at me momentarily, and 1 craw 1 oer and into his lap.
"Besides, Ted is completely smitten with Sophie."
Christian snorts and nuzzles my hair. "Site's a delightful child. "
"She is. So pretty, too. A blonde angel."
Christian stills and places his hands on my belly. "Girls, eh?" There's a hint
repidalion in h I curl my h id s hind his head.
"You don't have to worry about your daughter for at least another three
months. I have her covered here. Okay?"
lie kisses nie ix 1 i ii i I 11 I |i i i i i i ih I
" hale er >ou sa>. Mrs. i ; rC ." Then he biles me. 1 >elp.
liij i I I li uld rlo lhai more olien
"Me, too."
"And we could, if you stopped working . . ."
I roll i es and he li hn is i i , , , ne ai i is into my neck.
"Are you rolling > our c es al me .Mi s. ( ire I lis llireai is implicit bill sensu-
al, making me squirm, but as we're in the middle of the meadow with the kids
ncarb} . 1 ignore his no iialion.
"Grey Publishing has an aulhoi on die Voir )<«■/, Timc Best Sellers — Boyce
Fox's sales arc phenomenal, die e-book side of our business has exploded, and I
finally have the team 1 want around me."
"And you're making money in these difficult times," Christian adds, his
voice reflecting his pride. "But ... I like you barefoot and pregnant and in my
I lean back so I can see ills lace. I ie gaze s dow n al me. eyes bright.
"I like that, loo." 1 murmur, and he kisses me. his hands slill spread across my
Seeing he's in i ii i 1 I I lit e subject "Have you
thought any more about my suggestion?"
He stills. "Ana, the answer is no."
"But Ella is such a lovely name."
"I am not naming my daughter after m mother. No. End of discussion."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." Grasping my chin, he gazes earnestly down at me, radiating exaspera-
tion. "Ana, give it up. I don't want my daughter tainted by my past."
"Okay. I'm sorry." Shit ... I don't want to anger him.
"That's better. Stop trying to fix it," he mutters. "You got me to admit I loved
her, ou dragged me to hcrgnnc. Enough."
. )h no i w his lap 1< middle hi i 1 | is I id in i h nd
"I'm sorry. Really Don't he angry wilh me. please." 1 kiss him, then kiss the
corner of his mouth. After a beat, he points to the other corner, and I smile and
kiss it. He points to his nose. I kiss that. He grins and places his hands on my
backside.
"Oh, Mrs. Grey — what am I going to do with you?"
"I'm sure you'll think of something." I murmur, lie grins and. twisting sud-
denly, he pushes me down onto the blanket.
"How about I do it now?" he whispers with a salacious smile.
"Christian!" I gasp.
Suddenly there's a high-pitched cry from Ted. Christian leaps to his feet with
a panther's easy grace and races toward the source of the sound. I follow at a
more leisurely pace. Secretly, I'm not as concerned as ( hrislian it w -is rail a er>
that would make mc take the stairs two at a time to find out what's wrong.
Christian swings Tedd up into his aims. Our little bo is crying inconsolably
and pointing to the ground In c th reman of hi popsi a he in a soggy mess,
"1 le dropped it," Sophie says, sadly. "He could have had mine, but I've fin-
ished it."
"Oh, Sophie darling, don't worry." I stroke her hair.
"Mommy!" Ted wails, holding his hands out 10 me. Christian reluctantly lets
"I know, baby boy. We'll go see Mrs. Taylor and get another one." I kiss his
"Pop he I I II
"I can taste your popsiclc here on your fingers."
Ted stops crying and examines his hand.
"Put your fingers in your mouth."
He does. "Pop!"
"Yes. Popsicle."
He grins. My mercurial little boy. just like his dad. Well, ai least he has an
excuse — he's only two.
"Shall we go sec Mrs. Taylor?" lie nods, smiling his beautiful baby smile.
"Will you let Daddy carry you?" He shakes his head and wraps his arms around
my neck, hugging me lightly, his face pressed again-,1 m ihro.il.
"I think Daddy wants lo taste popsiclc, too," I whisper in Ted's little ear. Ted
frowns at me, then I it his ha ill nil C'hri i in Christian smiles
and puis Ted's fingers in his mouth.
"Hmm . . . tasty."
Ted giggles and reaches up, wanting Christian to hold him. Christian grins al
me and takes Ted in his arms, settling him on his hip.
"Sophie, where's Gail?"
"She was in the big house."
I glance at Christian. His smile has turned hillersw eel. and I wonder what
he's thinking.
"You're so good with him." he murmurs
"This little one?" 1 ruffle Ted's hair. "It's only because I have the measure of
you Grey men." I smirk at my husband.
He laughs. "Yes, you do, Mrs. Grey."
Teddy squirms out of Christian's hold. Now he wants to walk, my stubborn
little man. I take one of his hands, and his dad takes the other, and together we
s ing Teddy between us all the way back to the house, Sophie skipping along in
front of us.
I wave to Taylor who, on a rare day-off, is outside the garage, dressed in
jeans and a wife-beater, as he linkei s w ilh an old motorbike.
up when I open the door and closes the book. He puts his finger to his lips and
switches on the baby monitor beside Ted's crib. He adjusts Ted's bedclothes,
strokes his cheek, then straightens up. and uptoes over to me without making a
it's great » lien lie's asleep." he murmurs again-.! m lips.
He gazes down at me, eyes soft. "I can hardly believe he's been with us for
"I know." I kiss him, and for a moment. I'm transported back to Teddy's
birth: the emergent cacsanan. Christian's c: ipphng anict. Dr. Greene's no-
nonsense calm when my l ittle Blip Has in distress. I shudder inwardly at the
memory.
slowed in spite of the Pitocin. We need to do a C-section — the baby is in distress."
Dr. Greene is adamant.
"About fucking time!" Christian grow Is at her. Dr. ( ireene ignores him.
"Christian, quiet." I squeeze his hand. My voice is low and weak and
everything is fuzzy — the walls, the machines, the green-gowned people ... I just
want to go to sleep. But I have something important to do first ... Oh yes. "I
warned lo push him out myself."
"Mrs. Grey, please. C-seclion."
"Please. Ana." Christian pleads.
"Can I sleep then?"
"Yes, baby, yes." If s almost a .oh. and ( hristian kisses my forehead.
"I want to see the Lil' Blip."
"You will."
"Okay." 1 whisper.
"FinalK." Dr. Greene mutters. "Nurse, page the anesthesiologist. Dr. Miller,
prep for a C-section. Mrs. Grey, we are going to move you to the OR."
"Move''" C hristian and I speak at once.
"Yes. Now."
And suddenly we're moving — quickly, the lights on the ceiling blurring into
it I i ight strip as I'm whisl 1 rrid
"Mr. Grey, you'll need to change into scrubs."
"What?"
"Now, Mr. Grey."
He squeezes my hand and releases me.
"Christian," I call, panic setting in.
We are through another set of doors, and in no time a nurse is setting up a
screen across rm, chc i i e do n close ind th s so many people in
"Christian?" I search the faces in the room for my husband.
"He'll be with you in a moment, Mrs. Grey."
A moment later, he's beside me. in blue scrubs, and I reach for his hand.
"I'm frightened," I whisper.
"No, baby, no. I'm here. Don't be frightened. Not my strong Ana." He kisses
my forehead, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that something's wrong.
"What is it?"
"What?"
"What's wrong?"
■'Nothing's wrong. L' er> thing's ['inc. Baby, you're just exhausted." His eyes
burn with fear.
"Mrs. Grey, the liesiol lis here. II ng I djust your epidural,
and then we can proceed."
"She's ha ing another contraction."
Eerylhing lightens like a steel hand around m> bell). Shit! I crush Christi-
an's hand as I ride it out. This is what's tiring — enduring this pain. I am so tired. I
can feel the numbing liquid spread . . . spread down. I concentrate on Christian's
face. On the furrow between his brows. He's tense. He's worried. Why is he
worried?
"Can you feel this, Mrs. Grey?" Dr. Greene's disembodied voice is coming
from behind the curtain.
"Feel what?"
at on his brow. He's scared. Don 't
"What's happening?"
Suddenly, there's a piercing angry cry.
"You have a boy. Mis. (irc . Check his Apgar."
"Apgar is nine."
"Can I see him?" I gasp.
Christian disappears from view for a second and reappears a moment later,
holding my son, swathed in blue, i lis face is pink, and cox ered in white mush and
blood. My baby. My Blip . . . Theodore Raymond Grey.
When 1 glance at < hrislian. he has tears in his eyes.
"Here's your son, Mrs. Grey," he whispers, his voice strained and hoarse.
"Our son," I breathe. "He's beautiful."
"He is," Christum sas and plants a kiss on our beautiful boy's forehead be-
neath a shock of dark hair, fheodore Ra> niond Cnc is obli ions. Eyes closed, his
earlier crying forgotten, he's asleep. He is the most beautiful sight I have ever
seen. So beautiful, I begin to weep.
"Thank you, Ana," Christian whispers, and there are tears in his eyes too.
"What is it?" Christian tilts my chin back.
"I was just remembering Ted's birth."
t hrislian blanches and cups my belly.
""I am i I _ i i ' i hi t L u hi n
"Christian, I — "
"No, Ana. You t ng died last time. No."
"I did not nearly die."
his eyes soften. "I like the name Phoebe," he whispers, and runs his nose down
"Phoebe Grey? Phoebe . . . Yes. I like that, too." I grin up at him.
"Good. I want to set up Ted's present." He takes my hand, and we head
down tatr His ce t nt radi i Im i I ii i iccn waiting for this
moment all day.
"Do you think he'll like it?" His apprehensive gaze meets mine.
"He'll love it. For about two minutes. Christian, he's only two."
Christian has finished setting up the wooden train set he bought Teddy for his
birthday. He's had Barney at the office convert two of the little engines to run on
anxious for the sun to rise. I sus| i ! n play with the train
set himself. The layout covers most of the stone floor of our outdoor room.
Tomorrow we will have a family party for Ted. Ray and Jose will be coming
and all the Grey's, including Ted's new cousin Ava, Kate and Elliot's two-month-
is agreeing with her.
everything Christian promised it would be, and I get the same joyful thrill seeing
tian pulls me into his arms.
"It is," Christian answers, and when 1 turn to look at him, he's gazing at inc.
He plants a soft kiss on my lips. "It's a beautiful view," he murmurs. "My
favorite."
He grins and kisses me again. "I love you, Mrs. Grey."
The End
Author's Note
I am aware that today you cannot walk into an American bank and withdraw
million dollars. The conversaiion Ana did not hear went like this:
"Troy Whelan."
"It's Christian Grey. I've spoken to my wife. Give her the money.
Whatever she wants."
"Mr. Grey, I can't . . ."
"Liquidate five million of my assets. Off the top of my head: Ge-
orges, PK.C, Atlantis Corps. Ferris and 1 'malic. A million from each."
"Mr. Grey, this is highly irregular i : il have to consult with Mr.
Forlincs."
"I'm playing golf with him next week," I hiss. "Just fucking do it,
Whelan. Find a way, or I'll close all the accounts and move GEH's busi-
ness elsewhere. Understand?"
I le's silent on the end of the phone.
"We'll M.rt the fucking paperwork out later," I add, more
conciliatory.
"Yes, Mr. Grey."
Bonus Materials
Fifty's First Christmas
lis of new. Everything is new . 1 1
a tetscopc that I can stick in my ei
She smiles all the time. Her teeth ai
"Do you want to help me decorate the tree, Christian?"
There is a big tree in the mom v. ill] [he hie couches. A big tree
these before. Bui in stores. Noi inside w here the couches rue. My ik
lots of couches. Not one couch. Not one brown sticky couch.
My new mommy show s me a box. and il's full of balls. Lots of pretty shiny
balls.
"These are ornaments for the tree."
Orn-a-ments. Orn-a-ments. My head says the word. Orn-a-ments.
"And these — " she stops and pulls out a string with little flowers on them.
1 i ire the lighis. I Is lirsL and then Irim ihe I 1 i !il
down and puts her fingers in my hair. I go very still. But I like her fingers in my
hair. I like to be near New Mommy. She smells good. Clean. And she only
touches my hair.
"Mom!"
lie's calling. Lelliot. He's big and loud. Very loud. He talks. All the time. I
"Elliot, darling, we're in the sitting room."
He runs in. He has been to school. He has a picture. A picture he has drawn
for my new mommy. She is Lelliot' s mommy, too. She kneels down and hugs him
a Christian. Christian is very small in Lelliot's picture. Lelliot is big. He has a big
smile and Christian has a sad face.
Daddy is here, too. He walks toward Mommy. I hold my blankie tight. He
kisses New Mommy and New Mommy isn't frightened. She smiles. She kisses
him hack. I squeeze my blankie.
"Hello, Christian." Daddy has a deep soft voice. I like his voice. He is never
loud. He docs not shout. He docs not shout like ... He reads books to me when I
go to bed. He reads about a cat and a hat and green eggs and ham. 1 have never
seen green eggs. Daddy bends down so he is small.
"What did you do today?"
I show him the tree.
"You bought a tree? A Christmas tree?"
1 say yes with my head.
"It's a beautiful tree. You and Mommy chose very well. It's an important job
choosing the right tree."
He pats my hair. too. ami 1 go er slill and hold m> blankie lightly. Daddy
doesn't hurt me.
"Daddy, look at my picture." Lelliot is mad when Daddy talks to me. Lelliot
is mad at me. 1 smack Lelliot when he is mad at me. New Mommy is mad at me if
I do. Lelliot does nol smack me. Lelliol is scared of me.
The lights on the tree are pretty.
"Here, let me show you. The hook goes through the little eye, and then you
can hang it on the tree." Mommy puts the red orn-a . . . orn-a-ment on the tree.
"You try with this little bell."
The little bell rings. I shake it. The sound is a happy sound. 1 shake it again.
"You like the bell, Christian?"
"You have a lovely smile, darling boy." Mommy blinks and wipes her hand
on her eyes. She strui-.es my hair. "I Ioe lo sec your smile." Her hand moves to
II | i 1 I
happy. She strokes my hair.
"Shall we put the bell on the tree?"
M> head says es.
"Christian, you must tell me when you're hungry. You can do that. You can take
finger at me. Her nail is shiny and pink. It is pretty. But I don't know if my new
"I don't want you to be hungry, darling. Okay? Now would you like some ice
My head says yesl Mommy smiles at me. I like her smiles. They are better
than macaroni and cheese.
The irec is pretty. I stand and look at it and hug my blankie. The lights twinkle
and are all different colors, and the orn-a-mcnts are all different colors. I like the
blue ones. And on tl III t ! I' M I I II i i I
hot put the star on the tree. Lelliot likes putting the star on the tree. I want to put
the star on the tree ... but I don't want Daddy to hold me up high. I don't want
him to hold me. The star is sparkly and bright.
Beside the tree is the piano. My new mommy lets me touch the black and the
while on the piano. Black and while, i like lite while sounds. The black sound is
wrong. But I like the ' 1 i I , i i I i I i 1 hitc to black. Black
to white. White, white, while, white. Black, black, black, black. I like the sound. I
like the sound a lot.
"Do you want me to play for you, Christian?"
My new momim sils down Nile loaches t he while and the black, and the
songs come. She presses the pedals underneath Sometimes it's loud and some-
times it's quiet. The song is happy. Lelliot likes Mommy to sing, too. Mommy
sings about an ugly duckling. Mommy makes a funny quacking noise. Lelliot
makes the funm quacking noise, and he makes Ins anas lit c wings and flaps them
up and down like a bird. Lelliot is funny.
Momrm lau hs. Leila i I laugh
"You like this song. ( hrislian?" And Mommy lias her sad-happy face.
I have a stock-ing. It is red and it has a picture of a man with a red hat and a big
white beard. He is Sania Sanla brings presenis. 1 have seen piclures of Santa. But
Santa never brought ic pi s be I 1 ian ng preset o
boys who are bad. Now I am good. My new mommy says I am good, very good.
New Mommy doesn't know. I must never tell New Mommy ... but 1 am bad. I
don'l wanl New Mommy lo know that.
Daddy hangs the stock-ing oer the fireplace. Lelliot has a slocking, too. Lelliot
ing. Christian. New Mommy spells it out. C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N.
Daddy sits on my bed. He reads to me. I hold my blankie. I have a big room. So-
metimes the room is dark and I hae had dreams. Bad dreams about before. My
new mommy comes lo bed wilh me w hen ! have die bad dreams. She lies down
and she sings soft songs and I go to sleep. She smells of soft and new and lovely.
My new mommy is not cold. Not like ... not like . . . And my bad dreams go
w hen she Is diere ;:s!cep with me.
Santa has been here. Santa does not know I have been bad. 1 am glad Santa does
not know. I have a train and a plane and a helicopter and a car and a helicopter.
My helicopter can fly. My helicopter is blue. It flies around the Christmas tree. It
flies over the piano and lands in die middle of die w hile. It Hies over Mommy and
flies over Daddy and Hies oxer Lelliol us lie plas wilh die Lego. The helicopter
flies through the house, through die dining room, through die kitchen. He flies
past the door to Daddy's study and upstairs in my bedroom, in Lclliot's bedroom.
Mommy and Daddy's bedroom. He flies through the house, because it's my
house. My house where I live.
Meet Fifty Shades
'Tomorrows" I mutl i disi < i I I 1 i ihc threshold ol
my office.
"Golf, this week. Grey." Bnstille grins with easy arrogance, know ing that his
victory on the golf course is assured.
J scow l afier him as he kirns and leaves. His parling words rub sail into my
wounds because despite my heroic attempts in ihe gym Ibis morning, my personal
li ■ i ' i in ^ ! * lill i I i 1 ho can bcal i nun h
wants another pound of flesh on the golf course. I detest golf, but so much busi-
ness is done on the fairways I have to endure his lessons there too . . . and though
I hate to admit it, Bastille does go some way to improving my game.
As I stare out at the Seattle skyline, the familiar ennui seeps into my con-
sciousness. My mood is as flat and gray as the weather. My days are blending to-
gether with no distinction, and I need some kind of diversion. I've worked all
I ] ! i i i! i i II i lcstlcs I shouldn't
feel this way. not alter sc eral bonis w ith Basiille. Bui 1 do.
1 frown. The so i i t 1 1 ihe il 1 i i lure i ml i e
cently has been my decision to send two freighters of cargo to Sudan. This re-
minds me — Ros is supposed to come back to me with numbers and logistics.
What the hell is keeping hei : Inienl on finding onl w lial she's playing at. I glance
at mv schedule and reach for the phone.
Oh. Christ! I have to endure an interview with the persistent Miss Kavanagh
for the WSU student magazine. Why the fuck did 1 agree to this? I loathe inter-
views — inane questions from inane, ill-informed, vacuous idiots. The phone
"Yes," I snap at Andrea as if she's to blame. At least I can keep this itilerv iew
Steele Iwase i i v ih ne Kavanagh."
I scowl. 1 hale ihe unexpected. "Show her in." 1 mutter, aware that I sound
like a sulky teen but not giving a fuck.
Well, well . l i i I'athci the owner of
Kavanagh Media. We've done business together, and he seems like a shrewd op-
erator and a rational human being. This interview is a favor to him — one that I
mean to cash in later when it suits me. And I have to admit I was vaguely curious
about his daughter, interested to see if the apple had fallen far from the tree.
A commotion at the door brings me to my feet as a w hirl of long chestnut
hair, pale limbs, and brown boots dives head first into my office. I roll my eyes
and repress my natural annoyance al such clumsiness as I hurry over to the girl
who has landed on her hands and knees on the floor. Clasping her slim shoulders,
I help her to her feet.
Clear, bright-blue, embarrassed eyes meet mine and halt me in my tracks.
They are the most extraordinary color — guileless, powder-blue — and for one aw-
ful moment, I think she can see right through me. 1 feel . . . exposed. The thought
is unncn ing. She has a small, sweet face that is blushing now, an innocent pale
rose. I wonder briefly if all her skin is like that — flawless — and what it would
look like pink and warmed from Ihe hiie of a cane, l-'uck. 1 slop my wayward
thoughts, alarmed at their direction. What the fuck are you thinking, Grey. This
girl is much too young. She gapes at me, and I almost roll my eyes again. Yeah,
yeah, baby, it's just a face, and the beauty is only skin-deep. I want to dispel that
unguarded, admiring look from those big blue eyes.
Showtime. Grey. Let's lun I i I'm Christian (ires
Are you all right? Would you like to sit?"
There's th it bin i i it i more. I hci She's quite at-
tained by a hair tie. A brunette. Yeah, she's attractive. I extend my hand, and she
Her skin is cool and soli, but her handshake surprisingly firm.
"Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr.
Grey." Her voice is quiet with a hesitant musicality, and she blinks erratically,
long lashes fluttering o er those big bine eves.
entrance into my office, I ask who she is.
n n i Kaanagh at V hington State."
A nervous, bashful, bookish type, eh? She looks it; hideously dressed, hiding
her slight frame beneath a shapeless sweater and an A-line brown skirt. Christ,
does she have no dress sense at all? She looks nervously around my of-
fice — everywhere but at me, I note with amused irony.
How can this young woman be a journalist? She doesn't have an assertive
bone in her body. She's all charmingly flustered, meek, mild . . . submissive. I
shake my head, beni', :d it ivh i in in ppi >pri le thoughts ire going. Muttering
some platitude, I ask her to sit, then notice her discerning gaze appraising my
office paintings. Before I can stop myself, I find I'm explaining them. "A local
artist. Trouton."
"They're lovely. Raising the ordinary lo extraordinary." she says dreamily,
lost in the exquisite, line artistry of my paintings. I let profile is delicate — an up-
turned nose, soft, full lips and in her word-, she has mirrored my sentiments ex-
actly. "The ordinary raised to extraordinary. " It's a keen observation. Miss
Steele is bright.
I mutter my agreement and watch that (Irish creep slowly over her skin once
more. As I sit down opposite her, I try to bridle my thoughts.
She fishes a crumpled sheet of paper and a mini-disc recorder out of her
overly large bag Mi di i o let wsi go out with VHS tapes'.'
Christ — she's all thumbs, dropping the damned! thing tw ice on my Bauhaus coffee
table. She's obvious l never done this before but for some reason I can't fathom,
Ini i i m mally this kind iblin I i h ril il
out of me, but now 1 hide m smile beneath m index finger and resist the urge to
set it up for her myself.
As she grows more and more flustered, it occurs to me that I could refine her
motor skills w ith the aid of a riding crop. Adcpllv used it can bring even the most
skittish to heel. The errant thought makes me shift in my chair. She pecks up at
mouth before?
/ can tell, baby-my thought is ironic— tor right now I don 't give a fuck, be-
cause I can 't take my eyes off your mouth.
shal my wayward thoughts. Grey . . . stop this, now.
"Do you mind if I record your answers?" she asks, her face candid and
expectant.
I want to laugh. Oh, thank Christ.
"After you've taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you ask me
now ?" She blinks, her eyes large and lost for a moment, and I lee! an unfamiliar
tw inge of guilt. Slop being such a s/»7. Grey.
"No, I don't mind," I mutter, not wanting to be responsible for that look.
Did K c I nca vl iii ih explai I it Ik ntcrvicw was for?"
"Yes, to appc.u 1 1 I u lualioi issue >i" the i Join nc spapei as I shall be
conferring the degrees at this year's graduation ceremony." Why the fuck I've
agreed to do that, I don't know. Sam in PR tells me it's an honor, and the environ-
mental science department in Vancouver needs the publicity in order to attract ad-
ditional funding to match the grant I've given them.
Miss Steele blinks, all big blue eyes once more, as if my words are a surprise
and fuck — she looks I | i Hasn't si i tound work for this
interview? She should know this. The thought cools my blood. It's . . . displeas-
ing, not what I expect from her or anyone 1 give my time to.
"Good. I have some questions, Mr. Grey." She tucks a lock of hair behind her
car, distracting mc from my annoyance.
"1 thought you might," I mutter dryly. Let's make her squirm. Obligingly she
squirms, then pulls herself together, silling up straight and squaring her small
shoulders. Leaning forward she presses the start button on the mini-disc, and
frowns as she glances down at her crumpled notes.
"You're very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe
Oh Christ! Surely she can do better than this? What a fucking dull question.
Not one iota of originality. It's disappointing. I trot out my usual response about
ha ing exceptional people in the U.S. working for me. People I trust, insofar as I
trust anyone, and pay well — blah, blah, blah . . . But Miss Steele, the simple fact
is, I 'm a fucking genius at what I do. For me it's like falling off a log. Buying ail-
their assets and selling them off to the highest bidder. It's simply a question of
people in eh ii e. To succeed ill I I Ic md I can judge a
"Maybe you're just luck;.." she says quietly.
Lucky'/ A frisson of annoyance runs through me. Lucky? No fucking luck in-
volved here, Miss Steele. She looks unassuming and quiet, but this question'.' No
one has ever asked me if I was litckw Hard work, bringing people with mc, keep-
ing a close watch on them, second-guessing them if 1 need to: and if they aren't up
to the task, ruthlessly ditching them. That 's what I do, and I do it well. It 's noth-
ing to do with In I i I I i n u i in in I quote the words of
"You sound like a control freak," she says, and she's perfectly serious.
What the fuck?
Maybe those guilder ex es am .see though me. Control is my middle name.
I glare at her. "Oh, 1 exercise control in all things, Miss Steele." And I'd like
to exercise it oyer you. right here, right now
Her eyes widen. That attractive blush steals across her face once more, and
she biles that hp again. ! ramble on. trying to distract myself from her mouth.
"Besides, immen e power isa ired I isstiring y oursell in your secret rev-
eries, that sou -ere born to control things."
"Do you feel that you have immense power?" she asks in a soft soothing
voice, but she arches her delicate brow . res ealing the censure in her eyes. My an-
noyance grows. Is sh i tels try it id n Is it I questions her atti-
tude, or the fact that i find her atlraclis e that's passing me off?
"I employ oser forty thousand people. Miss Steele. Thai gives me a certain
sense of responsibility — power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer in-
terested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people
woul It ' i i v. 1 i i i tents id'ter a month or so
Her mouth pops open ai my response. I hat's more like it. Suck il up. A/V.v.s
Steele. I feel my equilibrium returning.
"I own my company. I don't answer to a board," I respond sharply. She
correctly gauging my reaction. She knows I'm pissed, and for some inexplicable
"I have varied interests. Miss Steele. crs varied." I smile. Images of her in
i 1 I t i I I ' t i til icklcd on the cross,
spread-eagle on the four-poster, splayed over the whipping bench. Fucking hell!
Where is this coming from? And behold — there's that blush again. It's like a de-
fense mechanism. Calm down, Grey.
"But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?"
"Chill out?" I grin, those words out of her smart mouth sound odd. Besides
when do I get time to chill out'.' lias she no idea of the number of companies I
control? But she looks at me with those ingenuous blue eyes, and to my surprise I
find myself considct I i stiot hat do I do hill out? Sailing, flying,
fucking . . . testing the limits of little brown-haired girls like her, and bringing
them to heel . . . The thought makes me shift in my seat, but I answer her
-in i 1 * omitting iir two > 'i k hobbies.
"You invest in manufacturing. Why. specifically.'"
Her question drags mc rudely hack to the present.
"1 like to build I t 1 c I i h I t i I it
tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I
say?" They distribut I ill It it 1 from the haves to the
have-nots and back again. What's not to like?
"That sounds I i l^o your heart talking, rather than logic and facts.'
Heart? Me'! Oh no. hahy. My heart was savaged beyond recognition a long
time ago. "Possibly, though there are people who'd say I don't have a heart."
"Why would they say that?"
"Because they know me well." I give her a wry smile, hi iact no one knows
me that well, except t i len l it It i I I I make of little Miss
Steele here. The girl is a mass of contradictions: shy, uneasy, obviously bright,
and arousing as hell. Yes, okay, I admit it. She 's an alluring little piece.
She recites the next question by rote.
"Would your friends say you're easy to get to know?"
"I'm a very private person, Miss Steele. I go a long way to protect my pri-
vacv . 1 dork: often give inlerv iew s." Doing w hat I do. In. ing the life I've chosen, I
need my privacy.
"Why did you agree to do this one?"
■'Because I'm i henel cto of the t , ly a ha il itetits and purposes,
I couldn't get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR
people, and I admire that kind of tenacity." A';/: / in nlml it you who turned up
"You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this
"We can't eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this
planet who don't have enough to eat." I stare at her, poker-faced.
"That sounds very philanthropic. Is that something you feel passionately
about? Feeding the world's poor?" Site regards me with a quizzical expression as
if I'm some kind of conundrum for iter to solve, but there is no way I want those
big blue eyes seeing into my dark soul. This is not an area open to discussion.
Ever.
"It's shrewd business." I shrug, feigning boredom, and I imagine fucking her
smart mouth in distniet myself from nil thought* of hunger. Yes., that mouth needs
training. Now thai thought is appealing, and I let im self imagine her on her knees
"Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?" she recites by rote again.
"I don't have a philosoph; as such. Ma be a guiding principle. Carnegie's "A
man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take
possession of anything else to which he is juslh entitled.' I'm er> singular, driv-
en. I like control ... of myself and those around me."
"So you want to possess things?" Her eyes widen.
Yes, haby. You, for one.
""I want to desen t ess then ollom I I di
"You sound hk I i i llet i _cd with disapprov-
al, pissing me off again. She sounds like a rich kid, v. ho's had all she ever wanted,
but as I take a closer look at her clothes — she's dressed in Walmart, or Old Navy
possibly — I know that isn't it. She hasn't grow n up in an affluent household.
/ could really lake care ol you.
Shit, where the fuck did that come from? Although, now that I consider it, I
do need a new sub. It's been, what — two mi u in nd here I at
salivating over this brown-haired girl. 1 lr a smile and agree with her. Nothing
economy.
What the fuck does this have to do with the price of oil? I scowl at her. What
a ridiculous question. If I'd stayed with the crack whore, I'd probably be dead. I
blow her off w tth 1 1 n nswer.lni i p n iiceleel hut she pushes mc,
demanding to know my how old I was when I was adopted. Shut her down, Grey!