brother, not a boyfriend. I’m relieved, but the extent of the relief I feel is unexpected, and it makes me frown. This woman has really gotten under my skin.
“Mr. Clayton.” My tone is deliberately clipped.
“Mr. Grey.” His handshake is limp, like his hair. Asshole. “Wait up—not the Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprises Holdings?”
Yeah, that’s me, you prick.
In a heartbeat I watch him morph from territorial to obsequious.
“Wow—is there anything I can get you?”
“Anastasia has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” Now fuck off.
“Cool,” he gushes, all white teeth and deferential. “Catch you later, Ana.”
“Sure, Paul,” she says, and he ambles off to the back of the store. I watch him disappear.
“Anything else, Mr. Grey?”
“Just these items,” I mutter. Shit, I’m out of time, and I still don’t know if I’m going to see her again. I have to know whether there’s a hope in hell she might consider what I have in mind. How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? She’s going to need substantial training. Closing my eyes, I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents…getting there is going to be half the fun. Will she even be up for this? Or do I have it all wrong?
She walks back to the cashier’s counter and rings up my purchases, all the while keeping her eyes on the register.
Look at me, damn it! I want to see her face again and gauge what she’s thinking.
Finally she raises her head. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.”
Is that all?
“Would you like a bag?” she asks, as I pass her my AmEx.
“Please, Anastasia.” Her name—a beautiful name for a beautiful girl—flows smoothly over my tongue.
She packs the items briskly. This is it. I have to go.
“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?”
She nods as she hands back my charge card.
“Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps.” I can’t just leave. I have to let her know I’m interested.“Oh—and Anastasia, I’m glad Miss Kavanagh couldn’t do the interview.” She looks surprised and flattered.
This is good.
I sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the store.
Yes, against my better judgment, I want her. Now I have to wait…fucking wait…again. Utilizing willpower that would make Elena proud, I keep my eyes ahead as I take my cell out of my pocket and climb into the rental car. I’m deliberately not looking back at her. I’m not. I’m not. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where I can see the shop door, but all I see is the quaint storefront. She’s not in the window, staring out at me.
It’s disappointing.
I press 1 on speed dial and Taylor answers before the phone has a chance to ring.
“Mr. Grey,” he says.
“Make reservations at The Heathman; I’m staying in Portland this weekend, and can you bring down the SUV, my computer, and the paperwork beneath it, and a change or two of clothes.”
“Yes, sir. And Charlie Tango ?”
“Have Joe move her to PDX.”
“Will do, sir. I’ll be with you in about three and a half hours.”
I hang up and start the car. So I have a few hours in Portland while I wait to see if this girl is interested in me. What to do? Time for a hike, I think. Maybe I can walk this strange hunger out of my system.
IT’S BEEN FIVE HOURS with no phone call from the delectable Miss Steele. What the hell was I thinking? I watch the street from the window of my suite at The Heathman. I loathe waiting. I always have. The weather, now cloudy, held for my hike through Forest Park, but the walk has done nothing to cure my agitation. I’m annoyed at her for not phoning, but mostly I’m angry with myself. I’m a fool for being here. What a waste of time it’s been chasing this woman. When have I ever chased a woman?
Grey, get a grip.
Sighing, I check my phone once again in the hope that I’ve just missed her call, but there’s nothing. At least Taylor has arrived and I have all my
“Mr. Clayton.” My tone is deliberately clipped.
“Mr. Grey.” His handshake is limp, like his hair. Asshole. “Wait up—not the Christian Grey? Of Grey Enterprises Holdings?”
Yeah, that’s me, you prick.
In a heartbeat I watch him morph from territorial to obsequious.
“Wow—is there anything I can get you?”
“Anastasia has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” Now fuck off.
“Cool,” he gushes, all white teeth and deferential. “Catch you later, Ana.”
“Sure, Paul,” she says, and he ambles off to the back of the store. I watch him disappear.
“Anything else, Mr. Grey?”
“Just these items,” I mutter. Shit, I’m out of time, and I still don’t know if I’m going to see her again. I have to know whether there’s a hope in hell she might consider what I have in mind. How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? She’s going to need substantial training. Closing my eyes, I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents…getting there is going to be half the fun. Will she even be up for this? Or do I have it all wrong?
She walks back to the cashier’s counter and rings up my purchases, all the while keeping her eyes on the register.
Look at me, damn it! I want to see her face again and gauge what she’s thinking.
Finally she raises her head. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.”
Is that all?
“Would you like a bag?” she asks, as I pass her my AmEx.
“Please, Anastasia.” Her name—a beautiful name for a beautiful girl—flows smoothly over my tongue.
She packs the items briskly. This is it. I have to go.
“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?”
She nods as she hands back my charge card.
“Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps.” I can’t just leave. I have to let her know I’m interested.“Oh—and Anastasia, I’m glad Miss Kavanagh couldn’t do the interview.” She looks surprised and flattered.
This is good.
I sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the store.
Yes, against my better judgment, I want her. Now I have to wait…fucking wait…again. Utilizing willpower that would make Elena proud, I keep my eyes ahead as I take my cell out of my pocket and climb into the rental car. I’m deliberately not looking back at her. I’m not. I’m not. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where I can see the shop door, but all I see is the quaint storefront. She’s not in the window, staring out at me.
It’s disappointing.
I press 1 on speed dial and Taylor answers before the phone has a chance to ring.
“Mr. Grey,” he says.
“Make reservations at The Heathman; I’m staying in Portland this weekend, and can you bring down the SUV, my computer, and the paperwork beneath it, and a change or two of clothes.”
“Yes, sir. And Charlie Tango ?”
“Have Joe move her to PDX.”
“Will do, sir. I’ll be with you in about three and a half hours.”
I hang up and start the car. So I have a few hours in Portland while I wait to see if this girl is interested in me. What to do? Time for a hike, I think. Maybe I can walk this strange hunger out of my system.
IT’S BEEN FIVE HOURS with no phone call from the delectable Miss Steele. What the hell was I thinking? I watch the street from the window of my suite at The Heathman. I loathe waiting. I always have. The weather, now cloudy, held for my hike through Forest Park, but the walk has done nothing to cure my agitation. I’m annoyed at her for not phoning, but mostly I’m angry with myself. I’m a fool for being here. What a waste of time it’s been chasing this woman. When have I ever chased a woman?
Grey, get a grip.
Sighing, I check my phone once again in the hope that I’ve just missed her call, but there’s nothing. At least Taylor has arrived and I have all my
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