[anainnocent]

“I couldn‟t agree more, Miss Steele,” he replies, his voice soft and for some inexpli-
cable 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 satchel. Next, I set up the mini-disc 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 embarrassed and 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.
“Sorry,” I stutter. “I‟m not used to this.”
“Take all the time you need, Miss Steele,” he says.
“Do you mind if I record your answers?”
“After you‟ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder – you ask me now?”
I flush. He‟s teasing me? I hope. I blink at him, 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 confer-
ring the degrees at this year‟s graduation ceremony.”
Oh! This is news to me, and I‟m temporarily pre-occupied by the thought that some-
one not much older than me – okay, maybe six years or so, and okay, mega successful, but
still – is going to present me with my degree. 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 in-
timidating. 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 suc-
cess?” 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 develop-
ment 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, Miss Steele. 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 up, 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 at me.
I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. But holy crap, he‟s so
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 var-
ied.” 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 appraisingly at 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, Miss Steele. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don‟t
often give interviews,” he trails off.
“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 uncomfort-
ably 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 it something you feel passionately about? Feeding
the world‟s poor?”
He shrugs, very non-committal.
“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 benefits of this, 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 that we‟re talking about
something else, but I‟m absolutely mystified as to what it is. I swallow hard. The tempera-
ture 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 far 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. I flush, again. Crap.
Yes of course – if I‟d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research.
I move on quickly.
“You‟ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.”
“That‟s not a question.” He‟s terse.
“Sorry.” I squirm, and he‟s made me feel like an errant child. I try again. “Have you
had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”
“I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I‟m not inter-
ested in extending my family beyond that.”
“Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”
He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn‟t I employ some kind
of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I‟m just reading the questions?
Damn Kate and her curiosity!
“No Anastasia, I‟m not.” He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does
not look pleased.
“I apologize. It‟s um… written here.” It‟s the first time he‟s said my name. My heart-
beat has accelerated, and my cheeks are heating up again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened
hair behind my ear.
He cocks his head to one side.
“These aren‟t your own questions?”
The blood drains from my head. Oh no.
“Err… no. Kate – Miss Kavanagh – she compiled the questions.”
“Are you colleagues on the student paper?” Oh crap. I have nothing to do with the
student paper. It‟s her extra-curricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame.
“No. She‟s my roommate.”
He rubs his chin in quiet deliberation, his gray eyes appraising me.
“Did you volunteer to do this interview?” he asks, his voice deadly quiet.
Hang on, who‟s supposed to be interviewing whom? His eyes burn into me, and I‟m
compelled to answer with the truth.
“I was drafted. She‟s not well.” My voice is weak and apologetic.
“That explains a great deal.”
There‟s a knock at the door, and Blonde Number Two enters.
“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 hesitates, gaping at him. She‟s appears lost. He turns his head slowly to face
her and raises his eyebrows. She flushes bright pink. Oh good. It‟s not just me.
“Very well, Mr. Grey,” she mutters, then exits. He frowns, and turns his attention back
to me.
“Where were we, Miss Steele?”
Oh, we‟re back to „Miss Steele‟ now.
“Please don‟t let me keep you from anything.”
“I want to know about you. I think that‟s only fair.” His gray eyes are alight with cu-
riosity. Double crap. Where‟s he going with this? He places his elbows on the arms of
the chair and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth. His mouth is very… distracting. I
swallow.
“There‟s not much to know,” I say, flushing again.
“What are your plans after you graduate?”
I shrug, thrown by his interest. Come to Seattle with Kate, find a place, find a job. I
haven‟t really thought beyond my finals.
“I haven‟t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.”
Which I should be studying for now rather than sitting in your palatial, swanky, sterile of-
fice, feeling uncomfortable under your penetrating gaze.
“We run an excellent internship program here,” he says quietly. I raise my eyebrows
in surprise. Is he offering me a job?
“Oh. I‟ll bear that in mind,” I murmur, completely confounded. “Though I‟m not sure
I‟d fit in here.” Oh no. I‟m musing out loud again.
“Why do you say that?” He cocks his head to one side, intrigued, a hint of a smile
playing on his lips.
“It‟s obvious, isn‟t it?” I‟m uncoordinated, scruffy, and I‟m not blonde.
“Not to me,” he murmurs. His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles
deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly
down at my knotted fingers. What‟s going on? I have to go – now. I lean forward to re-
trieve the recorder.
“Would you like me to show you around?” he asks.
“I‟m sure you‟re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.”
“You‟re driving back to WSU in Vancouver?” He sounds surprised, anxious even. He
glances out of the window. It‟s begun to rain. “Well, you‟d better drive carefully.” His tone
is stern, authoritative. Why should he care? “Did you get everything you need?” he adds.
“Yes sir,” I reply, packing the recorder into my satchel. His eyes narrow, speculatively.
“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey.”
“The pleasure‟s been all mine,” he says, polite as ever.
As I rise, he stands and holds out his hand.
“Until we meet again, Miss Steele.” And it sounds like a challenge, or a threat, I‟m
not sure which. I frown. When will we ever meet again? I shake his hand once more,
astounded that that odd current between us is still there. It must be my nerves.
“Mr. Grey.” I nod at him. Moving with lithe athletic grace to the door, he opens it wide.
“Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele.” He gives me a small smile.
Obviously, he‟s referring to my earlier less-than-elegant entry into his office. I flush.
“That‟s very considerate, Mr. Grey,” I snap, and his smile widens. I‟m glad you find
me entertaining, I glower inwardly, walking into the foyer. I‟m surprised when he follows
me out. Andrea and Olivia both look up, equally surprised.
“Did you have a coat?” Grey asks.
“Yes.” Olivia leaps up and retrieves my jacket, which Grey takes from her before she
can hand it to me. He holds it up and, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, I shrug it on.
Grey places his hands for a moment on my shoulders. I gasp at the contact. If he notices
my reaction, he gives nothing away. His long index finger presses the button summoning
the elevator, and we stand waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his.
The doors open, and I hurry in desperate to escape. I really need to get out of here. When
I turn to look at him, he‟s leaning against the doorway beside the elevator with one hand
on the wall. He really is very, very good-looking. It‟s distracting. His burning gray eyes
gaze at me.
“Anastasia,” he says as a farewell.
“Christian,” I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.