Chapter Three
Kate is ecstatic. “But what was he doing at Clayton’s?” Her curiosity oozes through the phone.
I’m in the depths of the stockroom, trying to keep my voice casual. “He was in the area.”
“I think that is one huge coincidence, Ana. You don’t think he was there to see you?”
My heart lurches at the prospect, but it’s a short-lived joy. The dull, disappointing reality is that he was here on business. “He was visiting the environmental science division of WSU. He’s funding some research,” I inform her.
“Oh, yes. He’s given the department a $2.5 million grant.”
Wow. “How do you know this?”
“Ana, I’m a journalist, and I’ve written a profile on the guy. It’s my job to know this.”
“Okay, Carla Bernstein, keep your hair on. So do you want these photos?”
“Of course I do. The question is, who’s going to do them and where?”
“We could ask him where. He says he’s staying in the area.”
“You can contact him?”
“I have his cell phone number.”
Kate gasps. “The richest, most elusive, most enigmatic bachelor in Washington State just gave you his cell phone number?”
“Er…yes.”
“Ana! He likes you. No doubt about it.” Her tone is emphatic.
“Kate, he’s just trying to be nice.” But even as I say the words, I know they’re not true—Christian Grey doesn’t do nice.
He does polite, maybe. And a small, quiet voice whispers, Perhaps Kate is right.
My scalp prickles at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he might like me.
After all, he did say he was glad Kate didn’t do the interview.
I hug myself with quiet glee, rocking from side to side, entertaining the possibility that he might like me.
Kate brings me back to the now. “I don’t know who we’ll get to do the shoot. Levi, our regular photographer, can’t. He’s home in Idaho Falls for the weekend. He’ll be pissed that he blew an opportunity to photograph one of America’s leading entrepreneurs.”
“Hmm… What about José?”
“Great idea! You ask him—he’ll do anything for you. Then call Grey and find out where he wants us.” Kate is irritatingly cavalier about José.
“I think you should call him.”
“Who, José?” Kate scoffs.
“No, Grey.”
“Ana, you’re the one with the relationship.”
“Relationship?” I squeak, my voice rising several octaves. “I barely know the guy.”
“At least you’ve met him,” she says bitterly. “And it looks like he wants to know you better. Ana, just call him,” she snaps and hangs up. She is so bossy sometimes.
I frown at my cell, sticking my tongue out at it.
I’m just leaving a message for José when Paul enters the stockroom looking for sandpaper.
“We’re kind of busy out there, Ana,” he says without acrimony.
“Yeah, um, sorry,” I mutter, turning to leave.
“So, how come you know Christian Grey?” Paul’s voice is unconvincingly nonchalant.
“I had to interview him for our student newspaper. Kate wasn’t well.” I shrug, trying to sound casual and doing no better than him.
“Christian Grey in Clayton’s. Go figure,” Paul snorts, amazed. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, want to grab a drink or something this evening?”
Whenever he’s home he asks me on a date, and I always say no. It’s a ritual. I’ve never considered it a good idea to date the boss’s brother, and besides, Paul is cute in a wholesome all-American boy-next-door kind of way, but he’s no literary hero, not by any stretch of the imagination.
Is Grey? my subconscious asks me, her eyebrow figuratively raised. I slap her down. “Don’t you have a family dinner or something for your brother?”
“That’s tomorrow.”
“Maybe some other time, Paul. I need to study tonight. I have finals next week.”
“Ana, one of these days you’ll say yes.” He smiles as I escape to the store floor.
“But I do places, Ana, not people,” José groans.
“José, please?” I beg. I pace the living room of our apartment, clutching my cell and staring out the window at the fading evening light.
“Give me that phone.” Kate grabs the handset from me, tossing her silken reddish-blond hair over her shoulder.
“Listen here, José Rodriguez, if you want our newspaper to cover the opening of your show, you’ll do this shoot for us tomorrow, capisce?
” Kate can be awesomely tough. “Good. Ana will call back with the location and the call time. We’ll see you tomorrow.
” She snaps my cell phone off. “Sorted. All we need to do now is decide where and when. Call him.” She holds the phone out to me. My stomach twists. “Call Grey, now!”
I scowl at her and reach into my back pocket for his business card. I take a deep, steadying breath, and with shaking fingers, I dial the number.
He answers on the second ring. His tone is clipped, calm, and cold. “Grey.”
“Er…Mr. Grey? It’s Anastasia Steele.” I don’t recognize my own voice, I’m so nervous. There’s a brief pause while inside I’m quaking.
“Miss Steele. How nice to hear from you.” His voice has changed. He’s surprised, I think, and he sounds so…warm—seductive even.
My breath hitches, and I flush. I’m suddenly conscious that Katherine Kavanagh is staring at me, her mouth open, and I dart into the kitchen to avoid her scrutiny.
“Um, we’d like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the article.
” Breathe, Ana, breathe. My lungs drag in a hasty breath.
“Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir? ”
I can almost hear his sphinxlike smile through the phone.
“I’m staying at The Heathman in Portland. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?”
“Okay, we’ll see you there.” I am all gushing and breathy—like a child, not a grown woman who can vote and drink legally in the state of Washington.
“I look forward to it, Miss Steele.” I hang up, visualizing the wicked gleam in his eyes. How can he make seven little words hold so much tantalizing promise?
Kate is in the kitchen, and she’s staring at me with a look of complete and utter consternation on her face. “Anastasia Rose Steele. You like him! I’ve never seen or heard you so…so…affected by anyone before. You’re actually blushing.”
“Oh, Kate, you know I blush all the time,” I snap. “It’s an occupational hazard with me. Don’t be ridiculous.” She blinks at me with surprise—I very rarely have hissy fits—and I briefly relent. “I just find him…intimidating, that’s all.”
“Heathman, that figures,” mutters Kate. “I’ll give the manager a call and negotiate a space for the shoot.”
“I’ll make dinner. Then I need to study.” I cannot hide my irritation with her as I open one of the cupboards.
I’m restless that night, tossing and turning, dreaming of smoky gray eyes, coveralls, long legs, long fingers, and dark, dark unexplored places.
I wake twice in the night, my heart pounding.
Oh, I’m going to look just great tomorrow with so little sleep, I scold myself. I punch my pillow and try to settle.
The Heathman is nestled in the heart of downtown Portland.
Its impressive brown stone edifice was completed just in time for the crash of the late 1920s.
José, Travis, and I are traveling in my Beetle, and Kate is in her CLK, since we can’t all fit in my car.
Travis is José’s friend and gopher, here to help out with the lighting.
Kate has managed to acquire the use of a room at The Heathman free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article.
When Kate explains at reception that we’re here to photograph Christian Grey, CEO, we are instantly upgraded to a suite.
Just a regular-size one, though, as apparently Mr. Grey is already occupying their largest one.
An overeager marketing executive shows us up to the suite; he’s terribly young and very nervous for some reason.
I suspect Kate’s beauty and commanding manner disarm him, because he’s putty in her hands.
The rooms are elegant, understated, and opulently furnished.
It’s nine. We have half an hour to set up. Kate is in full flow.
“José, I think we’ll shoot against that wall, do you agree?” She doesn’t wait for his reply. “Travis, clear the chairs. Ana, could you ask room service to bring up some refreshments? And let Grey know where we are.”
Yes, mistress. She is so domineering. I roll my eyes but do as I’m told.
Half an hour later, Christian Grey walks into our suite.
Holy crap! He’s wearing a white shirt, open at the collar, and gray flannel pants that hang from his hips.
His unruly hair is still damp from a shower.
My mouth goes dry looking at him. He’s so freaking hot.
Grey is followed into the suite by a man in his midthirties, all buzz cut and stubble in a sharp dark suit and tie who stands silently in the corner. His hazel eyes watch us impassively.
“Miss Steele, we meet again.” Grey extends his hand, and I shake it, blinking rapidly.
Oh my… He really is quite… As I touch his hand, I’m aware of that delicious current running right through me, lighting me up, making me blush, and I’m sure my erratic breathing must be audible.
“Mr. Grey, this is Katherine Kavanagh.” I wave a hand toward Kate, who comes forward, looking him squarely in the eye.
“The tenacious Miss Kavanagh. How do you do?” He gives her a small smile, looking genuinely amused. “I trust you’re feeling better? Anastasia said you were unwell last week.”
“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Grey.” She shakes his hand firmly without batting an eyelid.
I remind myself that Kate has been to the best private schools in Washington. Her family has money, and she’s grown up confident and sure of her place in the world. She doesn’t take any crap. I am in awe of her.
“Thank you for taking the time to do this.” She gives him a polite, professional smile.
“It’s a pleasure,” he answers, turning his gaze on me, and I flush again. Damn it.
“This is José Rodriguez, our photographer.” I grin at José, who smiles back with affection. His eyes cool when he looks from me to Grey.
“Mr. Grey.” He nods.