Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

out of his office completely dumbfounded.
    He seemed confused. Why? I have to say as physical experiences go, that was very satisfying. But emotionally – well, I’m rattled by his reaction, and that was about as emotionally enriching as cotton candy is nutritious.
    Mrs. Jones is still in the kitchen.
    “Would you like your tea now, Miss Steele?”
    “I’ll have a shower first, thank you,” I mutter and take my blazing face quickly out of the room.
    In the shower, I try to figure out what’s up with Christian. He is the most complicated person I know, and I cannot understand his ever-changing moods. He seemed fine when I went into his study. We had sex… and then he wasn’t. No, I don’t get it. I look to my subconscious. She’s whistling with her hands behind her back and looking anywhere but at me. She hasn’t got a clue, and my inner goddess is still basking in a remnant of post-coital glow. No – we’re all clueless.
    I towel-dry my hair, comb it through with Christian’s one and only hair implement, and put my hair up in bun. Kate’s plum dress hangs laundered and ironed in the closet along with my clean bra and panties. Mrs. Jones is a marvel. Slipping on Kate’s shoes, I straighten my dress, take a deep breath, and head back out to the great room.
    Christian is still nowhere to be seen, and Mrs. Jones is checking the contents of the pantry.
    “Tea now, Miss Steele?” she asks.
    “Please.” I smile at her. I feel slightly more confident now that I’m dressed.
    “Would you like something to eat?”
    “No, thank you.”
    “Of course you’ll have something to eat,” Christian snaps, glowering. “She likes pancakes, bacon, and eggs, Mrs. Jones.”
    “Yes, Mr. Grey. What would you like, sir?”
    “Omelet, please, and some fruit.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me, his expression unfathomable. “Sit,” he orders, pointing to one of the bar stools.
    I oblige, and he sits beside me while Mrs. Jones busies herself with breakfast. Gosh, it’s unnerving having someone else listen to our conversation.
    “Have you bought your air ticket?”
    “No, I’ll buy it when I get home – over the Internet.”
    He leans on his elbow, rubbing his chin.
    “Do you have the money?”
    Oh no.
    “Yes,” I say with mock patience as if I’m talking to a small child.
    He raises a censorious eyebrow at me. Crap.
    “Yes, I do, thank you,” I amend rapidly.
    “I have a jet. It’s not scheduled to be used for three days; it’s at your disposal.”
    I gape at him. Of course he has a jet, and I have to resist my body’s natural inclination to roll my eyes at him. I want to laugh. But I don’t, as I can’t read his mood.
    “We’ve already made serious misuse of your company’s aviation fleet. I wouldn’t want to do it again.”
    “It’s my company, it’s my jet.” He sounds almost wounded. Oh, boys and their toys!
    “Thank you for the offer. But I’d be happier taking a scheduled flight.”
    He looks like he wants to argue further but decides against it.
    “As you wish,” he sighs. “Do you have much preparation to do for your interview?”
    “No.”
    “Good. You’re still not going to tell me which publishing houses?”
    “No.”
    His lips curl up in a reluctant smile.
    “I am a man of means, Miss Steele.”
    “I am fully aware of that, Mr. Grey. Are you going to track my phone?” I ask innocently.
    “Actually, I’ll be quite busy this afternoon, so I’ll have to get someone else to do it.” He smirks.
    Is he joking?
    “If you can spare someone to do that, you’re obviously overstaffed.”
    “I’ll send an e-mail to the head of human resources and have her look into our head count.” His lips twitch to hide his smile.
    Oh thank the Lord, he’s recovered his sense of humor.
    Mrs. Jones serves us breakfast and we eat quietly for a few moments. After clearing the pans, tactfully, she heads out of the living area. I peek up at him.
    “What it is, Anastasia?”
    “You know, you never did tell me why you don’t like to be touched.”
    He blanches, and his reaction makes me feel guilty for asking.
    “I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anybody.” His voice is quiet as he gazes at me impassively.
    And it’s clear to me that he’s never confided in anyone. Doesn’t he have any close friends? Perhaps he told Mrs. Robinson? I want to ask him, but I can’t – I can’t pry that invasively. I shake my head at the realization. He really is an island.
    “Will you