Chapter 6

Leading me to a velvet-upholstered bench, he gestures for me to be seated. Frenzied butterflies invade my stomach but I'm glad to get off my feet again. Walking in stilts requires training, concentration, and toned muscles—none of which I currently possess.

"So, Ana, might I assume you will satisfy your two-date minimum and then retire from the escort profession?"

I nod. "That's what I told Irina. She, however, informed me that if Kent appreciates my company, he will likely hire me long-term and she asked that I refrain from deciding until such time as I fulfill my contractual obligation."

I watch as he scowls and shakes his head.

"Christian… uh, Mr. Grey… I'm not even sure what I should call you…"

"Either is fine, though I'm usually on formal terms with everyone but my family and very close friends."

"I suppose I'm not a close friend, though fate keeps thrusting us in each other's company—and in rather intimate settings at that." I smile.

"Indeed. You were saying?"

"Yes, I was saying that regardless of what I do… and I'm uncertain at this time…if I continue with this job of sorts, it will be exclusively with Kent and we both know he won't try to rape me like that monster."

"True. By the way, that monster had to leave town rather precipitously."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It turns out he was in a witness protection program after turning state's evidence against his former drug-dealing partner. Somehow his old partner got wind of his new name and location and our pal Michael had to flee from ugly retribution. Drug dealers are not known for their forgiveness or mercy."

His eyes are sparkling with mischief so I know he was behind it and I can't bring myself to care. The horrid man deserves everything he gets. I straighten my shoulders. "That's welcome news, actually. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Now, back to the subject at hand: I would prefer you not pursue this line of work, Ana."

"If I'm to call you Mr. Grey, don't you think it's only fair that you address me the same way?"

"If you wish, though the name of Mr. Grey does not suit you in the least bit."

Now he's grinning broadly, simply delighted with himself and I can't help but laugh at his silliness. "As I was saying…" I continue, "…before being so rudely interrupted by an upstart comedian, that I cannot for the life of me comprehend why you would care one way or the other if I continue with Kent. Might you enlighten me?"

That left brow rises again, his expression sardonic. "Do you think you might guess as to the reason, Ms. Steele?"

I know I'm blushing for I feel my cheeks tingling. How shall I answer him? If he is truly interested in me, surely he wouldn't have banished me last week. "No," I say raising my chin in defiance, "I haven't a clue and I need to get back to Kent."

I rise to my feet and he stands quickly, grasping my hand and holding me back.

"Ana, look at me."

I reluctantly turn up my eyes and when I see his smoldering gaze, things happen—legs go weak, butterflies flutter maniacally, some things get wet, others go dry. It's like he flipped a switch.

"The explanation is very simple: I've never been very good at sharing—my toys, my friends, my… well, you get the picture."

He's jealous? How can that be when a.) he barely knows me and b.) he left me flat the day we had coffee and I offended him? He has women falling all over him—women way more beautiful and important than I. Why would he possibly be jealous of me—dating a gay man no less? It's absurd. But I can't deny the warm feeling that surges through me at the idea that he gives a damn enough to care.

"What thoughts are running through that quicksilver mind of yours, Ana? The suspense is killing me." His tone sounds slightly agitated yet those eyes! Those eyes positively shine with intrigue.

I try to hang onto my annoyance with him but it's difficult to do in the face of his incredible charm. "My first thought was confusion over your rationale. But right now I'm thinking that you're trying your level best to ruin my date with Kent so he doesn't ask me out again. Am I in the ball park?"

"No, you're not even in left field. If you're fond of baseball metaphors, I'll give you another one: I don't like the idea of another man getting to third-base with you. Or even first-base. Is that clear enough?"

My mouth drops open. Stays open. I can't believe he just said that.

"Oh, be careful, Ms. Steele. A beautiful woman like yourself leaving her mouth open and unprotected? A ne'er-do-well man might well try to put all manner of things into it."

I squeak… I actually squeak because my voice fails me. Clearing my throat, I ask, "Are you referring to yourself as a ne'er-do-well?"

Flashing a wicked smile, he says, "I'm no Boy Scout… except to the extent that I'm always prepared." He winks and my legs turn to jelly.

"There you are," comes Kent's cheerful voice as he strides up to me. "Mr. Grey, I see you absconded with my fair lady."

Christian bows in an exaggerated fashion. "Guilty as charged. My humblest apologies, sir, but in my defense, she is a most fascinating woman."

Kent offers him a friendly smile. "I couldn't agree more. Ana?"

I rush to his side and take his arm, feeling uncomfortable doing so under Christian Grey's scrutiny. I shoot a shy glance back at my dark-haired beauty. "Mr. Grey. As always, it's been a pleasure."

Swiftly, he grasps my free hand and lifts it to his lips, brushing a kiss on my fingertips. "The pleasure, as they say, was all mine. I'll be in touch." He tips an imaginary hat to me, nods at Kent, and turns and strolls away, probably in search of his wayward sister.

I don't see Christian Grey for the rest of the evening. Shortly after Kent came looking for me, the silent auction begins. It is tremendously exciting and fun—Kent even lets me bid on something he's interested in acquiring and I win! Of course, it costs him almost nine thousand dollars but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he appears delighted with the score. Right after the auctioneer pronounces me the winner, I see the man, Jared Parks, who Christian claimed was Kent's lover, turn around from several tables up and smile slyly at Kent. Apparently they'd agreed beforehand to purchase the small sculpture. I feel a pang of affection for Kent and guilty that I'm sitting next to him instead of Jared taking his rightful place. The world can be so screwed up sometimes.

When the auction is over, I turn to Kent. "I had the best time ever, Kent. Thank you a million times over for sharing this evening with me. You are the epitome of what a successful man should be, in every way."

"Thank you, Ana. You say the kindest things to me. I very much enjoyed your company tonight and would love to escort you again… though I'm not sure if Mr. Grey is going to allow that for long."

Flushing, I shake my head in dismissal. "Mr. Grey has no claim on me, Kent."

He smiles. "That, perhaps, may change soon. But we'll see. In the interim, I plan to dress you in as many of my creations as possible. Your proportions are perfect for my design aesthetics and yours is a classic beauty. We'll have fun together."

"Yes." I smile sincerely. "Honestly, if it weren't for you, I would not have accepted any assignment from Irina. You were like a breath of fresh air at that party. You and... um…" I almost slip and say Mr. Grey, but I catch myself just in time.

As I insert my key into the front door of our condo, I hear the television blaring, then Dante, Kate's golden doodle, starts barking, alerting her to my homecoming. The TV goes silent and by the time I get the door open, she's already in my face.

"Well?" Kate demands. "How was it?"

I try for my most blasé. "Okay, I guess."

"Ana!"

"It was fantastic!" I scream, nearly at the top of my lungs and we both laugh.

Grinning broadly, Kate shakes her head. "Our neighbors are going to hate us… if they don't already."

"Speaking of which, are you going deaf? I could hear the television from the parking lot."

"Oh, I was screaming at a football game." She stomped her foot. "So frustrating that they can't hear me."

Chuckling, we step over to the couch and Kate backs into it, curling her leg under her as she sits. "So, tell me."

I look at her affectionately. Even in old yoga pants, a cropped t-shirt, and her hair piled sloppily on her head, she looks glamorous. Kate is just a gorgeous woman and I always wished I had her look. Still, despite being rich and beautiful, she's always been a kind and generous friend, and tonight she demonstrates it by sharing my excitement vicariously.

"Kent is a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool sweetheart of a man. I think he may have my undying devotion at this point. He already told me he wants to put me in as many of his creations as he can because I—"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she interrupts. "As he can? Why can't he put you in as many as he wants?"

Damn. Trust Kate to cut right to the bloody heart of the matter. When there are secrets to uncover, Kate Kavanagh is like a talented surgeon wielding a deadly but delicate scalpel. "Um, because he thinks Christian Grey won't allow me to date him." I rush to spit it out, then I quickly cover my ears as she just about roars with indignation.

"What?" she bellows. "What does Christian Grey have to do with anything? He rejected you, didn't he? Just because he's rich and influential doesn't mean he can do whatever the fuck he wants, Ana."

"I know, I know. It's just that he was at the fundraiser… and when he saw me and realized why I was there, he was a tad miffed." I smile, attempting to ingratiate myself with her so she'll stop chastising me. No such luck.

"Too bad for Christian Grey. He has no claim on you, Ana. Can he spell free agent? I swear, men like him think everyone must kowtow to them or the planet will stop spinning."

"Does the planet spin? I thought it revolved?"

Narrowing her eyes, she steps closer to me and wags her finger. "Don't change the subject. Listen up, Missy. You do not let Mr. Grey hold sway over you. You enjoy yourself with Kent and if Grey doesn't like it, tough noogies. Just because he did you a good turn doesn't mean he owns you, and you cannot allow him to believe he does."

"No, I agree with you. I even offered to reimburse him for the cost of McEvoy's time in helping me."

"Good girl! Ana, there's hope for you yet. What did he say to that?"

He basically ignored it. He told me he's jealous."

She gasps. "He told you that? Oh, Ana, he's got it bad for you. Imagine that—my little Ana hooking such a big fish… a rich and absurdly handsome fish. May I be maid of honor? I have the perfect gown for the role."

I begin to walk to my bedroom so I can change out of my finery. "Do you think you might be jumping the gun just a teeny weeny bit?"

Sniffing in disdain, she shrugs her shoulders. "I doubt it. Anyway… anything else to tell me?"

She follows me into my bedroom, helping me unzip the gown. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Kent let me win an auction for something he wanted to buy. It was a blast. And I met his boyfriend… or so Christian claims is Kent's boyfriend. He's very nice."

"Awkward, no?"

I step out of the gown and finally begin to get out of the prison of my stilettos. I think my feet are broken beyond repair. "Slightly," I say, huffing to pull the second shoe off. My feet have swollen a bit since I put them on so they don't come off as easily as they went on. When it's off, I breathe a sigh of relief. "Ah. Yes, it was a bit awkward…only because I felt Jared should be in his rightful place beside Kent. But it's their decision and who am I to question it?"

"True. Want some tea?"

"I'd love some. What about ice cream?"

Brows knitted together, she snaps, "What about it?"

"Sheesh, Kate, so defensive. I was just asking if we have any?"

"Sorry," she says sheepishly. "It's just that I hate a whole container of Haagen-Dazs and I'm feeling guilty. Dulce de leche," she adds, as if in justification.

"Ah, yes, well, who could blame you?"

Her face visibly brightens. "Yes, who could? I'm going to make us some tea."

The next day a package arrives for me in the late afternoon as I'm filling out the follow-up sheet for Irina. I've already spoken with her as she phoned me first thing in the morning. Why do so many people get up so freaking early? Everyone I know likes to sleep late if it's at all possible.

It's a long and deep brown box tied with string, like an old-fashioned gift. The return address is a PO Box so there's no way to tell whom it's from. I open it cautiously and pink tissue paper covers what's inside. Ferreting through it, I discover a beautiful champagne-colored negligee underneath. Taking it out of the box to hold up in front of me, a small card drops to the floor. I stretch my arm, snatch it, and rip the envelope, impatient now. In bold black print it says, Kent's not the only one who can dress you, you know. Here's what I'd like to see on you—with no other accessories but your smile. C. Grey.

I suck in so much air I almost choke. Damn. Just those few words on the little ivory card are enough to make my legs go weak. Instantly an image of me in the gown, alone in a room with Christian, pops into my head and I feel an instant physical response. Squeezing my legs together, it dawns on me that this virginity crap is getting old. I think I would love to hand it over to Mr. Grey, providing he doesn't just accept it and then walk away. Would he do that? I wonder.

Oh, the thought of making love with him is beyond erotic. He's so beautiful in clothes—I can just imagine him without. All those tight muscles and toned flesh; I bet he has serious abs, too. Mmm. For perhaps the first time in my life, my libido is revving hot. I mean, it's not the first time I've ever lusted after a man—or boy… but it is the first time I've ever felt such an overwhelming response, both physical and emotional, to one. And it's the first time I seriously entertain the notion of doing it, to the point where I'm actually considering where would be the best place. Here? Or at a hotel or his place? Where does he even live? I snort in derision at my impetuousness—I know less than nothing about the man and here I want to jump in bed with him.

But I do. I really do.

The rest of the month passes uneventfully. I don't hear from Christian Grey nor does Irina contact me with any new assignments. I hunker down and get serious about finding a job, trying to distract myself from thinking about Grey. If I pretend I don't care that he hasn't contacted me in almost two weeks, then I don't care. It's as simple as that. Except it doesn't work. I like him too much and I desperately want to see him again.

On Thursday, Irina calls me.

"Hi Ana, How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," I answer suspiciously. I know Irina's not calling just to say hello.

"Ana, I have another assignment for you."

"With Kent?" I ask hopefully.

"No, with another gentleman. A Mr. Henry Chinaski."

"Henry…?"

"Chinaski. Do you recall meeting him?"

"Not at all, and Irina, I'm not comfortable taking any assignment apart from Kent's."

"Ana, dear, of course it's your choice, but allow me to give you a bit more information. Mr. Chinaski understands your limitations and is perfectly willing to accept them. Further, I can personally vouch for his integrity—I've known him for several years. And, Ana, he's very handsome—trust me on that. You won't regret it."

"Irina, I really don't think I want to keep continuing on this path. If I take this last one, will you allow me to just see Kent and not even present other possibilities to me?"

Her heavy sigh transmits clear as a bell through the phone. "If I must, then yes. I'll text you the information. It's a bit of an unusual assignment, I will warn you."

"Unusual? How so?"

"You'll see. Just read the text. Goodbye for now, Ana… and don't forget to submit the follow-up sheet."

She disconnects and I end up staring at my phone, trying to make sense of what she just said. Henry Chinaski, huh? Strange sort of name but for some odd reason, it sounds sort of familiar. My daydreaming is slashed into by the sudden chime of my phone alerting me to a text message—from Irina. I decide to read it later because I don't want to fret over anything right now. I decide instead to go for a run. I change my clothes, grab Dante's leash and he comes running excitedly, and we leave the apartment.

When Dante and I return from our run, I jump into the shower and then take a nap—God, I can get used to not doing anything with my life. It's very relaxing. Finally, I read the message from Irina. She provides me with the date (Saturday), the time (7 p.m.), what to wear (casual) and where he'll be taking me—the thing she said was surprising. Surprising? I read it three times in disbelief. His parents' house?

Why would anyone take a paid escort to his parents' home? Isn't that insane… so by following that logic, isn't he insane? I pad in bare feet to the kitchen to cop a generous glass of vino to think about this situation.

Okay, maybe he's gay and he doesn't want his parents to know? Or… maybe he's over thirty and has the kind of parents who torture him about getting married and having kids soon, guilting him out about having grandchildren before they die? My reasoning along with copious amounts of Merlot calm me down. Yes, that must be it.

So what do I wear that's dressy enough for parents but low-key enough to feel comfortable in and satisfy his requirement of casual. Peering through my closet, I decide on a pair of my new Joe jeans, the biker boots—both scores from my recent shopping spree—and a white cashmere vee-neck sweater, courtesy of Kate's voluminous closet. When I try everything on, I decide the jeans make me look dumpy and the boots are too edgy for a family dinner.

Back to square one. If I pair the boots with navy stockings and my navy and Kelly green jumper, the boots will be more acceptable. I'll wear a white linen shirt with three-quarter sleeves under the jumper. To complete the whole schoolgirl look, I'll braid my hair and wear minimal makeup. Yes, sounds good.

But I don't end up wearing that either. On Saturday, at 6:00, I still have no clue what to wear, having discarded the whole schoolgirl look and instead going to my laptop to see if I can find any info on Mr. Henry Chinaski.

I enter the name into Google and take a bite of a blueberry muffin. When the information pops up on the screen, I nearly choke on my mouthful of muffin. Henry Chinaski is the ne'er-do-well narrator in Charles Bukowski's novels. That's why it was vaguely familiar to me. I'd read Bukowski my senior year of high school when the boy I was dating was enamored of him and forced me to share.

So. Who is this man I'm meeting really? Only one candidate springs to mind. I recall my conversation with Mr. Christian Grey, when he worried over ne'er-do-wells. It has to be him.

The thought that I'm seeing him tonight invigorates me. Will he really take me to meet his parents? What the hell should I wear? The quandary becomes ever more difficult in light of the new information.

I stick with the white linen shirt. I pair it with a pair of black trousers, tight enough to look good but not too tight for his parents' house. I wear a pair of black heels, mid-range heel, a chunky belt and a bright pink mohair sweater for a splash of color. When I'm all dressed, I look in the mirror and smile. I think I nailed it. Now for my makeup. It's ten of seven so I need to be quick about it. I dab on a bit of foundation, raspberry-tinted lip gloss, black eyeliner and a titch of mascara. Done.

The doorbell rings at seven o'clock precisely. My heart is drumming in my chest, slamming into my ribcage or something hard. I open the door.

It's not Christian.