why should he? Again, I’m irritated that Kate didn’t give me a brief biography.

While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to

what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic – as if

he had a hidden agenda. And Kate’s questions – ugh! The adoption and asking him if he

was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now!Every time

I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Katherine

Kavanagh!

I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occa-

sion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating gray eyes gazing at me, and a stern

voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Grey’s more like a man

double his age.

Forget it, Ana,I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting expe-

rience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it . Put it behind you.I never have to see him again. I’m

immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up

loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator.

As I hit the 1-5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.

We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Vancouver, Washington, close to the

Vancouver campus of WSU. I’m lucky – Kate’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay

peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Kate is go-

ing to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini-

disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.

“Ana! You’re back.” Kate sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly

been studying for finals – though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute

little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for

assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me

hard.

“I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.”

“Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini-

disc recorder at her.

“Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was

he like?” Oh no – here we go, the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.

I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?

“I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you

know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused, intense even – and young. Really young.”

Kate gazes innocently at me. I frown at her.

“Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel

like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Kate clamps a hand to her mouth.

“Jeez, Ana, I’m sorry – I didn’t think.”

I huff.

“Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy – like he’s old before his time. He

doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old ishe anyway?”

“Twenty-seven. Jeez, Ana, I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a

panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

“You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject.

“Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in grati-

tude. I check my watch.

“I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”

“Ana, you’ll be exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started at WSU. It’s the largest independent hardware

store in the Portland area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a

little bit about most everything we sell – although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave

all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire

kind of girl. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t

Christian Grey. We’re busy – it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating

their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me.

“Ana! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.”

“My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.”

“I’m real pleased to see you.”

She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in

the task.

When I arrive home later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop.

Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing

furiously. I’m thoroughly drained – exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview,

and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the

essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up

with … him.

“You’ve got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him

up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.”

She gives me a fleeting quizzical look.

I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn’t the reason, surely? He

just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize

I’m biting my lip, and I hope Kate doesn’t notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcrip-

tion.“I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?” she asks.

“Um… no, I didn’t.”

“That’s fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don’t have some origi-

nal stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

I flush.

“I suppose so.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed.

“Oh come on, Ana – even you can’t be immune to his looks.” She arches a perfect

eyebrow at me.

Crap!I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy.

“You probably would have got a lot more out of him.”

“I doubt that, Ana. Come on – he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this

on you at the last minute, you did very well.” She glances up at me speculatively. I make

a hasty retreat into the kitchen.

“So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let

this go? Think of something – quick.

“He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant – scary really, but very charismatic. I can un-

derstand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will

shut her up once and for all.

“You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” she snorts.

I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face.

“Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrass-

ing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory.

“Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date.”

“It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to

lay eyes on him again.”

“Oh, Ana, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.”

Taken with me?Now Kate’s being ridiculous.

“Would you like a sandwich?”

“Please.”

We talk no more of Christian Grey that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten,

I’m able to sit at the dining table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on

my essay on Tess of the D’Urbervilles.Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at

the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Kate has long

since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accom-