50 Shades of Davies Chapter 1 Part 4
"You sound like the ultimate consumer."
"I am" She smiles, but the smiled doesn't touch her eyes. Again this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can't help thinking that we're talking about something else, but I'm absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising or maybe it's just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely Maddy has enough material now? I glance at the next question.
"You were adopted. How far do you think that's shaped the way you are?" Oh, this is personal. I stare at her, hoping she's not offended. Her brow furrows.
"I have no way of knowing."
My interest is piqued.
"How old were you when you were adopted?"
"That's a matter of public record, Miss Carlin." Her tone is stern. I flush, again. Crap. Yes of course – if I'd known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly
"You've had to sacrifice a family life for your work."
"That's not a question." She's terse.
"Sorry." I squirm, and she's made me feel like an errant child. I try again. "Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?"
"I have a family. I have a brother and sister and two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that."
"Are you gay, Miss Davies?"
She inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn't I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell her I'm just reading the questions? Damn Maddy and her curiosity!
"Yes Spencer, I am." She raises her eyebrows, a cool gleam in her eyes. She does not look pleased.
"I apologise. It's um… written here." It's the first time she's said my name. My heartbeat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear.
She cocks her head to one side. "These aren't your questions?"
The blood drains from my head. Oh no. "Err… no Maddy – Miss Duarte – she compiled the questions."
"Are you colleagues on the student paper?" Oh crap. I have nothing to do with the student paper. It's her extracurricular activity, not mind. My face is aflame.
"No. She's my roommate."
She rubs her chin in quiet deliberation, her brown eyes appraising me.
"Did you volunteer to do this interview?" she asks her voice deadly quite.
Hang on, who's supposed to be interviewing whom? Her eyes burn into me, and I'm compelled to answer with the truth.
"I was drafted. She's not well." My voice is weak and apologetic.
"That explains a great deal."
There's a knock at the door, and Brunette Number Two enters.
"Ms Davies, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes."
"We're not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting."
Andrea hesitates, gaping at her. She appears lost. Ms Davies turns her head slowly to face her and raises her eyebrows. Andrea flushes bright pink. Oh good. It's not just me.
"Very well, Ms Davies," she mutters, then exits. Ms Davies frowns and turns her attention back to me.
"Where were we, Miss Carlin?"
Oh, we're back to 'Miss Carlin' now.
"Please don't let me keep you from anything."
"I want to know about you. I think that's only fair." Her brown eyes are alight with curiosity. Double crap. Where's she going with this? She places her elbows on the arms of the chair and steeples her fingers in front of her mouth. Her mouth is very distracting. I swallow.
"There's not much to know," I say, flushing again.
"What are your plans after you graduate?" I shrug, thrown by her interest. Come to L.A with Kate, find a place, find a job. I haven't really thought beyond my finals.
"I haven't made any plans, Ms Davies. I just need to get through my final exams." Which I should be studying for now, rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile office, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze.
"We run an excellent internship program here," she says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is she offering me a job?
"Oh. I'll bear that in mind," I murmur, completely confounded. "Though I'm not sure I'd fit in here." Oh no. I'm musing out loud again.
"Why do you say that?" She cocks her head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
"It's obvious, isn't it?" I'm uncoordinated, scruffy, and I'm not brunette.
"Not to me," she murmurs. Her gaze is intense, all humour gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clean suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers. What's going on? I have to go – now. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder.
"Would you like me to show you around?" she asks.
"I'm sure you're far too busy, Ms Davies, and I do have a long drive."
"You're driving back to San Francisco?" She sounds surprised, anxious even. She glances out of the window. It's begun to rain.
"Well, you'd better drive carefully." Her tone is stern and authorities. Why should she care? "Did you get everything you need?" she adds.
"Yes Ms Davies," I reply, packing the recorder into my satchel. Her eyes narrow, speculatively.
"Thank you for the interview, Ms Davies."
"The pleasure's been all mind," she says as polite as ever.
As I rise, she stands and holds out her hand.
"Until we meet again, Miss Carlin" And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I'm not sure which. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake her hand once more, astounded that the odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.
"Ms. Davies." I nod at her. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, she opens it wide.
"Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Carlin." She gives me a small smile. Obviously, she's referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into her office. I flush.
"That's very considerate, Ms Davies," I snap, and her smile widens. I'm glad you find me entertaining, I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I'm surprised when she follows me out. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.
"Did you have a coat?" Davies asks.
"Yes." Olivia leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Davies takes from her before she can hand it to me. She holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on. Davies places her hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If she notices my reaction, she gives nothing away.
Her polished index finger presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on hers. The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of her. When I turn to look at her, she's leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand on the wall. She really is very, very beautiful. It's distracting. Her burning brown eyes gaze at me.
"Spencer," she says as a farewell.
"Ashley," I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.