Grey
Page 22
Hell. I shuffle in my seat. I hope she agrees to sign the NDA and to take what I have to offer.
When we join I-5 I get another call.
It’s Elliot.
“Hi, Christian, d’you get laid?”
Oh…smooth, dude, smooth.
“Hello, Elliot—I’m on speakerphone, and I’m not alone in the car.”
“Who’s with you?”
“Anastasia Steele.”
“Hi, Ana!”
“Hello, Elliot,” she says, animated.
“Heard a lot about you,” Elliot says.
Shit. What has he heard?
“Don’t believe a word Kate says,” she responds good-naturedly.
Elliot laughs.
“I’m dropping Anastasia off now. Shall I pick you up?” I interject.
There’s no doubt Elliot will want to make a quick getaway.
“Sure.”
“See you shortly.” I hang up.
“Why do you insist on calling me Anastasia?” she asks.
“Because it’s your name.”
“I prefer Ana.”
“Do you, now?”
“Ana” is too everyday and ordinary for her. And too familiar. Those three letters have the power to wound…
And in that moment I know that her rejection, when it comes, will be hard to take. It’s happened before, but I’ve never felt this…invested. I don’t even know this girl, but I want to know her, all of her. Maybe it’s because I’ve never chased a woman.
Grey, get control of yourself and follow the rules, otherwise this will all go to shit.
“Anastasia,” I say, ignoring her disapproving look. “What happened in the elevator—it won’t happen again—well, not unless it’s premeditated.”
That keeps her quiet as I park outside her apartment. Before she can answer me I climb out of the car, walk around and open her door.
As she steps onto the sidewalk, she gives me a fleeting glance. “I liked what happened in the elevator,” she says.
You did? Her confession halts me in my tracks. I’m pleasantly surprised again by little Miss Steele. As she walks up the steps to the front door, I have to scramble to keep up with her.
Elliot and Kate look up when we enter. They’re sitting at a dining table in a sparsely furnished room, befitting a couple of students. There are a few packing boxes beside a bookshelf. Elliot looks relaxed and not in a hurry to leave, which surprises me.
Kavanagh jumps up and gives me a critical once-over as she hugs Ana.
What did she think I was going to do to the girl?
I know what I’d like to do to her…
As Kavanagh holds her at arm’s length I’m reassured; maybe she does care for Ana, too.
“Good morning, Christian,” she says, her tone cool and condescending.
“Miss Kavanagh.” And what I want to say is something sarcastic about how she’s finally showing some interest in her friend, but I hold my tongue.
“Christian, her name is Kate,” Elliot says with mild irritation.
“Kate,” I mutter, to be polite. Elliot hugs Ana, holding her for a moment too long.
“Hi, Ana,” he says, all fucking smiles.
“Hi, Elliot.” She beams.
Okay, this is becoming unbearable. “Elliot, we’d better go.” And take your hands off her.
“Sure,” he says, releasing Ana, but grabbing Kavanagh and making an unseemly show of kissing her.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Ana’s uncomfortable watching them. I don’t blame her. But when she turns to me it’s with a speculative look through narrowed eyes.
What is she thinking?
“Laters, baby,” Elliot mutters, slobbering over Kavanagh.
Dude, show some dignity, for heaven’s sake.
Ana’s reproachful eyes are on me, and for a moment I don’t know if it’s because of Elliot and Kate’s lascivious display or—
Hell! This is what she wants. To be courted and wooed.
I don’t do romance, sweetheart.
A lock of her hair has broken free, and without thinking, I tuck it behind her ear. She leans her face into my fingers, the tender gesture surprising me. My thumb strays to her soft bottom lip, which I’d like to kiss again. But I can’t. Not until I have her consent.
“Laters, baby,” I whisper, and her face softens with a smile. “I’ll pick you up at eight.” Reluctantly, I turn away and open the front door, Elliot behind me.
“Man, I need some sleep,” Elliot says, as soon as we’re in the car. “That woman is voracious.”
“Really…” My voice drips with sarcasm. The last thing I want is a blow-by-blow account of his assignation.
“How about you, hotshot? Did she pop your cherry?”
I give him a sideways “fuck off” glare.
Elliot laughs. “Man, you are one uptight son of a bitch.” He pulls his Sounders cap over his face and nestles down in his seat for a nap.
I turn up the volume of the music.
Sleep through that, Lelliot!
Yeah. I envy my brother: his ease with women, his ability to sleep…and the fact that he’s not the son of a bitch.
JOSé LUIS RODRIGUEZ’S BACKGROUND check reveals a ticket for possession of marijuana. There is nothing in his police records for sexual harassment. Maybe last night would have been a first if I hadn’t intervened. And the little prick smokes weed? I hope he doesn’t smoke around Ana—and I hope she doesn’t smoke, period.
Opening Andrea’s e-mail, I send the NDA to the printer in my study at home in Escala. Ana will need to sign it before I show her my playroom. And in a moment of weakness, or hubris, or perhaps unprecedented optimism—I don’t know which—I fill in her name and address on my standard Dom/sub contract and send that to print, too.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Hey, hotshot. Let’s go hiking,” Elliot says through the door.
Ah…the child has woken from his nap.
THE SCENT OF PINE, fresh damp earth, and late spring is a balm to my senses. The smell reminds me of those heady days of my childhood, running through a forest with Elliot and my sister Mia under the watchful eyes of our adoptive parents. The quiet, the space, the freedom…the scrunch of dry pine needles underfoot.
Here in the great outdoors I could forget.
Here was a refuge from my nightmares.
When we join I-5 I get another call.
It’s Elliot.
“Hi, Christian, d’you get laid?”
Oh…smooth, dude, smooth.
“Hello, Elliot—I’m on speakerphone, and I’m not alone in the car.”
“Who’s with you?”
“Anastasia Steele.”
“Hi, Ana!”
“Hello, Elliot,” she says, animated.
“Heard a lot about you,” Elliot says.
Shit. What has he heard?
“Don’t believe a word Kate says,” she responds good-naturedly.
Elliot laughs.
“I’m dropping Anastasia off now. Shall I pick you up?” I interject.
There’s no doubt Elliot will want to make a quick getaway.
“Sure.”
“See you shortly.” I hang up.
“Why do you insist on calling me Anastasia?” she asks.
“Because it’s your name.”
“I prefer Ana.”
“Do you, now?”
“Ana” is too everyday and ordinary for her. And too familiar. Those three letters have the power to wound…
And in that moment I know that her rejection, when it comes, will be hard to take. It’s happened before, but I’ve never felt this…invested. I don’t even know this girl, but I want to know her, all of her. Maybe it’s because I’ve never chased a woman.
Grey, get control of yourself and follow the rules, otherwise this will all go to shit.
“Anastasia,” I say, ignoring her disapproving look. “What happened in the elevator—it won’t happen again—well, not unless it’s premeditated.”
That keeps her quiet as I park outside her apartment. Before she can answer me I climb out of the car, walk around and open her door.
As she steps onto the sidewalk, she gives me a fleeting glance. “I liked what happened in the elevator,” she says.
You did? Her confession halts me in my tracks. I’m pleasantly surprised again by little Miss Steele. As she walks up the steps to the front door, I have to scramble to keep up with her.
Elliot and Kate look up when we enter. They’re sitting at a dining table in a sparsely furnished room, befitting a couple of students. There are a few packing boxes beside a bookshelf. Elliot looks relaxed and not in a hurry to leave, which surprises me.
Kavanagh jumps up and gives me a critical once-over as she hugs Ana.
What did she think I was going to do to the girl?
I know what I’d like to do to her…
As Kavanagh holds her at arm’s length I’m reassured; maybe she does care for Ana, too.
“Good morning, Christian,” she says, her tone cool and condescending.
“Miss Kavanagh.” And what I want to say is something sarcastic about how she’s finally showing some interest in her friend, but I hold my tongue.
“Christian, her name is Kate,” Elliot says with mild irritation.
“Kate,” I mutter, to be polite. Elliot hugs Ana, holding her for a moment too long.
“Hi, Ana,” he says, all fucking smiles.
“Hi, Elliot.” She beams.
Okay, this is becoming unbearable. “Elliot, we’d better go.” And take your hands off her.
“Sure,” he says, releasing Ana, but grabbing Kavanagh and making an unseemly show of kissing her.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Ana’s uncomfortable watching them. I don’t blame her. But when she turns to me it’s with a speculative look through narrowed eyes.
What is she thinking?
“Laters, baby,” Elliot mutters, slobbering over Kavanagh.
Dude, show some dignity, for heaven’s sake.
Ana’s reproachful eyes are on me, and for a moment I don’t know if it’s because of Elliot and Kate’s lascivious display or—
Hell! This is what she wants. To be courted and wooed.
I don’t do romance, sweetheart.
A lock of her hair has broken free, and without thinking, I tuck it behind her ear. She leans her face into my fingers, the tender gesture surprising me. My thumb strays to her soft bottom lip, which I’d like to kiss again. But I can’t. Not until I have her consent.
“Laters, baby,” I whisper, and her face softens with a smile. “I’ll pick you up at eight.” Reluctantly, I turn away and open the front door, Elliot behind me.
“Man, I need some sleep,” Elliot says, as soon as we’re in the car. “That woman is voracious.”
“Really…” My voice drips with sarcasm. The last thing I want is a blow-by-blow account of his assignation.
“How about you, hotshot? Did she pop your cherry?”
I give him a sideways “fuck off” glare.
Elliot laughs. “Man, you are one uptight son of a bitch.” He pulls his Sounders cap over his face and nestles down in his seat for a nap.
I turn up the volume of the music.
Sleep through that, Lelliot!
Yeah. I envy my brother: his ease with women, his ability to sleep…and the fact that he’s not the son of a bitch.
JOSé LUIS RODRIGUEZ’S BACKGROUND check reveals a ticket for possession of marijuana. There is nothing in his police records for sexual harassment. Maybe last night would have been a first if I hadn’t intervened. And the little prick smokes weed? I hope he doesn’t smoke around Ana—and I hope she doesn’t smoke, period.
Opening Andrea’s e-mail, I send the NDA to the printer in my study at home in Escala. Ana will need to sign it before I show her my playroom. And in a moment of weakness, or hubris, or perhaps unprecedented optimism—I don’t know which—I fill in her name and address on my standard Dom/sub contract and send that to print, too.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Hey, hotshot. Let’s go hiking,” Elliot says through the door.
Ah…the child has woken from his nap.
THE SCENT OF PINE, fresh damp earth, and late spring is a balm to my senses. The smell reminds me of those heady days of my childhood, running through a forest with Elliot and my sister Mia under the watchful eyes of our adoptive parents. The quiet, the space, the freedom…the scrunch of dry pine needles underfoot.
Here in the great outdoors I could forget.
Here was a refuge from my nightmares.
