. "Catch you later, Ana."
"Sure, Paul," She says, and he ambles off, thank Christ. I watch him disappear towards the back of the store.
"Anything else, Mr. Grey?"
"Just these items," I mutter. Shit, I'm out of time, and I still don't know whether I'm going to see her again. I have to know if there's a hope in hell she might consider what I have in mind. How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a new submissive, one who knows nothing? Shit. She's going to need substantial training. I groan inwardly at all the interesting possibilities this presents… Fuck me, getting there is going to be half the fun. Will she even be interested? Or do I have this all wrong?
She heads back to the cashier's desk and rings up my purchases, all the while keeping her gaze down. I have to fight the urge of reaching out to touch her chin, to lift her head so I can see those beautiful blue eyes. What is she thinking?
Finally her head rises. "That will be forty-three dollars, please." Is that all?
"Would you like a bag?" she asks, slipping into salesclerk mode as I pass her my Amex Card.
"Please, Anastasia." Her name –a beautiful name for a beautiful woman –rolls off my tongue.
She packs the items briskly and efficiently into the carrier. This is it. I have to go. "You'll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?"
She nods as she hands me back my charge card.
"Good. Until tomorrow perhaps." I just can't leave. I have to let her know I'm interested, right? "Oh, and
Anastasia? I'm glad Miss Kavanagh couldn't do the interview." Delighting her stunned expression, I sling the bag over my shoulder and walk out of the store.
Yes, against my better judgment, I want her. But now I have to wait… fucking wait… again.
