Chapter 4

I could really take care of you.

Where the hell did that thought come from?

Although, now that I consider it, I do need a new sub. It’s been, what—two months since Susannah? And here I am, salivating over this woman. I try an agreeable smile. Nothing wrong with consumption—after all, it drives what’s left of the American economy.

“You were adopted. How much do you think that’s shaped the way you are?”

What does this have to do with the price of oil? What a ridiculous question. If I’d stayed with the crack whore, I’d probably be dead. I blow her off with a non-answer, trying to keep my voice level, but she pushes me, demanding to know how old I was when I was adopted.

Shut her down, Grey!

My tone goes cold. “That’s a matter of public record, Miss Steele.”

She should know this, too. Now she looks contrite as she tucks an escaped strand of hair behind her ear. Good.

“You’ve had to sacrifice family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question,” I snap.

She startles, clearly embarrassed, but she has the grace to apologize and she rephrases the question: “Have you had to sacrifice family life for your work?”

What do I want with a family? “I have a family. I have a brother, a sister, and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

“Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”

What the hell!

I cannot believe she’s said that out loud! Ironically, the question even my own family will not ask. How dare she! I have a sudden urge to drag her out of her seat, bend her over my knee, spank her, and then fuck her over my desk with her hands tied behind her back. That would answer her ridiculous question. I take a deep calming breath. To my vindictive delight, she appears to be mortified by her own question.

“No, Anastasia, I’m not.” I raise my eyebrows, but keep my expression impassive. Anastasia. It’s a lovely name. I like the way my tongue rolls around it.

“I apologize. It’s, um…written here.” She’s at it again with the hair behind the ear. Obviously it’s a nervous habit.

Are these not her questions? I ask her, and she pales. Damn, she really is attractive, in an understated sort of way.

“Er…no. Kate—Miss Kavanagh—she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

“No. She’s my roommate.”

No wonder she’s all over the place. I scratch my chin, debating whether or not to give her a really hard time.

“Did you volunteer to do this interview?” I ask, and I’m rewarded with her submissive look: she’s nervous about my reaction. I like the effect I have on her.

“I was drafted. She’s not well.” Her voice is soft.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Andrea appears.

“Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Andrea gapes at me, looking confused. I stare at her. Out! Now! I’m busy with little Miss Steele here.

“Very well, Mr. Grey,” she says, recovering quickly, and turning on her heel, she leaves us.

I turn my attention back to the intriguing, frustrating creature on my couch. “Where were we, Miss Steele?”

“Please, don’t let me keep you from anything.”

Oh no, baby. It’s my turn now. I want to know if there are any secrets to uncover behind that lovely face.

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” As I lean back and press my fingers to my lips, her eyes flick to my mouth and she swallows. Oh yes—the usual effect. And it is gratifying to know she isn’t completely oblivious of my charms.

“There’s not much to know,” she says, her blush returning.

I’m intimidating her. “What are your plans after you graduate?”

“I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.”

“We run an excellent internship program here.”

What possessed me ever to say that? It’s against the rules, Grey. Never fuck the staff…But you’re not fucking this girl.

She looks surprised, and her teeth sink into that lip again. Why is that so arousing?

“Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” she replies. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask. What’s wrong with my company?

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.” I’m confounded by her response. She’s flustered again as she reaches for the recorder.

Shit, she’s going. Mentally I run through my schedule for that afternoon—there is nothing that won’t keep. “Would you like me to show you around?”

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.”

“You’re driving back to Vancouver?” I glance out the window. It’s one hell of a drive, and it’s raining. She shouldn’t be driving in this weather, but I can’t forbid her. The thought irritates me. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” My voice is sterner than I intend. She fumbles with the recorder. She wants out of my office, and to my surprise, I don’t want her to go.

“Did you get everything you need?” I ask in a transparent effort to prolong her stay.

“Yes, sir,” she says quietly. Her response floors me—the way those words sound, coming out of that smart mouth—and briefly I imagine that mouth at my beck and call.