both his ears. He wears a pale blue shirt, no tie, and grey flannel trousers. As I approach

him, he stands and gazes at me with fathomless dark blue eyes.

“Ana Steele, I’m Jack Hyde, the commissioning editor here at SIP, and I’m very

pleased to meet you.”

We shake hands, and his dark expression is unreadable, though friendly enough, I

think.

“Have you traveled far?” he asks pleasantly.

“No, I’ve recently moved to the Pike Street Market area.”

“Oh, not far at all then. Please, take a seat.”

I sit, and Elizabeth takes a seat beside him.

“So why would you like to intern for us at SIP, Ana?” he asks.

He says my name softly and cocks his head to one side, like someone I know – it’s

unnerving. Doing my best to ignore the irrational wariness he inspires, I launch into my

carefully prepared speech, conscious that a rosy flush is spreading across my cheeks. I look

at both of them, remembering The Katherine Kavanagh Successful Interviewing Technique

lecture – maintain eye contact, Ana!Boy, that woman can be bossy too, sometimes. Jack

and Elizabeth both listen attentively.

“You have a very impressive GPA. What extra-curricular activities did you indulge in

at WSU?”

Indulge?I blink at him. What an odd choice of word. I launch into details of my

librarianship at the campus central library, and my one experience of interviewing an ob-

scenely rich despot for the student magazine. I gloss over the part that I didn’t actually

write the article. I mention the two literary societies that I belonged to and conclude with

working at Clayton’s and all the useless knowledge I now possess about hardware and DIY.

They both laugh, which is the response I’d hoped for. Slowly, I relax and begin to enjoy

myself.

Jack Hyde asks sharp, intelligent questions, but I’m not thrown – I keep up, and when

we discuss my reading preferences and my favorite books, I think I hold my own. Jack, on

the other hand, appears to only favor American literature written after 1950. Nothing else.

No classics - not even Henry James or Upton Sinclair or F Scott Fitzgerald. Elizabeth says

nothing, just nods occasionally and takes notes. Jack, though argumentative, is charming

in his way, and my initial wariness dissipates the longer we talk.

“And where do you see yourself in five years’ time?” he asks.

With Christian Grey,the thought comes involuntarily into my head. My errant mind

makes me frown.

“Copy editing perhaps? Maybe a literary agent, I’m not sure. I am open to opportuni-

ties.”He grins.

“Very good, Ana. I don’t have any further questions. Do you?” he directs his question

at me.

“When would you like someone to start?” I ask.

“As soon as possible,” Elizabeth pipes up. “When could you start?”

“I’m available from next week.”

“That’s good to know,” Jack says.

“If that’s all anyone has to say,” Elizabeth glances at the two of us, “I think that con-

cludes the interview.” She smiles kindly.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ana,” Jack says softly as he takes my hand. He

squeezes it gently, so that I blink up at him as I say goodbye.

I feel unsettled as I make my way to my car, though I’m not sure why. I think the inter-

view went well, but it’s so hard to say. Interviews seem such artificial situations, everyone

on their best behavior trying desperately to hide behind a professional façade. Did my face

fit? I shall have to wait and see.

I climb into my Audi A3 and head back to the apartment, though I take me time. I’m on

the red-eye with a stopover in Atlanta, but my flight doesn’t leave until 10:25 this evening,

so I have plenty of time.

Kate is unpacking boxes in the kitchen when I return.

“How did they go?” she asks, excited. Only Kate can look gorgeous in an oversized

shirt, tattered jeans, and a dark blue bandana.

“Good, thanks, Kate. Not sure this outfit was cool enough for the second interview.”

“Oh?”

“Boho chic might have done it.”

Kate raises an eyebrow.

“You and boho chic.” She cocks her head to one side - Gah! Why is everyone remind-

ing me of my favorite Fifty Shades? “Actually, Ana, you’re one of the few people who

could really pull that look off.”

I grin.

“I really liked the second place. I think I could fit in there. The guy who interviewed

me was unnerving though,” I trail off – shit I’m talking to foghorn Kavanagh here. Shut

up Ana!

“Oh?” The Katherine Kavanagh radar for an interesting tidbit of information swoops

into action – a tidbit that will only resurface at some inopportune and embarrassing mo-

ment, which reminds me.

“Incidentally – will you please stop winding Christian up? Your comment about José

at dinner yesterday was out of line. He’s a jealous guy. It doesn’t do any good, you know.”

“Look, if he wasn’t Elliot’s brother I’d have said a lot worse. He’s a real control freak.

I don’t know how you stand it. I was trying to make him jealous – give him a little help

with his commitment issues.” She holds her hands up defensively. “But – if you don’t want

me to interfere, I won’t,” she says hastily at my scowl.

“Good. Life with Christian is complicated enough, trust me.”

Jeez, I sound like him.

“Ana,” she pauses staring at me. “You’re okay, aren’t you? You’re not running to your

mother’s to escape?”

I flush.

“No Kate. It was you who said I needed a break.”

She closes the distance between us and takes my hands – a most un-Kate thing to do.

Oh no… tears threaten.

“You’re just, I don’t know… different. I hope you’re okay, and whatever issues you’re

having with Mr. Moneybags, you can talk to me. And I will try not to wind him up, though

frankly it’s like shooting fish in a barrel with him. Look, Ana, if something’s wrong, you

will tell me, I won’t judge. I’ll try to understand.”

I blink back tears.

“Oh, Kate.” I hug her. “I think I’ve really fallen for him.”

“Ana, anyone can see that. And he’s fallen for you. He’s mad about you. Won’t take

his eyes off you.”

I laugh uncertainly.

“Do you think so?”

“Hasn’t he told you?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Have you told him?”

“Not in so many words.” I shrug apologetically.

“Ana! Someone has to make the first move, otherwise you’ll never get anywhere.”

What… tell him how I feel?

“I’m just afraid I’ll frighten him away.”

“And how do you know he’s not feeling the same?”

“Christian, afraid? I can’t imagine him being frightened of anything.” But as I say the

words, I imagine him as a small child. Maybe fear was all he knew then. Sorrow grips and

squeezes my heart at the thought.

Kate gazes at me with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, rather like my subconscious – all

she needs is the half-moon specs.

“You two need to sit down and talk to each other.”

“We haven’t been doing much talking lately.” I flush. Other stuff. Non-verbal com-

munication and that’s okay. Well, much more than okay.

She grins.

“That’ll be the sexing! If that’s going well, then that’s half the battle Ana. I’ll grab

some Chinese take-out. Are you ready to go?”

“I will be – we don’t have to leave for a couple of hours or so.”

“No – I’ll see you in twenty.” She grabs her jacket and leaves, forgetting to close the

door. I shut it behind her and head off to my bedroom mulling over her words.

Is Christian afraid of his feelings for me? Does he even have feelings for me? He