Chapter One #2
His office is way too big for just one man.
In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a modern dark-wood desk that six people could comfortably eat around.
It matches the coffee table by the couch.
Everything else is white—ceiling, floors, and walls, except for the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square.
They are exquisite—a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs.
Displayed together, they are breathtaking.
“A local artist. Trouton,” says Grey when he catches my gaze.
“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” I murmur, distracted both by him and the paintings.
He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently. “I couldn’t agree more, Miss Steele,” he replies, his voice soft, and for some inexplicable reason, I find myself blushing.
Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical.
I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me.
I shake my head, disturbed at the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Kate’s questions from my backpack.
Next, I set up the digital recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me.
Mr. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently—I hope—as I become increasingly flustered.
When I pluck up the courage to look at him, he’s watching me, one hand relaxed in his lap and the other cupping his chin and trailing his long index finger across his lips.
I think he’s trying to suppress a smile.
“S-sorry,” I stutter. “I’m not used to this.”
“Take all the time you need, Miss Steele.”
“Do you mind if I record your answers?”
“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you ask me now?”
Crap. He’s teasing me? I hope. I blink unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. “No, I don’t mind.”
“Did Kate, I mean, Miss Kavanagh, explain what the interview was for?”
“Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper, as I shall be giving the commencement address at this year’s graduation ceremony.”
Oh! This is news to me, and I’m temporarily preoccupied by the thought that someone not much older than me—okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega-successful, but still—has been given the honor to address our class. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.
“Good.” I swallow nervously. “I have some questions, Mr. Grey.” I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“I thought you might,” he says, deadpan.
He’s laughing at me. My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the Start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.
“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glance up at him.
His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed.
“Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I’m very good at judging people.
I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn’t, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them.
I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.
” He pauses and fixes me with his gray stare.
“My belief is to achieve success in any scheme, one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is it’s always down to good people. ”
“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This isn’t on Kate’s list—but he’s so arrogant.
His eyes flare momentarily in surprise. “I don’t subscribe to luck or chance, Miss Steele.
The harder I work, the more luck I seem to have.
It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly.
I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’”
“You sound like a control freak.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele,” he says without a trace of humor in his smile.
I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive.
My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again.
Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me?
His overwhelming good looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me?
The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he’d stop doing that.
“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself, in your secret reveries, that you were born to control things,” he continues, his voice soft.
“Do you feel that you have immense power?” Control freak.
“I employ over forty thousand people. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”
My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of humility.
“Don’t you have a board to answer to?” I ask, disgusted.
“I own my company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” He raises an eyebrow.
Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, he’s arrogant. I change tack. “And do you have any interests outside your work?”
“I have varied interests, Miss Steele.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Very varied.” And for some reason, I’m confounded and heated by his steady gaze. His eyes are alight with some wicked thought.
“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”
“Chill out?” He smiles, revealing perfect white teeth.
I stop breathing. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking.
“Well, to ‘chill out,’ as you put it—I sail, I fly, I indulge in various physical pursuits.” He shifts in his chair. “I’m a very wealthy man, Miss Steele, and I have expensive and absorbing hobbies.”
I glance quickly at Kate’s questions, wanting to get off this subject.
“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?” I ask. Why does he make me so uncomfortable?
“I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?”
“That sounds like your heart talking, rather than logic and facts.”
His mouth quirks up, and he stares as if appraising me. “Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”
“Why would they say that?”
“Because they know me well.” His lip curls in a wry smile.
“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It’s not on Kate’s list.
“I’m a very private person. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews.”
“Why did you agree to do this one?”
“Because I’m a benefactor of the university, and for all intents 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.”
I know how tenacious Kate can be. That’s why I’m sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze when I should be studying for my exams.
“You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”
“We can’t eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.”
“That sounds very philanthropic. Is that something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?”
He shrugs noncommittally. “It’s shrewd business,” he murmurs, though I think he’s being disingenuous. It doesn’t make sense—feeding the world’s poor? I can’t see the financial benefit, only the virtue of the ideal.
I glance at the next question, confused by his attitude. “Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”
“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe 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 justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control—of myself and those around me.”
“So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak.
“I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”
“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”
“I am.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes.
Again, this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking we’re talking about something else, but I’m mystified as to what it is.
I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising, or maybe it’s just me.
I just want this interview to be over. Surely Kate has enough material now.
I glance at the next question. “You were adopted. How much do you think that’s shaped the way you are?” Oh, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he’s not offended. His brow furrows.
“I have no way of knowing.”
My interest is piqued. “How old were you when you were adopted?”
“That’s a matter of public record, Miss Steele.” His tone is stern.
Crap. Yes, of course—if I’d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. Flustered, I move on quickly.
“You’ve had to sacrifice family life for your work.”
“That’s not a question.” He’s terse.
“Sorry.” I squirm; he’s made me feel like an errant child. I try again. “Have you had to sacrifice family life for your work?”
“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?”