AVINTAGEEBOOKEDITION

FiftyShadesofGreycopyright2011byFiftyShadesLtd.

FiftyShadesDarkercopyright2011byFiftyShadesLtd.

FiftyShadesFreedcopyright2011byFiftyShadesLtd.

Allrightsreserved.ThenovelscontainedinthisomnibuswereeachpublishedseparatelyintheUnited

StatesbyVintageBooks,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork.All

wereoriginallypublishedinAustraliabyTheWritersCoffeeShop

PublishingHouse,NewSouthWales,in2011.

VintageandcolophonareregisteredtrademarksofRandomHouse,Inc.

FiftyShadesofGrey,FiftyShadesDarker,andFiftyShadesFreedareworksoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitherarethe

productoftheauthorsimaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,events,

orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Theauthorpublishedanearlierserializedversionofthesestoriesonline

withdifferentcharactersasMasteroftheUniverseunderthepseudonym

SnowqueensIcedragon.

VintageeISBN:978-0-345-80357-3

TrilogycoverdesignbyPeterQuach

FiftyShadesofGreyCoverimageRandomHouse,Inc.,

photobyPapuga2006CoverdesignbyJenniferMcGuire

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photobyKineticimageryCoverdesignbyJenniferMcGuire

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Contents

CoverTitlepageCopyright

FiftyShadesofGrey

FiftyShadesDarker

FiftyShadesFreed

AbouttheAuthor

FirstpublishedbyTheWritersCoffeeShopPublishingHouse,

Australia,2011

FIRSTVINTAGEBOOKSEDITION,APRIL2012

Copyright2011byFiftyShadesLtd.

Allrightsreserved.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyVintageBooks,a

divisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork,andinCanadabyRandomHouse

ofCanadaLimited,Toronto.

VintageandcolophonareregisteredtrademarksofRandomHouse,Inc.

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,

characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthors

imaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,events,orlocalesis

entirelycoincidental.

TheauthorpublishedanearlierserializedversionofthisstoryonlinewithdifferentcharactersasMasteroftheUniverseunderthepseudonym

SnowqueensIcedragon.

TheCataloging-in-PublicationDataisonfileatLibraryofCongress.

eISBN:978-1-61213-029-3

CoverdesignbyJenniferMcGuireCoverimageRandomHouse,Inc.,

photobyPapuga2006

www.vintagebooks.com

v3.1

http://www.vintagebooks.com

ForNiall,themasterofmyuniverse

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am indebted to thefollowing people fortheirhelpandsupport:Tomyhusband,Niall,

thank you for toleratingmy obsession, being adomesticgod,anddoingthefirstedit.

To my boss, Lisa,thankyouforputtingupwith me over the lastyear or so while Iindulged in thismadness.To CCL, Ill never

tell,butthankyou.Totheoriginalbunker

babes, thank you foryour friendship andconstantsupport.To SR, thank you for

all the helpful advice

from the start and forgoingfirst.To Sue Malone,

thanks for sorting meout.ToAmandaandallat

TWCS, thank you fortakingapunt

Contents

Master-TableofContents

FiftyShadesofGreyCopyrightDedicationAcknowledgments

ChapterOneChapterTwoChapterThreeChapterFour

ChapterFiveChapterSixChapterSevenChapterEightChapterNineChapterTenChapterElevenChapterTwelveChapterThirteenChapterFourteenChapterFifteenChapterSixteenChapterSeventeenChapterEighteen

ChapterNineteenChapterTwentyChapterTwenty-oneChapterTwenty-twoChapterTwenty-threeChapterTwenty-fourChapterTwenty-fiveChapterTwenty-six

CHAPTERONE

I scowl with frustration atmyself in the mirror. Damnmy hairit just wontbehave, and damn KatherineKavanagh for being ill andsubjectingmetothisordeal.Ishould be studying for myfinal exams, which are next

week,yethereIamtryingtobrush my hair intosubmission. I must not sleepwith it wet. I must not sleepwith it wet. Reciting thismantra several times, Iattempt, once more, to bringit under control with thebrush. I roll my eyes inexasperation and gaze at thepale, brown-haired girl withblueeyestoobigforherfacestaring back at me, and giveup. My only option is to

restrainmywaywardhairinaponytail andhope that I looksemi-presentable.Kate ismy roommate, and

she has chosen today of alldays to succumb to the flu.Therefore, she cannot attendthe interview shed arrangedto do, with some mega-industrialisttycoonIveneverheard of, for the studentnewspaper. So I have beenvolunteered. I have finalexams to cram for and one

essay to finish, and Imsupposed to be working thisafternoon, but notoday Ihave to drive 165 miles todowntownSeattle inorder tomeet the enigmatic CEO ofGrey Enterprises Holdings,Inc. As an exceptionalentrepreneur and majorbenefactor of our university,his time is extraordinarilypreciousmuch moreprecious than minebut hehas granted Kate an

interview. A real coup, shetells me. Damn herextracurricularactivities.Kate is huddled on the

couchinthelivingroom.Ana,Imsorry.Ittookme

nine months to get thisinterview.Itwilltakeanothersix to reschedule, and wellbothhavegraduatedby then.As the editor, I cant blowthis off. Please, Kate begsmeinherrasping,sorethroatvoice. How does she do it?

Evenillshelooksgamineandgorgeous, strawberry blondhair in place and green eyesbright, although now redrimmed and runny. I ignoremy pang of unwelcomesympathy.Of course Ill go, Kate.

You should get back to bed.WouldyoulikesomeNyQuilorTylenol?NyQuil, please. Here are

the questions and my digitalrecorder. Just press record

here. Make notes, Illtranscribeitall.I know nothing about

him, I murmur, trying andfailing to suppress my risingpanic.The questions will see

you through. Go. Its a longdrive. Idontwantyou tobelate.Okay, Im going. Get

backtobed.Imadeyousomesouptoheatuplater.Istareat her fondly. Only for you,

Kate,wouldIdothis.I will. Good luck. And

thanks,Anaasusual,youremylifesaver.Gathering my backpack, I

smilewrylyather, thenheadout the door to the car. IcannotbelieveIhaveletKatetalk me into this. But thenKate can talk anyone intoanything. Shell make anexceptional journalist. Shesarticulate, strong, persuasive,argumentative, beautiful

andshesmydearest,dearestfriend.

THEROADSARECLEARasIsetoff from Vancouver,Washington,towardInterstate5.Itsearly,andIdonthavetobe inSeattleuntil two thisafternoon. Fortunately, Katehas lent me her sportyMercedesCLK. Im not sureWanda, my old VW Beetle,would make the journey intime. Oh, the Merc is a fun

drive,andthemilesslipawayasIhitthepedaltothemetal.My destination is the

headquarters of Mr. Greysglobal enterprise. Its a hugetwenty-story office building,all curved glass and steel, anarchitects utilitarian fantasy,with GREY HOUSE writtendiscreetly in steel over theglass front doors. Its aquarter to twowhen I arrive,greatly relieved that Im notlate as I walk into the

enormousand franklyintimidatingglass, steel,andwhitesandstonelobby.Behind the solid sandstone

desk, a very attractive,groomed, blonde youngwoman smiles pleasantly atme. Shes wearing thesharpest charcoal suit jacketand white shirt I have everseen.Shelooksimmaculate.ImheretoseeMr.Grey.

Anastasia Steele forKatherineKavanagh.

Excuse me one moment,Miss Steele. She arches hereyebrow as I stand self-consciously before her. Imbeginning to wish Idborrowed one of Katesformal blazers rather thanworn my navy-blue jacket. Ihavemadeaneffortandwornmy one and only skirt, mysensible brown knee-lengthboots,andabluesweater.Forme, this is smart. I tuck oneof theescaped tendrilsofmy

hair behind my ear as Ipretendshedoesntintimidateme.Miss Kavanagh is

expected.Pleasesigninhere,Miss Steele. Youll want thelast elevator on the right,pressforthetwentiethfloor.She smiles kindly at me,amusednodoubt,asIsignin.She hands me a security

pass that has visitor veryfirmlystampedonthefront.Icant help my smirk. Surely

its obvious that Im justvisiting. I dont fit in here atall. Nothing changes. Iinwardly sigh. Thanking her,I walk over to the bank ofelevators and past the twosecuritymenwhoarebothfarmore smartly dressed than Iam in their well-cut blacksuits.The elevatorwhisksme at

terminal velocity to thetwentieth floor. The doorsslideopen,andIminanother

large lobbyagain all glass,steel, and white sandstone.Im confronted by anotherdeskofsandstoneandanotheryoung blonde woman, thistime dressed impeccably inblackandwhite,whorisestogreetme.Miss Steele, could you

waithere,please?Shepointsto a seated area of whiteleatherchairs.Behindtheleatherchairsis

a spacious glass-walled

meetingroomwithanequallyspaciousdarkwoodtableandat least twenty matchingchairsaroundit.Beyondthat,there is a floor-to-ceilingwindow with a view of theSeattle skyline that looks outthrough the city toward theSound. Its a stunning vista,and Im momentarilyparalyzedbytheview.Wow.I sit down, fish the

questionsfrommybackpack,and go through them,

inwardlycursingKatefornotproviding me with a briefbiography. I know nothingabout this man Im about tointerview.Hecouldbeninetyor he could be thirty. Theuncertaintyisgalling,andmynerves resurface, making mefidget. Ive never beencomfortable with one-on-oneinterviews, preferring theanonymity of a groupdiscussion where I can sitinconspicuously at the back

of the room. To be honest, Iprefer my own company,reading a classic Britishnovel,curledup inachair inthe campus library. Notsitting twitchingnervously ina colossal glass-and-stoneedifice.I roll my eyes at myself.

Get a grip, Steele. Judgingfrom the building, which istoo clinical and modern, Iguess Grey is in his forties:fit, tanned, and fair-haired to

match the rest of thepersonnel.Anotherelegant,flawlessly

dressedblondecomesoutofalarge door to the right.Whatis it with all the immaculateblondes? Its like Stepfordhere.Takingadeepbreath, Istandup.Miss Steele? the latest

blondeasks.Yes, I croak, and clear

my throat. Yes.There, thatsoundedmoreconfident.

Mr.Greywillseeyouinamoment. May I take yourjacket?Oh,please.Istruggleout

ofthejacket.Have you been offered

anyrefreshment?Umno. Oh dear, is

Blonde Number One introuble?Blonde Number Two

frowns and eyes the youngwomanatthedesk.Would you like tea,

coffee, water? she asks,turning her attention back tome.A glass of water. Thank

you,Imurmur.Olivia, please fetch Miss

Steele a glass ofwater.Hervoice is stern. Olivia scootsup and scurries to a door ontheothersideofthefoyer.My apologies, Miss

Steele, Olivia is our newintern. Please be seated. Mr.Grey will be another five

minutes.Olivia returnswith a glass

oficedwater.Here you go, Miss

Steele.Thankyou.Blonde Number Two

marches over to the largedesk, her heels clicking andechoing on the sandstonefloor.Shesitsdown,andtheybothcontinuetheirwork.Perhaps Mr. Grey insists

on all his employees being

blonde.Imwonderingidlyifthats legal, when the officedoor opens and a tall,elegantly dressed, attractiveAfrican American man withshort dreads exits. I havedefinitely worn the wrongclothes.He turns and says through

the door, Golf this week,Grey?I dont hear the reply. He

turns,seesme,andsmiles,hisdark eyes crinkling at the

corners.Oliviahasjumpedupand called the elevator. Sheseems to excel at jumpingfrom her seat. Shes morenervousthanme!Good afternoon, ladies,

hesaysashedepartsthroughtheslidingdoor.Mr. Grey will see you

now, Miss Steele. Do gothrough, Blonde NumberTwo says. I stand rathershakily,tryingtosuppressmynerves. Gathering up my

backpack,Iabandonmyglassofwaterandmakemywaytothepartiallyopendoor.You dont need to knock

just go in. She smileskindly.I push open the door and

stumble through, trippingovermyownfeetandfallingheadfirstintotheoffice.Double crapme and my

two left feet! I am on myhands and knees in thedoorwaytoMr.Greysoffice,

and gentle hands are aroundme,helpingmetostand.Iamso embarrassed, damn myclumsiness. I have to steelmyself to glance up. Holycowhessoyoung.Miss Kavanagh. He

extends a long-fingered handtomeonceImupright.ImChristian Grey. Are you allright?Wouldyouliketosit?So youngand attractive,

very attractive. Hes tall,dressed in a fine gray suit,

whiteshirt,andblacktiewithunruly dark copper-coloredhair and intense, bright grayeyesthatregardmeshrewdly.It takes a moment for me tofindmyvoice.Um.ActuallyImutter.

Ifthisguyisoverthirty,thenIm a monkeys uncle. In adaze, I placemy hand in hisandweshake.Asourfingerstouch, I feel an oddexhilarating shiver runthrough me. I withdraw my

hand hastily, embarrassed.Mustbestatic.Iblinkrapidly,my eyelids matching myheartrate.Miss Kavanagh is

indisposed, so she sentme. Ihope you dont mind, Mr.Grey.And you are? His voice

is warm, possibly amused,but its difficult to tell fromhis impassive expression.Helooks mildly interested but,aboveall,polite.

Anastasia Steele. Imstudying English literaturewith Kate, um KatherineumMissKavanagh, atWSUVancouver.I see, he says simply. I

think I see the ghost of asmile in his expression, butImnotsure.Would you like to sit?

He waves me toward an L-shapedwhiteleathercouch.His office is way too big

for just oneman. In front of

the floor-to-ceiling windows,theres a modern dark wooddesk that six people couldcomfortably eat around. Itmatches the coffee table bythe couch.Everything else iswhiteceiling, floors, andwalls, except for thewall bythe door, where a mosaic ofsmall paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in asquare.Theyareexquisiteaseries of mundane, forgottenobjects painted in such

precise detail they look likephotographs. Displayedtogether, they arebreathtaking.A local artist. Trouton,

says Grey when he catchesmygaze.Theyre lovely. Raising

the ordinary toextraordinary, I murmur,distracted both by him andthe paintings. He cocks hishead to one side and regardsmeintently.

I couldnt agree more,Miss Steele, he replies, hisvoice soft, and for someinexplicable reason I findmyselfblushing.Apart from the paintings,

the rest of the office is cold,clean, and clinical. I wonderifitreflectsthepersonalityofthe Adonis who sinksgracefully into one of thewhite leather chairs oppositeme. I shake my head,disturbed at the direction of

my thoughts, and retrieveKates questions from mybackpack. Next, I set up thedigital recorder and am allfingersand thumbs,droppingittwiceonthecoffeetableinfront of me. Mr. Grey saysnothing, waiting patientlyIhopeas I becomeincreasingly embarrassed andflustered. When I pluck upthe courage to look at him,hes watching me, one handrelaxed in his lap and the

other cupping his chin andtrailing his long index fingeracross his lips. I think hestryingtosuppressasmile.S-sorry, I stutter. Im

notusedtothis.Take all the time you

need,MissSteele,hesays.Do you mind if I record

youranswers?After youve taken so

much trouble to set up therecorder,youaskmenow?I flush.Hes teasingme? I

hope. I blink at him, unsurewhat to say, and I think hetakes pity on me because herelents.No,Idontmind.Did Kate, I mean, Miss

Kavanagh, explain what theinterviewwasfor?Yes. To appear in the

graduation issue of thestudent newspaper as I shallbe conferring the degrees atthis years graduationceremony.Oh! This is news to me,

and Im temporarilypreoccupied by the thoughtthat someonenotmucholderthan meokay, maybe sixyearsor so, andokay,mega-successful,butstillisgoingto present me with mydegree.Ifrown,draggingmywaywardattentionbacktothetaskathand.Good. I swallow

nervously. I have somequestions, Mr. Grey. Ismooth a stray lock of hair

behindmyear.I thought you might, he

says, deadpan.Hes laughingatme.Mycheeksheatat therealization, and I sit up andsquare my shoulders in anattempt to look taller andmore intimidating. Pressingthe start button on therecorder, I try to lookprofessional.Youre very young to

haveamassedsuchanempire.To what do you owe your

success?Iglanceupathim.His smile is rueful, but helooksvaguelydisappointed.Business is all about

people,Miss Steele, and Imverygoodatjudgingpeople.Iknow how they tick, whatmakes them flourish, whatdoesnt, what inspires them,andhow to incentivize them.Iemployanexceptionalteam,and I reward themwell.Hepauses and fixesmewithhisgray stare. My belief is to

achieve success in anyscheme one has to makeoneself master of thatscheme, know it inside andout,knoweverydetail.Iworkhard, very hard to do that. Imake decisions based onlogic and facts. I have anatural gut instinct that canspotandnurtureagoodsolididea and good people. Thebottom line is its alwaysdowntogoodpeople.Maybeyourejustlucky.

This isntonKates listbuthes so arrogant. His eyesflaremomentarilyinsurprise.I dont subscribe to luck

or chance, Miss Steele. TheharderIworkthemoreluckIseem to have. It really is allabouthavingtherightpeopleon your team and directingtheir energies accordingly. IthinkitwasHarveyFirestonewho said, The growth anddevelopment of people is thehighest calling of

leadership.You sound like a control

freak. Thewords are out ofmy mouth before I can stopthem.Oh, I exercise control in

all things, Miss Steele, hesayswithoutatraceofhumorin his smile. I look at him,and he holds my gazesteadily, impassive. Myheartbeat quickens, and myfaceflushesagain.Whydoeshehavesuchan

unnerving effect on me? Hisoverwhelming good looksmaybe? The way his eyesblaze at me? The way hestrokes his index fingeragainst his lower lip? I wishhedstopdoingthat.Besides, immense power

is acquired by assuringyourself in your secretreveriesthatyouwereborntocontrol things,hecontinues,hisvoicesoft.Doyoufeelthatyouhave

immense power? Controlfreak.I employ over forty

thousandpeople,MissSteele.Thatgivesmeacertainsenseof responsibilitypower, ifyouwill.IfIweretodecideIwas no longer interested inthe telecommunicationsbusiness and sell, twentythousand people wouldstruggle to make theirmortgage payments after amonthorso.

My mouth drops open. Iam staggered by his lack ofhumility.Dontyouhaveaboardto

answerto?Iask,disgusted.I own my company. I

dont have to answer to aboard.Heraisesaneyebrowat me. Of course, I wouldknowthisifIhaddonesomeresearch. But holy crap, hesarrogant.Ichangetack.And do you have any

interestsoutsideyourwork?

I have varied interests,Miss Steele. A ghost of asmile touches his lips. Veryvaried.Andforsomereason,Im confounded and heatedby his steady gaze. His eyesare alight with some wickedthought.But if you work so hard,

whatdoyoudotochillout?Chill out? He smiles,

revealing perfectwhite teeth.I stop breathing.He really isbeautiful. No one should be

thisgood-looking.Well,tochillout,asyou

put itI sail, I fly, I indulgein various physical pursuits.He shifts inhis chair. Imavery wealthy man, MissSteele, and I have expensiveandabsorbinghobbies.I glance quickly at Kates

questions, wanting to get offthissubject.You invest in

manufacturing. Why,specifically? I ask. Why

does he make me souncomfortable?I like to build things. I

like to know how thingswork:whatmakesthingstick,how to construct anddeconstruct. And I have alove of ships. What can Isay?That sounds like your

hearttalkingratherthanlogicandfacts.His mouth quirks up, and

hestaresappraisinglyatme.

Possibly. Though therearepeoplewhod say I donthaveaheart.Why would they say

that?Because they know me

well. His lip curls in a wrysmile.Would your friends say

youreeasy toget toknow?And I regret the question assoon as I say it. Its not onKateslist.Imaveryprivateperson,

MissSteele. I goa longwaytoprotectmyprivacy.IdontoftengiveinterviewsWhy did you agree to do

thisone?Because Im a benefactor

of the university, and for allintents and purposes, Icouldnt get Miss Kavanaghoff my back. She badgeredand badgeredmyPR people,and I admire that kind oftenacity.IknowhowtenaciousKate

canbe.ThatswhyImsittinghere squirminguncomfortably under hispenetrating gaze, when Ishould be studying for myexams.You also invest in

farming technologies. Whyare you interested in thatarea?Wecanteatmoney,Miss

Steele, and there are toomany people on this planetwho dont have enough to

eat.That sounds very

philanthropic. Is it somethingyou feel passionately about?Feedingtheworldspoor?Heshrugsnoncommittally.Its shrewd business, he

murmurs, thoughI thinkhesbeingdisingenuous.Itdoesntmake sensefeeding theworlds poor? I cant see thefinancial benefit of this, onlythe virtue of the ideal. Iglance at the next question,

confusedbyhisattitude.Do you have a

philosophy?Ifso,whatisit?Idonthaveaphilosophy

as such. Maybe a guidingprincipleCarnegies: Amanwho acquires the abilityto take full possession of hisown mind may takepossessionofanythingelsetowhich he is justly entitled.Im very singular, driven. Ilike controlof myself andthosearoundme.

So you want to possessthings? You are a controlfreak.I want to deserve to

possessthem,butyes,bottomline,Ido.You sound like the

ultimateconsumer.I am.He smiles, but the

smile doesnt touch his eyes.Again, this is at odds withsomeone who wants to feedthe world, so I cant helpthinking that were talking

aboutsomethingelse,butImmystified as to what it is. Iswallow hard. Thetemperature in the room isrising,ormaybeitsjustme.Ijustwant this interviewtobeover.SurelyKatehasenoughmaterial now. I glance at thenextquestion.You were adopted. How

much do you think thatsshapedthewayyouare?Oh,thisispersonal.Istareathim,hopinghesnotoffended.His

browfurrows.I have no way of

knowing.My interest is piqued.

Howoldwereyouwhenyouwereadopted?Thats a matter of public

record,MissSteele.Histoneisstern.Crap.Yes,ofcourseif Id known I was doingthis interview, I would havedone some research.Flustered,Imoveonquickly.Youve had to sacrifice

familylifeforyourwork.Thats not a question.

Hesterse.Sorry. I squirm; hes

made me feel like an errantchild. I try again. Have youhadtosacrificefamilylifeforyourwork?I have a family. I have a

brother and a sister and twoloving parents. Im notinterested in extending myfamilybeyondthat.Areyougay,Mr.Grey?

He inhales sharply, and Icringe,mortified.Crap.WhydidntIemploysomekindoffilter before I read thisstraight out? How can I tellhim Im just reading thequestions? Damn Kate andhercuriosity!No, Anastasia, Im not.

He raises his eyebrows, acool gleam in his eyes. Hedoesnotlookpleased.I apologize. Its,

umwritten here. Its the

first timehessaidmyname.Myheartbeathasaccelerated,andmycheeksareheatingupagain. Nervously, I tuck myloosenedhairbehindmyear.He cocks his head to one

side.These arent your own

questions?The blood drains frommy

head.Er no. KateMiss

Kavanaghshe compiled thequestions.

Areyoucolleaguesonthestudentpaper?Ohno.Ihavenothingtodowiththestudentpaper. Itsher extracurricularactivity,notmine.Myfaceisaflame.No.Shesmyroommate.He rubs his chin in quiet

deliberation, his gray eyesappraisingme.Did you volunteer to do

this interview? he asks, hisvoicedeadlyquiet.Hang on, whos supposed

to be interviewing whom?His eyes burn into me, andImcompelledtoanswerwiththetruth.I was drafted. Shes not

well.Myvoice isweak andapologetic.That explains a great

deal.Theres a knock at the

door, and Blonde NumberTwoenters.Mr. Grey, forgiveme for

interrupting, but your next

meetingisintwominutes.Were not finished here,

Andrea. Please cancel mynextmeeting.Andreahesitates,gapingat

him. She appears lost. Heturns his head slowly to faceher and raises his eyebrows.She flushes bright pink.Oh,good.Itsnotjustme.Verywell,Mr.Grey,she

mutters, then exits. Hefrowns, and turns hisattentionbacktome.

Where were we, MissSteele?Oh, were back to Miss

Steelenow.Please, dont letme keep

youfromanything.Iwanttoknowaboutyou.

I think thats only fair. Hiseyesarealightwithcuriosity.Double crap. Wheres hegoingwiththis?Heplaceshiselbows on the arms of thechair and steeples his fingersin front of his mouth. His

mouthisverydistracting.Iswallow.Theres not much to

know.Whatareyourplansafter

yougraduate?I shrug, thrown by his

interest.Move toSeattlewithKate, find a job. I haventreally thought beyond myfinals.Ihaventmadeanyplans,

Mr. Grey. I just need to getthrough my final exams.

Which I should be studyingfor right now, rather thansitting in your palatial,swanky,sterileoffice,feelinguncomfortable under yourpenetratinggaze.We run an excellent

internship program here, hesays quietly. I raise myeyebrows in surprise. Is heofferingmeajob?Oh. Ill bear that in

mind, I murmur,confounded.ThoughImnot

sure Id fit in here. Oh no.Immusingoutloudagain.Whydoyousaythat?He

tilts his head to one side,intrigued, a hint of a smileplayingonhislips.Itsobvious,isntit?Im

uncoordinated, scruffy, andImnotblonde.Not to me. His gaze is

intense, all humor gone, andstrange muscles deep in mybelly clench suddenly. I tearmy eyes away from his

scrutiny and stare blindlydown at my knotted fingers.Whats going on? I have togonow. I lean forward toretrievetherecorder.Would you like me to

showyouaround?heasks.Im sure youre far too

busy,Mr.Grey,andIdohavealongdrive.Youre driving back to

Vancouver? He soundssurprised, anxious even. Heglances out of the window.

Its begun to rain. Well,youd better drive carefully.His tone is stern,authoritative.Why should hecare?Didyougeteverythingyouneed?headds.Yes,sir,Ireply,packing

the recorder into mybackpack. His eyes narrow,speculatively.Thank you for the

interview,Mr.Grey.The pleasures been all

mine,hesays,politeasever.

As I rise, he stands andholdsouthishand.Untilwemeetagain,Miss

Steele.And it sounds like achallenge,orathreat,Imnotsure which. I frown. Whenwill we ever meet again? Ishake his hand once more,astounded that that oddcurrent between us is stillthere.Itmustbemynerves.Mr. Grey. I nod at him.

Moving with lithe athleticgracetothedoor,heopensit

wide.Justensuringyoumake it

through the door, MissSteele.Hegivesmea smallsmile. Obviously, hesreferring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into hisoffice.Iblush.Thats very considerate,

Mr. Grey, I snap, and hissmile widens. Im glad youfindmeentertaining,Iglowerinwardly, walking into thefoyer. Im surprisedwhenhe

follows me out. Andrea andOlivia both look up, equallysurprised.Did you have a coat?

Greyasks.Ajacket.Olivia leaps up and

retrieves my jacket, whichGrey takes from her beforeshe can hand it to me. Heholds it up and, feelingridiculously self-conscious, Ishrug it on. Grey places hishands for a moment on my

shoulders. I gasp at thecontact. If he notices myreaction, he gives nothingaway. His long index fingerpresses the buttonsummoning the elevator, andwe stand waitingawkwardlyonmypart,coollyself-possessed on his. Thedoors open, and I hurry in,desperate to escape. I reallyneedtogetoutofhere.WhenI turn to look at him, hesgazing at me and leaning

against the doorway besidetheelevatorwithonehandonthe wall. He really is very,very good-looking. Itsunnerving.Anastasia, he says as a

farewell.Christian, I reply. And

mercifully,thedoorsclose.

CHAPTERTWO

My heart is pounding. Theelevator arrives on the firstfloor, and I scramble out assoonas thedoors slideopen,stumbling once butfortunately not sprawlingonto the immaculatesandstonefloor.Iraceforthe

wide glass doors, andsuddenly Im free in thebracing, cleansing, damp airofSeattle.Raisingmyface,Iwelcome the cool, refreshingrain.Iclosemyeyesandtakea deep, purifying breath,trying to recover whats leftofmyequilibrium.No man has ever affected

me the way Christian Greyhas,andIcannotfathomwhy.Is it his looks? His civility?Wealth? Power? I dont

understand my irrationalreaction. I breathe anenormoussighofrelief.Whatinheavensnamewasthatallabout?Leaningagainstoneofthe steel pillars of thebuilding, I valiantly attemptto calmdown andgathermythoughts. I shake my head.What was that? My heartsteadiestoitsregularrhythm,and when I can breathenormallyagainIheadfor thecar.

AS I LEAVE THE city limitsbehind,Ibegintofeelfoolishand embarrassed as I replaythe interview in my mind.Surely Im overreacting tosomething thats imaginary.Okay,sohesveryattractive,confident, commanding, ateasewithhimselfbutontheflip side, hes arrogant, andfor all his impeccablemanners, hes autocratic andcold.Well,onthesurface.Aninvoluntary shiver runsdown

my spine. He may bearrogant, but then he has aright to behesaccomplished so much atsuchayoungage.Hedoesntsuffer fools gladly, but whyshould he? Again, Imirritated thatKatedidntgivemeabriefbiography.While cruising toward

Interstate 5, my mindcontinues to wander. Imtruly perplexed as to whatmakes someone so driven to

succeed.Someofhisanswersweresocrypticasifhehadahidden agenda.AndKatesquestionsugh! Theadoptionandaskinghimifhewas gay! I shudder. I cantbelieve I said that. Ground,swallow me up now! Everytime I think of that questionin the future, I will cringewith embarrassment. DamnKatherineKavanagh!I check the speedometer.

Im driving more cautiously

than I would on any otheroccasion.AndIknowitsthememory of those penetratinggrayeyesgazingatmeandasternvoicetellingmetodrivecarefully.Shakingmyhead,Irealize that Greysmore likeamantwicehisage.Forget it, Ana, I scold

myself. I decide that, all inall, its been a veryinteresting experience, but Ishouldnt dwell on it. Put itbehind you. I never have to

see him again. Imimmediately cheered by thethought. I switch on thestereoandturnthevolumeuploud, sit back and listen tothumpingindierockmusicasI press down on theaccelerator.AsIhitInterstate5,IrealizeIcandriveasfastasIwant.

WE LIVE IN A smallcommunity of duplexapartments close to the

Vancouver campus of WSU.Im luckyKates parentsboughttheplaceforher,andIpaypeanutsforrent.Itsbeenhomeforfouryearsnow.AsIpull up outside, I knowKateis going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she istenacious. Well, at least shehas the digital recorder. Ihope I wont have toelaborate much beyond whatwassaidduringtheinterview.Ana! Youre back. Kate

sits in our living area,surrounded by books. Shesclearly been studying forfinalsshes still inherpinkflannel pajamas decoratedwith cute little rabbits, theones she reserves for theaftermathofbreakingupwithboyfriends, for assortedillnesses, and for generalmoody depression. Sheboundsuptomeandhugsmehard.Iwasbeginningtoworry.

Iexpectedyoubacksooner.Oh,IthoughtImadegood

time considering theinterview ran over. I wavethedigitalrecorderather.Ana, thank you so much

for doing this. I owe you, Iknow.Howwasit?Whatwashelike?Ohnoherewego,the Katherine KavanaghInquisition.I struggle to answer her

question.WhatcanIsay?Im glad its over and I

dont have to see him again.He was rather intimidating,you know. I shrug. Hesvery focused, intense evenandyoung.Reallyyoung.Kate gazes innocently at

me.Ifrown.Dont you look so

innocent. Why didnt yougive me a biography? Hemade me feel like such anidiot for skimping on basicresearch.Kate clamps a hand to her

mouth. Jeez,Ana, ImsorryIdidntthink.Ihuff.Mostly hewas courteous,

formal, slightly stuffylikehes old before his time. Hedoesnt talk like a man oftwentysomething.Howold ishe,anyway?Twenty-seven. Jeez, Ana,

Im sorry. I should havebriefedyou,butIwasinsucha panic. Let me have therecorder and Ill start

transcribingtheinterview.You look better. Did you

eatyoursoup?Iask,keentochangethesubject.Yes, and it was delicious

as usual. Im feeling muchbetter. She smiles at me ingratitude.Icheckmywatch.I have to run. I can still

makemyshiftatClaytons.Ana, youll be

exhausted.Ill be fine. Ill see you

later.

IVE WORKED AT CLAYTONSsince I started at WSU. Itsthe largest independenthardwarestoreinthePortlandarea, and over the four yearsIve worked here, Ive cometoknowalittlebitaboutmosteverythingwe sellalthoughironically, Im crap at anyDIY. I leave all that to mydad.

IMGLADICANmakemyshiftas it gives me something to

focus on that isnt ChristianGrey. Were busyits thestart of the summer season,and folks are redecoratingtheir homes. Mrs. Claytonlooksrelievedtoseeme.Ana! I thought you

werent going to make ittoday.My appointment didnt

take as long as I thought. Icandoacoupleofhours.Im real pleased to see

you.

She sends me to thestoreroom to start restockingshelves, and Im soonabsorbedinthetask.

WHEN I ARRIVE HOME later,Katherine is wearingheadphones and working onher laptop. Her nose is stillpink, but she has her teethinto a story, so shesconcentrating and typingfuriously. Im thoroughlydrained, exhausted by the

long drive, by the gruelinginterview, and by beingswamped at Claytons. Islump on to the couch,thinking about the essay Ihave to finish and all thestudyingIhaventdonetodaybecause I was holed upwithhim.Youve got some good

stuff here,Ana.Well done. Icant believe you didnt takehim up on his offer to showyou around. He obviously

wanted to spend more timewith you. She gives me afleetingquizzicallook.I flush, and my heart rate

inexplicably increases. Thatwasnt the reason, surely.Hejust wanted to show mearoundso Icouldsee thathewaslordofallhesurveyed.IrealizeImbitingmylip,andI hope Kate doesnt notice.But she seems absorbed inhertranscription.I hear what you mean

about formal. Did you takeanynotes?sheasks.Umno,Ididnt.Thats fine. I can still

make a fine articlewith this.Shame we dont have someoriginal stills. Good-lookingsonofabitch,isnthe?Isupposeso.Itryhardto

sound disinterested, and IthinkIsucceed.Oh, come on,Anaeven

you cant be immune to hislooks. She arches a perfect

eyebrowatme.Crap! I feel my cheeks

heating so I distract herwithflattery,alwaysagoodploy.Youprobablywouldhave

gotalotmoreoutofhim.I doubt that, Ana. Come

onhe practically offeredyouajob.GiventhatIfoistedthisonyouatthelastminute,you did very well. Sheglances up at mespeculatively. Imake a hastyretreatintothekitchen.

So what did you reallythink of him? Damn, shesinquisitive. Why cant shejust let this go? Think ofsomethingquick.Hes very driven,

controlling, arrogantscary,but very charismatic. I canunderstand thefascination, Iadd truthfully, hoping thiswillshutheruponceandforall.You,fascinatedbyaman?

Thatsafirst,shesnorts.

I start gathering themakingsofasandwichsoshecantseemyface.Why did you want to

know if he was gay?Incidentally, that was themostembarrassingquestion.Iwas mortified, and he waspissed to be asked, too. Iscowlatthememory.Whenever hes in the

societypages,heneverhasadate.It was embarrassing. The

whole thing wasembarrassing. Im glad Illneverhavetolayeyesonhimagain.Oh, Ana, it cant have

been that bad. I think hesoundsquitetakenwithyou.Taken with me? Now

Katesbeingridiculous.Would you like a

sandwich?Please.

WE TALK NO MORE of

Christian Grey that evening,much to my relief. Onceweveeaten,Imabletositatthe dining table with Kateand, while she works on herarticle,IworkonmyessayonTess of the dUrbervilles.Damn,thatwomanwasinthewrong place at the wrongtimeinthewrongcentury.Bythe time I finish, itsmidnight, and Kate has longsincegonetobed.Imakemyway to my room, exhausted,

but pleased that Iveaccomplished so much for aMonday.I curl up inmywhite iron

bed, wrap mymothers quiltaround me, close my eyes,andIminstantlyasleep.Thatnight I dreamofdarkplaces,bleak, cold white floors, andgrayeyes.

FORTHERESTOF theweek, Ithrowmyself intomystudiesandmyjobatClaytons.Kate

is busy, too, compiling herlast edition of the studentnewspaper before she has torelinquishittotheneweditorwhile also cramming for herfinals. By Wednesday, shesmuch better, and I no longerhave to endure the sight ofher pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call mymom inGeorgia to check onher,butalsososhecanwishme luck on my final exams.Sheproceedstotellmeabout

her latest venture intocandlemakingmymother isall about new businessventures. Fundamentally,shes bored and wantssomething to occupy hertime,butshehastheattentionspan of a goldfish. Itll besomething new next week.She worries me. I hope shehasntmortgagedthehousetofinance this latest scheme.And I hope Bobherrelativelynewbutmucholder

husbandis keeping an eyeonhernowthatImnolongerthere. He does seem a lotmoregroundedthanHusbandNumberThree.Howare thingswithyou,

Ana?For a moment, I hesitate,

and I have Moms fullattention.Imfine.Ana? Have you met

someone?Wowhowdoesshe do that? The excitementinhervoiceispalpable.

No, Mom, its nothing.YoullbethefirsttoknowifIdo.Ana, you really need to

get out more, honey. Youworryme.Mom, Im fine. Hows

Bob?As ever, distraction isthebestpolicy.Later that evening, I call

Ray, my stepdad, MomsHusband Number Two, themanIconsidermyfatherandthe man whose name I bear.

Its a brief conversation. Infact, its not so much aconversation as a one-sidedseriesofgruntsinresponsetomygentlecoaxing.Rayisnota talker. But hes still alive,hes still watching soccer onTV (and going bowling orfly-fishing, or makingfurniture,whenhesnot).Rayis a skilled carpenter and thereason I know the differencebetween a hawk and ahandsaw.Allseemswellwith

him.

FRIDAYNIGHT,KATEANDIaredebatingwhat todowithoureveningwewantsometimeofffromourstudies,fromourwork, and from studentnewspaperswhen thedoorbell rings. Standing onour doorstep is my goodfriend Jos clutching a bottleofchampagne.Jos!Great toseeyou!I

givehimaquickhug.Come

in.Jos is the first person I

met when I arrived atWSU,lookingaslostandlonelyasIdid.Werecognizedakindredspirit in each other that day,and weve been friends eversince.Notonlydoweshareasense of humor, but we alsodiscovered thatRayandJosSeniorwereinthesamearmyunittogether.Asaresult,ourfathers have become goodfriends,too.

Jos is studyingengineeringandisthefirstinhis family to make it tocollege. Hes pretty damnbright, buthis real passion isphotography.Joshasagreateyeforagoodpicture.I have news. He grins,

hisdarkeyestwinkling.Dont tell meyouve

managednottogetkickedoutfor another week, I tease,and he scowls playfully atme.

The Portland PlaceGalleryisgoingtoexhibitmyphotosnextmonth.Thats amazing

congratulations! Delightedfor him, I hug him again.Katebeamsathim,too.Waytogo,Jos!Ishould

putthisinthepaper.Nothinglike last-minute editorialchanges on a Fridayevening. She feignsannoyance.Lets celebrate. I want

youtocometotheopening.Jos looks intentlyatmeandI flush. Both of you, ofcourse, he adds, glancingnervouslyatKate.JosandIaregoodfriends,

but Iknowdeepdowninsidehed like to be more. Hescute and funny, but hes justnotforme.HesmorelikethebrotherIneverhad.Katherineoften teases me that Immissing the need-a-boyfriendgene, but the truth is I just

havent met anyonewho well, whom Imattracted to,even thoughpartof me longs for the fabledtremblingknees,heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-bellymoments.Sometimes I wonder if

theressomethingwrongwithme. Perhaps Ive spent toolong in the company of myliterary romantic heroes, andconsequently my ideals andexpectationsare far toohigh.

But in reality, nobodys evermademefeellikethat.Until very recently, the

unwelcome, still-small voiceofmysubconsciouswhispers.NO! I banish the thoughtimmediately. I am not goingthere, not after that painfulinterview. Are you gay, Mr.Grey?Iwinceatthememory.I know Ive dreamed abouthim most nights since then,but thats just to purge theawful experience from my

system,surely.I watch Jos open the

bottle of champagne. Hestall, and in his jeans and T-shirt, hes all shoulders andmuscles, tanned skin, darkhair, and burning dark eyes.Yes, Joss pretty hot, but Ithink hes finally getting themessage: were just friends.Thecorkmakesits loudpop,andJoslooksupandsmiles.

SATURDAYATTHE STORE isa

nightmare. We are besiegedby do-it-yourselfers wantingtospruceuptheirhomes.Mr.and Mrs. Clayton and Johnand Patrickthe two otherpart-timersand I arebesieged by customers. Buttheres a lull aroundlunchtime, and Mrs. Claytonasks me to check on someorders while Im sittingbehind the counter at theregister discreetly eating mybagel. Im engrossed in the

task, checking catalognumbersagainsttheitemsweneed and the items weveordered, eyes flicking fromthe order book to thecomputerscreenandbackasImake sure the entriesmatch.Then, for some reason, Iglanceupandfindmyselflocked in the bold gray gazeof Christian Grey, whosstanding at the counter,staringatme.Heartfailure.

Miss Steele. What apleasantsurprise.Hisgazeisunwaveringandintense.Holycrap.Whatthehellis

he doing here, looking alloutdoorsy with his tousledhairandinhiscreamchunky-knit sweater, jeans, andwalking boots? I think mymouthhaspoppedopen,andIcant locate my brain or myvoice.Mr. Grey, I whisper,

because thats all I can

manage.Theresaghostofasmileonhislipsandhiseyesare alight with humor, as ifhes enjoying some privatejoke.Iwasinthearea,hesays

by way of explanation. Ineed to stock up on a fewthings. Its a pleasure to seeyou again,Miss Steele. Hisvoiceiswarmandhuskylikedark melted chocolate fudgecaramelorsomething.I shakemy head to gather

my wits. My heart ispounding at a frantic tempo,and for some reason Imblushing furiously under hissteady scrutiny. I am utterlythrown by the sight of himstanding before me. Mymemories of him did not dohim justice. Hes not merelygood-lookinghes theepitome of male beauty,breathtaking, and hes here.Here in Claytons HardwareStore. Go figure. Finally my

cognitive functions arerestoredandreconnectedwiththerestofmybody.Ana. My names Ana, I

mutter.WhatcanIhelpyouwith,Mr.Grey?He smiles, and again its

like hes privy to some bigsecret. It is so disconcerting.Takingadeepbreath,IputonmyprofessionalIve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years faade.Icandothis.There are a few items I

need. To start with, Id likesome cable ties, hemurmurs,hisexpressionbothcoolandamused.Cableties?Westockvarious lengths.

Shall I show you? Imutter,my voice soft and wavering.Getagrip,Steele.AslightfrownmarsGreys

rather lovely brow. Please.Lead the way, Miss Steele,hesays.ItryfornonchalanceasIcomeoutfrombehindthe

counter, but really Imconcentrating hard on notfalling over my own feetmy legs are suddenly theconsistency of Jell-O. Im soglad I decided to wear mybestjeansthismorning.Theyrewiththeelectrical

goods,aisleeight.Myvoiceis a little too bright. I glanceupathimandregretitalmostimmediately. Damn, heshandsome.After you, he murmurs,

gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifullymanicuredhand.With my heart almost

strangling mebecause itsinmy throat trying to escapefrom my mouthI headdownoneof theaisles to theelectrical section.Why is hein Portland?Why is he hereat Claytons? And from avery tiny, underused part ofmy brainprobably locatedat the base of my medulla

oblongata near where mysubconscious dwellscomesthe thought:Heshere to seeyou. No way! I dismiss itimmediately.Whywouldthisbeautiful, powerful, urbaneman want to see me? Theidea is preposterous, and Ikickitoutofmyhead.Are you in Portland on

business? I ask, and myvoiceistoohigh,likeIvegotmyfingertrappedinadoororsomething.Damn! Try to be

cool,Ana!I was visiting the WSU

farmingdivision.ItsbasedinVancouver. Im currentlyfunding some research therein crop rotation and soilscience, he says matter-of-factly.See? Not here to findyou at all, my subconscioussneersatme,loud,proud,andpouty. I flush at my foolish,waywardthoughts.All part of your feed-the-

worldplan?Itease.

Something like that, heacknowledges, and his lipsquirkupinahalfsmile.Hegazesattheselectionof

cable ties we stock atClaytons. What on Earth ishe going to dowith those? Icannotpicturehimasado-it-yourselfer at all. His fingerstrail across the variouspackages displayed, and forsome inexplicable reason, Ihave to lookaway.Hebendsandselectsapacket.

These will do, he sayswithhisoh-so-secretsmile.Isthereanythingelse?Id like some masking

tape.Maskingtape?Are you redecorating?

The words are out before Icanstopthem.Surelyhehireslaborers or has staff to helphimdecorate?No, not redecorating, he

saysquickly,thensmirks,andI have the uncanny feeling

thatheslaughingatme.Am I that funny? Funny

looking?This way, I murmur,

embarrassed. Masking tapeisinthedecoratingaisle.I glance behind me as he

follows.Have you worked here

long?His voice is low, andhes gazing at me,concentrating hard. I blushbrightly. Why the hell doeshe have this effect on me? I

feel like Im fourteen yearsoldgauche, as always, andout of place. Eyes front,Steele!Four years, I mutter as

wereachourgoal.Todistractmyself, I reach down andselect the two widths ofmaskingtapethatwestock.Ill take that one, Grey

says softly, pointing to thewider tape, which I pass tohim. Our fingers brush verybriefly, and the current is

there again, zapping throughme like Ive touched anexposed wire. I gaspinvoluntarily as I feel it allthe way down to somewheredarkandunexplored,deep inmy belly. Desperately, Iscrabble around for myequilibrium.Anythingelse?Myvoice

is husky and breathy. Hiseyeswidenslightly.Some rope, I think. His

voicemirrorsmine,husky.

This way. I duck myhead down to hide myrecurring blush and movetowardtheaisle.Whatsortwereyouafter?

We have synthetic andnatural filamentrope twine cablecord I halt at hisexpression, his eyesdarkening.Holycow.Ill take five yards of the

naturalfilamentrope,please.Quickly, with trembling

fingers, I measure out fiveyards against the fixed ruler,aware that his hot gray gazeis on me. I dare not look athim. Jeez, could I feel anymore self-conscious? Takingmy Stanley knife from thebackpocketofmyjeans,Icutit then coil it neatly beforetyingitinaslipknot.Bysomemiracle, I manage not toremove a finger with myknife.Were you a Girl Scout?

he asks, sculptured, sensuallips curled in amusement.Dontlookathismouth!Organizedgroupactivities

arent really my thing, Mr.Grey.Hearchesabrow.What is your thing,

Anastasia?heasks,hisvoicesoft, and his secret smile isback.Igazeathim,unabletoexpress myself. Im onshiftingtectonicplates.Trytobe cool, Ana, my tortured

subconsciousbegsonbendedknee.Books, I whisper, but

inside, my subconscious isscreaming:You! You are mything!Islapitdowninstantly,mortified that my psyche ishaving ideas way out of itsleague.Whatkindofbooks?He

cocks his head to one side.Whyishesointerested?Oh,youknow.Theusual.

The classics. British

literature,mainly.He rubs his chin with his

long index finger and thumbas he contemplates myanswer. Or perhaps hes justveryboredandtryingtohideit.Anythingelseyouneed?

I have to get off this subjectthose fingers on that facearebeguiling.I dont know. What else

wouldyourecommend?WhatwouldIrecommend?

I dont even know whatyouredoing.Forado-it-yourselfer?He nods, his eyes alive

with wicked humor. I flush,and my gaze strays to hissnugjeans.Coveralls, I reply, and I

knowImnolongerscreeningwhats coming out of mymouth.He raises an eyebrow,

amusedyetagain.You wouldnt want to

ruinyourclothing. Igesturevaguelyinthedirectionofhisjeans.I could always take them

off.Hesmirks.Um. I feel the color in

my cheeks rising again. Imust be the color of TheCommunist Manifesto. Stoptalking.StoptalkingNOW.Ill take some coveralls.

Heaven forbid I should ruinanyclothing,hesaysdryly.I try to dismiss the

unwelcome image of himwithoutjeans.Do you need anything

else?IsqueakasIhandhimthebluecoveralls.Heignoresmyinquiry.Hows the article coming

along?Hes finally asked me an

easy question, away from allthe innuendo and theconfusing double-talk aquestionIcananswer.Igraspittightlywithtwohandsasif

itwerealiferaft,andIgoforhonesty.Im not writing it,

Katherineis.MissKavanagh.My roommate, shes thewriter.Shesveryhappywithit. Shes the editor of thenewspaper, and she wasdevastated that she couldntdotheinterviewinperson.Ifeel likeIvecomeupforairat last, a normal topic ofconversation. Her onlyconcern is that she doesnt

have any originalphotographsofyou.What sort of photographs

doesshewant?Okay. I hadnt factored in

this response. I shake myhead, because I just dontknow.Well, Im around.

Tomorrow,perhapsYoud be willing to do a

photo shoot? My voice issqueaky again. Kate will beinseventhheavenifIcanpull

this off. And you might seehim again tomorrow, thatdark place at the base ofmybrainwhispers seductively atme.Idismissthethoughtofallthesilly,ridiculousKatewillbedelightedif

wecan findaphotographer.Imsopleased,Ismileathimbroadly. His lips part, likehes taking a sharp intake ofbreath, and he blinks. For afractionofasecond,helookslost somehow, and the Earth

shifts slightly on its axis, thetectonic plates sliding into anewposition.Oh my. Christian Greys

lostlook.Let me know about

tomorrow.Reachingintohisback pocket, he pulls out hiswallet. My card. It has mycellnumberonit.Youllneedto call before ten in themorning.Okay. I grin up at him.

Kateisgoingtobethrilled.

Ana!Paulhasmaterializedatthe

other end of the aisle. HesMr. Claytons youngestbrother. Id heard he washome from Princeton, but Iwasnt expecting to see himtoday.Er, excuse me for a

moment, Mr. Grey. Greyfrowns as I turn away fromhim.Paul has always been a

buddy, and in this strange

momentthatImhavingwiththe rich, powerful,awesomely off-the-chartsattractive control freak Grey,its great to talk to someonewhos normal. Paul hugsmehard,takingmebysurprise.Ana, hi, its so good to

seeyou!hegushes.Hello,Paul,howareyou?

You home for your brothersbirthday?Yep.Yourelookingwell,

Ana,reallywell.Hegrinsas

he examines me at armslength. Then he releases mebut keeps a possessive armdraped over my shoulder. Ishuffle from foot to foot,embarrassed. Itsgood to seePaul, but hes always beenoverfamiliar.When I glance up at

ChristianGrey,heswatchingus like a hawk, his eyeshooded and speculative, hismouthahard,impassiveline.Hes changed from the

weirdly attentive customer tosomeoneelsesomeonecoldanddistant.Paul,Imwithacustomer.

Someoneyoushouldmeet,Isay, trying to defuse theantagonism I see in Greysexpression. I drag Paul overto meet him, and they sizeeach other up. Theatmosphere is suddenlyarctic.Er, Paul, this is Christian

Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul

Clayton.Hisbrotherownstheplace. And for someirrationalreason,IfeelIhavetoexplainabitmore.Ive known Paul ever

since Ive worked here,though we dont see eachother that often. Hes backfrom Princeton, where hesstudying businessadministration. ImbabblingStopnow!Mr.Clayton.Grey holds

his hand out, his look

unreadable.Mr. Grey. Paul returns

hishandshake.Waitupnotthe Christian Grey? Of GreyEnterprises Holdings? Paulgoes fromsurly toawestruckin less than a nanosecond.Greygiveshimapolitesmilethatdoesntreachhiseyes.WowisthereanythingI

cangetyou?Anastasia has it covered,

Mr.Clayton.Shesbeenveryattentive. His expression is

impassive, but hiswordsitslikehessayingsomething else entirely. Itsbaffling.Cool, Paul responds.

Catchyoulater,Ana.Sure, Paul. I watch him

disappear toward thestockroom. Anything else,Mr.Grey?Justtheseitems.Histone

is clipped and cool.Damn have I offendedhim?Takingadeepbreath, I

turnandheadfortheregister.Whatishisproblem?I ring up the rope,

coveralls, masking tape, andcableties.That will be forty-three

dollars,please.IglanceupatGrey, and I wish I hadnt.Hes watching me closely,intently.Itsunnerving.Wouldyou likeabag? I

askasItakehiscreditcard.Please, Anastasia. His

tongue caresses my name,

and my heart once again isfrantic. I can hardly breathe.Hurriedly, I place hispurchasesinaplasticbag.Youllcallmeifyouwant

me to do the photo shoot?Hesallbusinessoncemore.Inod, rendered speechless yetagain, and hand back hiscreditcard.Good. Until tomorrow,

perhaps. He turns to leave,then pauses. OhandAnastasia, Im glad Miss

Kavanagh couldnt do theinterview. He smiles, thenstrideswith renewed purposeout of the store, slinging theplasticbagoverhisshoulder,leavingme a quiveringmassof raging femalehormones. Ispendseveralminutesstaringat the closed door throughwhich hes just left before IreturntoplanetEarth.OkayI like him. There,

Ive admitted it to myself. Icannothidefrommyfeelings

anymore. Ive never felt likethis before. I find himattractive,veryattractive.Butitsalostcause,Iknow,andIsighwithbittersweetregret.Itwas just a coincidence, hiscoming here. But still, I canadmirehimfromafar,surely.No harm can come of that.And if I findaphotographer,I can do some seriousadmiringtomorrow.Ibitemylip in anticipation and findmyself grinning like a

schoolgirl. I need to phoneKate and organize a photoshoot.

CHAPTERTHREE

Kateisecstatic.Butwhatwashedoingat

Claytons? Her curiosityoozesthroughthephone.Imin the depths of thestockroom,tryingtokeepmyvoicecasual.

Hewasinthearea.I think that is one huge

coincidence, Ana. You dontthink he was there to seeyou?Myheartlurchesattheprospect,butitsashort-livedjoy. The dull, disappointingreality is thathewashereonbusiness.He was visiting the

farming division of WSU.Hesfundingsomeresearch,Imutter.Oh yes. Hes given the

department a $2.5 milliongrant.Wow.Howdoyouknowthis?Ana,Imajournalist,and

Ive written a profile on theguy. Its my job to knowthis.Okay, Carla Bernstein,

keepyourhairon.Sodoyouwantthesephotos?Of course I do. The

questionis,whosgoingtodothemandwhere.Wecouldaskhimwhere.

He says hes staying in thearea.Youcancontacthim?I have his cell phone

number.Kategasps.The richest,most elusive,

most enigmatic bachelor inWashington State just gaveyouhiscellphonenumber?Eryes.Ana! He likes you. No

doubt about it. Her tone isemphatic.

Kate,hesjusttryingtobenice. But even as I say thewords, I know theyre nottrueChristian Grey doesntdo nice. He does polite,maybe. And a small, quietvoicewhispers,PerhapsKateisright.My scalp prickles atthe idea that maybe, justmaybe, he might like me.After all, he did say he wasglad Kate didnt do theinterview. I hug myself withquiet glee, rocking from side

to side, entertaining thepossibility that hemight likeme. Kate brings me back tothenow.I dont know who well

get todotheshoot.Levi,ourregular photographer, cant.Heshome in IdahoFalls fortheweekend.Hell be pissedthatheblewanopportunitytophotographoneofAmericasleadingentrepreneurs.Hmm What about

Jos?

Great idea! You ask himhell do anything for you.Then call Grey and find outwhere he wants us. Kate isirritatingly cavalier aboutJos.I think you should call

him.Who,Jos?Katescoffs.No,Grey.Ana, youre the one with

therelationship.Relationship?Isqueakat

her, my voice rising several

octaves. I barely know theguy.Atleastyouvemethim,

she says bitterly. And itlooks like he wants to knowyou better. Ana, just callhim,shesnapsandhangsup.She is so bossy sometimes. Ifrownatmycell,stickingmytongueoutatit.Imjust leavingamessage

forJoswhenPaulentersthestockroom looking forsandpaper.

Were kind of busy outthere, Ana, he says withoutacrimony.Yeah, um, sorry, I

mutter,turningtoleave.So, how come you know

ChristianGrey?Paulsvoiceisunconvincinglynonchalant.Ihadtointerviewhimfor

our student newspaper. Katewasnt well. I shrug, tryingtosoundcasualanddoingnobetterthanhim.Christian Grey in

Claytons. Go figure, Paulsnorts,amazed.Heshakeshishead as if to clear it.Anyway, want to grab adrink or something thisevening?Whenever hes home he

asks me on a date, and Ialways say no. Its a ritual.Ive never considered it agood idea to date the bosssbrother, and besides, Paul iscute in a wholesome all-Americanboy-next-doorkind

of way, but hes no literaryhero,notbyanystretchoftheimagination. Is Grey? mysubconscious asks me, hereyebrowfigurativelyraised.Islapherdown.Dont you have a family

dinner or something for yourbrother?Thatstomorrow.Maybe some other time,

Paul. Ineed to study tonight.Ihavemyfinalsnextweek.Ana, one of these days

youll sayyes.HesmilesasIescapetothestorefloor.

BUT I DO PLACES, Ana, notpeople,Josgroans.Jos, please? I beg. I

pace the living room of ourapartment, clutching my cellandstaringoutthewindowatthefadingeveninglight.Give me that phone.

Kate grabs the handset fromme, tossing her silkenreddish-blond hair over her

shoulder.Listen here, Jos

Rodriguez, if you want ournewspaper to cover theopeningofyour show,youlldo this shoot for ustomorrow, capiche? Katecan be awesomely tough.Good. Ana will call backwith the locationand thecalltime. Well see youtomorrow.Shesnapsmycellphoneoff.Sorted.Allweneedtodo

now is decide where andwhen. Call him. She holdsthe phone out to me. Mystomach twists. Call Grey,now!I scowl at her and reach

into my back pocket for hisbusiness card. I take a deep,steadying breath, and withshaking fingers, I dial thenumber.He answers on the second

ring. His tone is clipped,calm,andcold.

Grey.Er Mr. Grey? Its

Anastasia Steele. I dontrecognizemyownvoice,Imso nervous. Theres a briefpause.InsideImquaking.Miss Steele.How nice to

hearfromyou.Hisvoicehaschanged. Hes surprised, Ithink, and he soundssowarmseductiveeven.My breath hitches, and Iflush.Imsuddenlyconsciousthat Katherine Kavanagh is

staring at me, her mouthopen, and I dart into thekitchen to avoid herunwantedscrutiny.Umwed like to go

ahead with the photo shootforthearticle.Breathe,Ana,breathe. My lungs drag in ahasty breath. Tomorrow, ifthats okay.Wherewould beconvenientforyou,sir?I can almost hear his

sphinxlike smile through thephone.

Im staying at theHeathman in Portland. Shallwe say nine thirty tomorrowmorning?Okay, well see you

there. I am all gushing andbreathylike a child, not agrown woman who can voteand drink legally in the stateofWashington.I look forward to it,Miss

Steele. I visualize thewicked gleam in his eyes.Howcanhemakesevenlittle

words hold so muchtantalizing promise? I hangup.Kateisinthekitchen,andshes staring at me with alook of complete and utterconsternationonherface.Anastasia Rose Steele.

Youlikehim!Iveneverseenor heard youso so affected byanyone before. Youreactuallyblushing.Oh, Kate, you know I

blush all the time. Its an

occupationalhazardwithme.Dont be ridiculous, I snap.SheblinksatmewithsurpriseIveryrarelyhavehissyfitsand I briefly relent. I justfind him intimidating,thatsall.Heathman, that figures,

mutters Kate. Ill give themanager a call and negotiateaspacefortheshoot.Ill make supper. Then I

need to study. I cannothidemy irritation with her as I

openoneof thecupboards tomakesupper.

I AM RESTLESS THAT night,tossingandturning,dreamingof smoky gray eyes,coveralls, long legs, longfingers, and dark, darkunexplored places. I waketwice in the night, my heartpounding. Oh, Im going tolookjustgreattomorrowwithsolittlesleep,Iscoldmyself.Ipunchmypillowand try to

settle.

THEHEATHMANISNESTLEDinthe heart of downtownPortland. Its impressivebrown stone edifice wascompletedjustintimeforthecrashof the late1920s. Jos,Travis, and I are traveling inmyBeetle,andKateisinherCLK,sincewecantallfitinmycar.TravisisJossfriendand gopher, here to help outwith the lighting. Kate has

managedtoacquiretheuseofa roomat theHeathman freeof charge for themorning inexchange for a credit in thearticle.When she explains atreception that were here tophotograph Christian Grey,CEO, we are instantlyupgraded to a suite. Just aregular-sized suite, however,as apparently Mr. Grey isalreadyoccupying the largestoneinthebuilding.Anover-keen marketing executive

shows us up to the suitehes terribly young and verynervous for some reason. Isuspect Kates beauty andcommanding manner disarmhim,becausehesputtyinherhands.Theroomsareelegant,understated, and opulentlyfurnished.Its nine.We have half an

hour tosetup.Kate is infullflow.Jos, I think well shoot

against that wall, do you

agree? She doesnt wait forhis reply. Travis, clear thechairs. Ana, could you askhousekeeping to bring upsome refreshments? And letGreyknowwhereweare.Yes, mistress. She is so

domineering. I roll my eyesbutdoasImtold.Half an hour later,

ChristianGreywalksintooursuite.Holycrap!Heswearinga

whiteshirt,openatthecollar,

and gray flannel pants thathang from his hips. Hisunrulyhairisstilldampfromashower.Mymouthgoesdrylooking at him hes sofreakinghot.Greyisfollowedintothesuitebyamaninhismid-thirties, all buzz cut andstubble in a sharp dark suitandtiewhostandssilentlyinthe corner. His hazel eyeswatchusimpassively.Miss Steele, we meet

again. Grey extends his

hand,andIshakeit,blinkingrapidly.OhmyhereallyisquiteAsI touchhishand,Im aware of that deliciouscurrent running right throughme, lighting me up, makingme blush, and Im sure myerratic breathing must beaudible.Mr. Grey, this is

Katherine Kavanagh, Imutter,wavingahandtowardKate, who comes forward,looking him squarely in the

eye.The tenacious Miss

Kavanagh.Howdoyoudo?He gives her a small smile,lookinggenuinelyamused.Itrust youre feeling better?Anastasia said you wereunwelllastweek.Im fine, thank you, Mr.

Grey. She shakes his handfirmly without batting aneyelid. I remind myself thatKate has been to the bestprivate schools in

Washington. Her family hasmoney, and shes grown upconfident and sure of herplace in the world. Shedoesnttakeanycrap.Iaminaweofher.Thank you for taking the

time to do this. She giveshim a polite, professionalsmile.Its a pleasure, he

answers, turning his gaze onme, and I flush again.Damnit.

This is Jos Rodriguez,our photographer, I say,grinning at Jos, who smileswithaffectionbackatme.HiseyescoolwhenhelooksfrommetoGrey.Mr.Grey.Henods.Mr. Rodriguez. Greys

expressionchanges,too,asheappraisesJos.Where would you like

me?Greyaskshim.Histonesounds vaguely threatening.ButKatherine isnotabout to

letJosruntheshow.Mr. Greyif you could

sithere,please?Becarefulofthe lighting cables.And thenwelldoafewstanding,too.Shedirectshimtoachairsetupagainstthewall.Travis switches on the

lights, momentarily blindingGrey, and mutters anapology. Then Travis and IstandbackandwatchasJosproceeds to snap away. Hetakes several photographs

handheld,askingGreytoturnthis way, then that, to movehis arm, then put it downagain. Moving to the tripod,Jos takes several more,while Grey sits and poses,patiently and naturally, forabout twenty minutes. Mywish has come true: I canstand and admire Grey fromnot so afar. Twice our eyeslock, and I have to tearmyselfawayfromhiscloudygaze.

Enough sitting.Katherine wades in again.Standing, Mr. Grey? sheasks.He stands, and Travis

scurries in to remove thechair. The shutter on JossNikonstartsclickingagain.I thinkwe have enough,

Jos announces five minuteslater.Great,saysKate.Thank

you again, Mr. Grey. Sheshakeshishand,asdoesJos.

I look forward to readingthe article, Miss Kavanagh,murmurs Grey, and turns tome, standing by the door.Will you walk with me,MissSteele?heasks.Sure, I say, completely

thrown. IglanceanxiouslyatKate, who shrugs at me. Inotice Jos scowling behindher.Gooddaytoyouall,says

Grey as he opens the door,standing aside to allow me

outfirst.Holy hell whats this

about?Whatdoeshewant? Ipause in the hotel corridor,fidgeting nervously as Greyemerges from the roomfollowedbyMr.BuzzCut inhissharpsuit.Ill call you, Taylor, he

murmurstoBuzzCut.Taylorwanders back down thecorridor, and Grey turns hisburning gray gaze to me.Crap have I done

somethingwrong?I wondered if you would

join me for coffee thismorning.My heart slams into my

mouth. A date? ChristianGrey isaskingmeonadate.Hes asking if you want acoffee.Maybe he thinks youhavent woken up yet, mysubconsciouswhinesatmeinasneeringmoodagain.Iclearmy throat, trying to controlmynerves.

I have to drive everyonehome, I murmurapologetically, twisting myhands and fingers in front ofme.Taylor,hecalls,making

me jump. Taylor, who hadbeen retreating down thecorridor,turnsandheadsbacktowardus.Are they based at the

university? Grey asks, hisvoice soft and inquiring. Inod,toostunnedtospeak.

Taylor can take them.Hes my driver. We have alarge 4x4 here, so hell beable to take the equipment,too.Mr. Grey? Taylor asks

when he reaches us, givingnothingaway.Please, can you drive the

photographer, his assistant,and Miss Kavanagh backhome?Certainly, sir, Taylor

replies.

There. Now can you joinme for coffee? Grey smilesasifitsadonedeal.Ifrown.UmMr. Grey, erthis

reallylook,Taylordoesnthave to drive them home. Iflash a brief look at Taylor,who remains stoicallyimpassive.Illswapvehicleswith Kate, if you give me amoment.Grey smiles a dazzling,

unguarded, natural, all-teeth-

showing, glorious smile. OhmyHe opens the door ofthe suite so I can go in. Iscoot around him to reenterthe room, finding KatherineindeepdiscussionwithJos.Ana, I think he definitely

likes you, she says with nopreamble whatsoever. Josglaresatmewithdisapproval.But I dont trust him, sheadds. I raise my hand up inthe hope that shell stoptalking.Bysomemiracle,she

does.Kate, if you takeWanda,

canItakeyourcar?Why?Christian Grey has asked

me to go for coffee withhim.Her mouth pops open.

Speechless Kate! I savor themoment.Shegrabsmebymyarm and drags me into thebedroom thats off the livingareaofthesuite.Ana, theres something

abouthim.Hertoneisfullofwarning. Hes gorgeous, Iagree, but I think hesdangerous. Especially forsomeonelikeyou.What do you mean,

someonelikeme?Idemand,affronted.An innocent like you,

Ana. You know what Imean, she says a littleirritated.Iflush.Kate, its just coffee. Im

startingmyexams thisweek,

and I need to study, so Iwontbelong.She purses her lips as if

considering my request.Finally, she fishes her carkeys out of her pocket andhandsthemtome.Ihandhermine.Illseeyoulater.Dontbe

long, or Ill send out searchandrescue.Thanks.Ihugher.I emerge from the suite to

find Christian Grey waiting,

leaning up against the wall,looking like amalemodel inapose for someglossyhigh-endmagazine.Okay, lets do coffee, I

murmur,flushingabeetred.Hegrins.After you, Miss Steele.

Hestandsupstraight,holdinghis hand out for me to gofirst. I make my way downthecorridor,mykneesshaky,my stomach full ofbutterflies, and my heart in

my mouth thumping adramatic, uneven beat. I amgoing to have coffee withChristianGreyand Ihatecoffee.Wewalktogetherdownthe

wide hotel corridor to theelevators.What should I saytohim?Mymindissuddenlyparalyzed with apprehension.What are we going to talkabout? What on Earth do Ihave in common with him?His soft, warm voice startles

mefrommyreverie.How long have you

known KatherineKavanagh?Oh, an easy question for

starters.Since our freshman year.

Shesagoodfriend.Hmm, he replies

noncommittally. What is hethinking?Attheelevators,hepresses

the call button, and the bellrings almost immediately.

The doors slide open,revealingayoungcoupleinapassionate embrace inside.Surprised and embarrassed,they jump apart, staringguiltilyineverydirectionbutours.GreyandIstepintotheelevator.Iamstrugglingtomaintain

a straight face, so I gazedownatthefloor,feelingmycheeks turning pink.When Ipeek up at Grey throughmylashes, he has a hint of a

smileonhislips,butitsveryhardtotell.Theyoungcouplesays nothing, and we traveldown to the first floor inembarrassed silence. Wedont even have bland pipedelevatormusictodistractus.Thedoorsopenand,much

tomysurprise,Greytakesmyhand, clasping it with hislong, cool fingers. I feel thecurrent run through me, andmy already rapid heartbeataccelerates. As he leads me

out of the elevator, we canhearthesuppressedgigglesofthecoupleeruptingbehindus.Greygrins.What is it about

elevators?hemutters.We cross the expansive,

bustling lobby of the hoteltowardtheentrance,butGreyavoids the revolving door,andIwonderifthatsbecausehed have to let go of myhand.Outside, its a mild May

Sunday. The sun is shiningand the traffic is light. Greyturns left and strolls to thecorner,wherewewaitforthecrosswalk to change. Hesstill holdingmyhand. Im inthestreet,andChristianGreyis holding my hand. No onehaseverheldmyhand.Ifeelgiddy,and I tingleallover. Iattempt to smother theridiculous grin that threatenstosplitmyfaceintwo.Trytobe cool, Ana, my

subconscious implores me.The green man appears, andwereoffagain.We walk four blocks

beforewe reach the PortlandCoffee House, where Greyreleases me to hold the dooropensoIcanstepinside.Why dont you choose a

table while I get the drinks?What would you like? heasks,politeasever.Ill have umEnglish

Breakfasttea,bagout.

Heraiseshiseyebrows.Nocoffee?Imnotkeenoncoffee.Hesmiles.Okay, bag out tea.

Sugar?For a moment, Im

stunned, thinking its anendearment, but fortunatelymy subconscious kicks inwithpursedlips.No,stupiddoyoutakesugar?No thanks. I stare down

atmyknottedfingers.

Anythingtoeat?No thank you. I shake

myhead,andheheadstothecounter.I surreptitiously gaze at

him from beneath my lashesashestandsinlinewaitingtobeserved. I couldwatchhimall day hes tall, broadshouldered,andslim,andtheway those pants hang fromhis hipsOh my. Once ortwice he runs his long,graceful fingers through his

now dry but still disorderlyhair.Hmm Id like to dothat. The thought comesunbidden into my mind, andmyfaceflames.Ibitemylipand stare down at my handsagain, not liking where mywayward thoughts areheaded.Pennyforyourthoughts?

Greyisback,startlingme.I go crimson. I was just

thinking about running myfingersthroughyourhairand

wonderingifitwouldfeelsoftto touch. I shake my head.Hes carrying a tray, whichhe sets down on the small,round birch-veneer table. Hehandsmeacupandsaucer,asmall teapot, anda sideplatebearinga lone teabag labeledTWININGS ENGLISH BREAKFASTmy favorite. He has acoffee thatbearsawonderfulleaf pattern imprinted in themilk.Howdo theydo that? Iwonderidly.Hesalsobought

himself a blueberry muffin.Putting the tray aside, he sitsopposite me and crosses hislong legs. He looks socomfortable, so at ease withhis body, I envyhim.Heresme, all gawky anduncoordinated, barely able toget from A to B withoutfallingflatonmyface.Your thoughts? he

promptsme.This is my favorite tea.

My voice is quiet, breathy. I

simply cant believe Imsitting opposite ChristianGrey in a coffee shop inPortland. He frowns. HeknowsImhidingsomething.I pop the teabag into theteapot and almostimmediately fish it out againwithmyteaspoon.AsIplacethe used teabag back on thesideplate,hecockshishead,gazingquizzicallyatme.I like my tea black and

weak, I mutter as an

explanation.I see. Is he your

boyfriend?WhoaWhat?Who?The photographer. Jos

Rodriguez.I laugh, nervous but

curious. What gave him thatimpression?No. Joss a good friend

of mine, thats all. Why didyou think he was myboyfriend?

The way you smiled athim,andheatyou.Hisgazeholds mine. Hes sounnerving. I want to lookaway but Im caughtspellbound.Hesmore like family, I

whisper.Grey nods, seemingly

satisfied with my response,and glances down at hisblueberry muffin. His longfingers deftly peel back thepaper, and I watch,

fascinated.Do you want some? he

asks, and that amused, secretsmileisback.No thanks. I frown and

stare down at my handsagain.And the boy I met

yesterday, at the store. Hesnotyourboyfriend?No.Pauls justa friend. I

told you yesterday.Oh, thisisgettingsilly.Whydoyouask?

Youseemnervousaroundmen.Holy crap, thats personal.

Im just nervousaround you,Grey.Ifindyouintimidating.I

flushscarlet,butmentallypatmyself on the back for mycandor,andgazeatmyhandsagain. I hearhis sharp intakeofbreath.You should find me

intimidating. He nods.Youre very honest. Please

dontlookdown.Iliketoseeyourface.Oh.Iglanceathim,andhe

givesme an encouraging butwrysmile.It gives me some sort of

clue what you might bethinking, he breathes.Youre a mystery, MissSteele.Mysterious?Me?Theres nothing

mysteriousaboutme.I think youre very self-

contained,hemurmurs.Am I?Wow how am I

managing that? This isbewildering. Me, self-contained?Noway.Except when you blush,

of course, which is often. Ijust wish I knew what youwere blushing about. Hepops a small piece ofmuffininto his mouth and starts tochewitslowly,nottakinghiseyesoffme.Andasifoncue,Iblush.Crap!

Doyoualwaysmakesuchpersonalobservations?I hadnt realized I was.

Have I offended you? Hesoundssurprised.No,Ianswertruthfully.Good.But youre very high-

handed.He raises his eyebrows

and, if Im not mistaken,flushesslightly,too.Im used to getting my

own way, Anastasia, he

murmurs.Inallthings.I dont doubt it. Why

havent youaskedme to callyoubyyourfirstname?Imsurprised by my audacity.Why has this conversationbecomesoserious?Thisisntgoing the way I thought itwas going to go. I cantbelieve Im feeling soantagonistic toward him. Itslike hes trying to warn meoff.The only peoplewho use

mygivennamearemyfamilyand a few close friends.ThatsthewayIlikeit.Oh. He still hasnt said,

Call me Christian. He is acontrolfreak,theresnootherexplanation,andpartofmeisthinkingmaybeitwouldhavebeen better if Kate hadinterviewedhim.Twocontrolfreaks together. Plus, ofcourse, shes almost blondwell, strawberry blondlikeall the women in his office.

And shes beautiful, mysubconscious reminds me. Idont like the idea ofChristian and Kate. I take asip ofmy tea, andGrey eatsanother small piece of hismuffin.Are you an only child?

heasks.Whoa he keeps

changingdirection.Yes.Tell me about your

parents.

Whydoeshewanttoknowthis?Itssodull.MymomlivesinGeorgia

with her new husband, Bob.My stepdad lives inMontesano.Yourfather?My father died when I

wasababy.Im sorry, he mutters,

and a fleeting, troubled lookcrosseshisface.Idontrememberhim.And your mother

remarried?Isnort.Youcouldsaythat.Hefrownsatme.Youre not giving much

away, are you? he saysdryly,rubbinghischinasifindeepthought.Neitherareyou.Youve interviewed me

once already, and I canrecollect some quite probingquestionsthen.Hesmirksatme.

Holy shit. Hesremembering the gayquestion. Once again, Immortified.Inyearstocome,Iknow Ill need intensivetherapy to not feel thisembarrassed every time Irecall the moment. I startbabbling about mymotheranything to block thatmemory.My mom is wonderful.

Shes an incurable romantic.Shes currently on her fourth

husband.Christian raises his

eyebrowsinsurprise.I miss her, I continue.

She has Bob now. I justhope he can keep an eye onher and pick up the pieceswhen her harebrainedschemes dont go asplanned. I smile fondly. Ihavent seenmymom for solong. Christian is watchingmeintently,takingoccasionalsips of his coffee. I really

shouldnt look at his mouth.Itsunsettling.Do you get along with

yourstepfather?Ofcourse.Igrewupwith

him. Hes the only father Iknow.Andwhatshelike?Ray?Hestaciturn.Thats it? Grey asks,

surprised.I shrug. What does this

manexpect?Mylifestory?Taciturn like his

stepdaughter,Greyprompts.I refrain from rolling my

eyesathim.He likes soccer

Europeansoccerespeciallyand bowling, and fly-fishing,andmaking furniture.Hes acarpenter.Ex-army.Isigh.Youlivedwithhim?Yes. My mom met

HusbandNumberThreewhenI was fifteen. I stayed withRay.He frownsas ifhedoesnt

understand.You didnt want to live

withyourmom?heasks.This really is none of his

business.Husband Number Three

livedinTexas.Myhomewasin Montesano. And youknow, my mom was newlymarried. I stop. My momnever talks about HusbandNumber Three. Where isGreygoingwiththis?This isnoneofhisbusiness.Twocan

playatthisgame.Tell me about your

parents,Iask.Heshrugs.My dads a lawyer, my

mom is a pediatrician. TheyliveinSeattle.Ohheshadanaffluent

upbringing. And I wonderabout a successful couplewho adopts three kids, andone of them turns into abeautiful man who takes onthe business world and

conquers it single-handed.What drove him to be thatway? His folks must beproud.What do your siblings

do?Elliots in construction,

andmylittlesisterisinParis,studyingcookeryundersomerenowned French chef. Hiseyescloudwith irritation.Hedoesntwanttotalkabouthisfamilyorhimself.I hear Paris is lovely, I

murmur. Why doesnt hewanttotalkabouthisfamily?Isitbecausehesadopted?Its beautiful. Have you

been? he asks, his irritationforgotten.Ive never left mainland

USA.Sonowwerebacktobanalities.Whatishehiding?Wouldyouliketogo?ToParis? I squeak.This

has thrown mewhowouldntwanttogotoParis?Of course, I concede. But

its England that Id reallyliketovisit.He cocks his head to one

side,runninghisindexfingeracrosshislowerlipohmy.Because?I blink rapidly.

Concentrate,Steele.Its the home of

Shakespeare, Austen, theBront sisters, ThomasHardy. Id like to see theplaces that inspired thosepeople to write such

wonderfulbooks.All this talk of literary

greats reminds me that Ishould be studying. I glanceatmywatch.Idbettergo.Ihavetostudy.Foryourexams?Yes.TheystartTuesday.WheresMissKavanaghs

car?Inthehotelparkinglot.Illwalkyouback.Thankyouforthetea,Mr.

Grey.

HesmileshisoddIve-got-a-whopping-big-secretsmile.Youre welcome,

Anastasia. Its my pleasure.Come, he commands, andholds his hand out to me. Itake it, bemused, and followhimoutofthecoffeeshop.Westrollbacktothehotel,

and Id like to say its incompanionablesilence.Heatleast looks his usual calm,collectedself.Asforme,Imdesperately trying to gauge

howourlittlecoffeemorninghasgone.IfeellikeIvebeeninterviewedforajob,butImnotsurewhatfor.Do you always wear

jeans? he asks out of theblue.Mostly.Henods.Werebackatthe

intersection, across the roadfrom the hotel. My mind isreeling. What an oddquestion And Im awarethat our time together is

limited.Thisisit.Thiswasit,andIvecompletelyblownit,I know. Perhaps he hassomeone.Do you have a

girlfriend? I blurt out. HolycrapI just said that outloud?His lips quirk up in a half

smile, and he peers down atme.No,Anastasia. I dont do

the girlfriend thing, he sayssoftly.

Oh what does thatmean? Hes not gay. Oh,maybe he is! He must havelied to me in his interview.And for a moment, I thinkhes going to follow upwithsome explanation, some cluetothiscrypticstatementbuthe doesnt. I have to go. Ihave to try to reassemblemythoughts. I have to get awayfrom him. I walk forward,andItrip,stumblingheadlongintotheroad.

Shit,Ana!Greycries.Hetugs the hand that hesholding so hard that I fallback against him just as acyclist whips past, narrowlymissing me, heading thewrong way up this one-waystreet.Itallhappenssofastone

minute Im falling, the nextIm in his arms and hesholdingmetightlyagainsthischest. I inhale his clean,wholesome scent. He smells

offreshlylaunderedlinenandsome expensive body wash.Its intoxicating. I inhaledeeply.Are you okay? he

whispers. He has one armaround me, clasping me tohim, while the fingers of hisother hand softly trace myface, gently probing,examining me. His thumbbrushesmylowerlip,andhisbreath hitches. Hes staringintomy eyes, and I hold his

anxious, burning gaze for amoment, or maybe itsforeverbuteventually,myattention is drawn to hisbeautifulmouth.And for thefirsttimeintwenty-oneyears,Iwanttobekissed.Iwanttofeelhismouthonmine.

CHAPTERFOUR

Kissme,damn it! I implorehim, but I cant move. Imparalyzed with a strange,unfamiliar need, completelycaptivatedbyhim.Imstaringat Christian Greys mouth,mesmerized,andheslooking

downatme,hisgazehooded,his eyes darkening. Hesbreathing harder than usual,and Ive stopped breathingaltogether. Im in your arms.Kissme,please.Hecloseshiseyes,takesadeepbreath,andgivesmeasmallshakeofhishead as if in answer to mysilent question. When heopenshiseyesagain,itswithsome new purpose, a steelyresolve.Anastasia, you should

steerclearofme.Imnottheman for you, he whispers.What? Where is this comingfrom? Surely I should be thejudgeofthat.Ifrown,andmyheadswimswithrejection.Breathe, Anastasia,

breathe. Im going to standyou up and let you go, hesays quietly, and he gentlypushesmeaway.Adrenaline has spiked

through my body, from thenear miss with the cyclist or

the heady proximity toChristian, leaving me wiredand weak. NO! my psychescreams as he pulls away,leavingmebereft.Hehashishands on my shoulders,holding me at arms length,carefully watching myreactions.And theonly thingIcanthinkisthatIwantedtobe kissed, made it prettydamned obvious, and hedidntdo it.Hedoesntwantme. He really doesnt want

me.Ihaveroyallyscrewedupthecoffeemorning.Ive got this, I breathe,

finding my voice. Thankyou, I mutter, awash withhumiliation. How could Ihave misread the situationbetweenussoutterly?Ineedtogetawayfromhim.Forwhat?Hefrowns.He

hasnttakenhishandsoffme.For saving me, I

whisper.That idiot was riding the

wrong way. Im glad I washere. I shudder to thinkwhatcould have happened to you.Doyouwant tocomeandsitdown in the hotel for amoment? He releases me,his hands by his sides, andIm standing in front of himfeelinglikeafool.With a shake, I clear my

head. I just want to go. Allmy vague, unarticulatedhopes have been dashed. Hedoesntwantme.WhatwasI

thinking? I scold myself.What would Christian Greywant with you? mysubconscious mocks me. Iwrapmyarmsaroundmyselfand turn to face the roadandnotewithreliefthatthegreenman has appeared. I quicklymake my way across,consciousthatGreyisbehindme. Outside the hotel, I turnbrieflytofacehimbutcannotlookhimintheeye.Thanks for the tea and

doing the photo shoot, Imurmur.Anastasia I He

stops, and the anguish in hisvoice demands my attention,so I peer unwillingly up athim.His gray eyes are bleakas he runs his hand throughhis hair. He looks torn,frustrated, his expressionstark, all his careful controlhasevaporated.What, Christian? I snap

irritably after he

saysnothing.Ijustwanttogo.Ineedto takemyfragile,wounded pride away andsomehow nurse it back tohealth.Good luck with your

exams,hemurmurs.Huh?Thisiswhyhelooks

so desolate? This is the bigsendoff?Justtowishmeluckinmyexams?Thanks. I cant disguise

the sarcasm in my voice.Good-bye,Mr.Grey.Iturn

onmy heel, vaguely amazedthat I dont trip, andwithoutgivinghimasecondglance,Idisappear down the sidewalktoward the undergroundgarage.Once underneath the dark,

cold concrete of the garagewith its bleak fluorescentlight, I lean against the wallandputmyheadinmyhands.What was I thinking?Unbidden and unwelcometears pool in my eyes. Why

am I crying? I sink to theground, angry at myself forthis senseless reaction.Drawingupmyknees, I foldinonmyself. Iwant tomakemyself as small as possible.Perhaps thisnonsensicalpainwill be smaller the smaller Iam. Placing my head on myknees,Ilettheirrationaltearsfallunrestrained. I amcryingover the loss of something Inever had. How ridiculous.Mourning something that

never wasmy dashedhopes, my dashed dreams,andmysouredexpectations.I have never been on the

receiving end of rejection.OkaysoIwasalwaysoneof the last to be picked forbasketballorvolleyball,butIunderstoodthatrunninganddoing something else at thesame time like bouncing orthrowing a ball is not mything. I ama serious liabilityinanysportingfield.

Romantically, though, Ivenever put myself out there,ever.A lifetimeof insecurityIm too pale, too skinny,too scruffy, uncoordinated,mylonglistoffaultsgoeson.So I have always been theone to rebuff any would-beadmirers.Therewas thatguyin my chemistry class wholikedme,butnoonehaseversparked my interestno oneexceptChristianDamnGrey.Maybe I should be kinder to

the likesofPaulClaytonandJos Rodriguez, though Imsureneitherofthemhasbeenfound sobbing alone in darkplaces. Perhaps I just need agoodcry.Stop! Stop now! my

subconscious ismetaphorically screaming atme, arms folded, leaning onone leg and tapping her footin frustration.Get in the car,go home, do your studying.Forget about him Now!

Andstopall thisself-pitying,wallowingcrap.I take a deep, steadying

breath and stand up. Get ittogether, Steele. I head forKates car, wiping the tearsoffmyfaceasIdo.Iwillnotthinkofhimagain.Icanjustchalk this incident up toexperience and concentrateonmyexams.

KATEISSITTINGATthediningtable at her laptop when I

arrive. Her welcoming smilefadeswhensheseesme.Ana,whatswrong?OhnonottheKatherine

KavanaghInquisition.Ishakemy head in a back-off-now-Kavanagh waybut I mightas well be dealing with ablind,deafmute.Youvebeencrying.She

has an exceptional gift forstating the damned obvioussometimes. What did thatbastard do to you? she

growls, and her facejeez,shesscary.Nothing, Kate. Thats

actually the problem. Thethoughtbringsawrysmiletomyface.Thenwhy have you been

crying? You never cry, shesays,hervoicesoftening.Shestands, her green eyesbrimming with concern. Sheputsherarmsaroundmeandhugs me. I need to saysomething just to get her to

backoff.Iwasnearlyknockedover

byacyclist.ItsthebestthatI can do, but it distracts hermomentarilyfromhim.Jeez,Anaareyouokay?

Were you hurt? She holdsmeatarmslengthanddoesaquickvisualcheckuponme.No. Christian saved me,

I whisper. But I was quiteshaken.Im not surprised. How

wascoffee? I knowyouhate

coffee.I had tea. It was fine,

nothing to report really. Idont know why he askedme.He likes you, Ana. She

dropsherarms.Not anymore. I wont be

seeing him again. Yes, Imanage to sound matter-of-fact.Oh?Damnit.Shes intrigued. I

head into the kitchen so that

shecantseemyface.Yeah hes a little out

ofmyleague,Kate,IsayasdrylyasIcanmanage.Whatdoyoumean?Oh,Kate, its obvious. I

whirl around and face her asshe stands in the kitchendoorway.Not to me, she says.

Okay, hes gotmoremoneythan you, but then he hasmore money than mostpeopleinAmerica!

KatehesIshrug.Ana!Forheavenssake

howmanytimesdoIhavetotell you? Youre a totalbabe, she interruptsme. Ohno. Shes off on this tiradeagain.Kate, please. I need to

study. I cut her short. Shefrowns.Do you want to see the

article? Its finished. Jostooksomegreatpictures.Do I need a visual

reminder of the beautifulChristian I-Dont-Want-YouGrey?Sure.Imagicasmileon

myfaceandstrollovertothelaptop. And there he is,staring at me in black andwhite, staring at me andfindingmelacking.Ipretendtoreadthearticle,

all the time meeting hissteady gray gaze, searchingthephotoforsomeclueas towhyhesnot themanforme

hisownwords tome.Andits suddenly blindinglyobvious. Hes too gloriouslygood-looking. We are polesapart and from two verydifferent worlds. I have avision of myself as Icarusflyingtooclosetothesunandcrashing and burning as aresult.Hiswordsmakesense.Hesnotthemanforme.Thisis what he meant, and itmakes his rejection easier toaccept almost. I can live

withthis.Iunderstand.Very good, Kate, I

manage. Im going tostudy. I am not going tothink about him again fornow, I vow to myself, andopening my course notes, Istarttoread.

ITS ONLY WHEN IM in bed,trying to sleep, that I allowmy thoughts to drift throughmy strange morning. I keepcomingbacktotheIdontdo

thegirlfriendthingquote,andImangrythatIdidntpounceon this information sooner,before I was in his armsmentally begging him withevery fiber of my being tokiss me. Hed said it thereand then.He didntwantmeasagirlfriend.Iturnontomyside.Idly,Iwonderifperhapshescelibate.Iclosemyeyesand begin to drift. Maybehessavinghimself.Well,notfor you. My sleepy

subconscious has a finalswipe at me beforeunleashing itself on mydreams.And that night, I dreamof

gray eyes and leafy patternsin milk, and Im runningthrough dark places witheerie strip lighting, and Idont know if Im runningtoward something or awayfromititsjustnotclear.

Iputmypendown.Finished.My final exam is over. ACheshire cat grin spreadsover my face. Its probablythe first time all week thatIve smiled. Its Friday, andwe shall be celebratingtonight, really celebrating. Imight even get drunk! Ivenever been drunk before. IglanceacrossthehallatKate,and shes still scribblingfuriously, fiveminutes to thefinish. This is it, the end of

my academic career. I shallnever have to sit in rows ofanxious, isolated studentsagain. Inside Im doinggraceful cartwheels aroundmy head, knowing full wellthats theonlyplaceIcandograceful cartwheels. Katestopswritingandputsherp