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 stock room 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 my finals next week.”
　　“Ana, one of these days, you’ll say yes,” he smiles as I escape out to the store floor.
　　“But I do places, Ana, not people,” José groans.
　　“José, please?” I beg. Clutching my cell, I pace the living area of our apartment, staring out of the window at the fading evening light.
　　“Give me that phone.” Kate grabs the handset from me, tossing her silken red-blonde hair over her shoulder.
　　“Listen here, José Rodriquez, if you want our newspaper to cover the opening of your show, you’ll do this shoot for us tomorrow, capiche?” 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 shut.
　　“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.”
　　“Err… Mr. Grey? It’s Anastasia Steele.” I don’t recognize my own voice, I’m so nervous. There’s a brief pause. 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 unwanted scrutiny.
　　“Err – 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 sphinx-like 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 visualize the wicked gleam in his gray eyes. How can he make seven little words hold so much tantalizing promise? I hang up. 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. It’s an occupational hazard with me. Don’t be so ridiculous,” I snap. She blinks at me with surprise – I very rarely throw my toys out of the pram – 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 supper. Then I need to study.” I cannot hide my irritation with her as I open one of cupboards to make supper.
　　I am 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 downtown heart of 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 she explains at reception that we’re here to photograph Christian Grey CEO, we are instantly upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparently Mr. Grey is already occupying the largest one in the building. An over-keen marketing executive shows us up to the suite – he’s terribly young and very nervous for some reason. I suspect it’s Kate’s beauty and commanding manner that disarms 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 housekeeping 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 grey 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 mid-thirties, 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… wow. 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 mutter, waving 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 gray gaze on me, and I flush, again. Damn it.
　　“This is José Rodriguez, our photographer,” I say, grinning at José who smiles with affection back at me. His eyes cool when he looks from me to Grey.

　　“Mr. Grey,” he nods.
　　“Mr. Rodriguez,” Grey’s expression changes too as he appraises José.
　　“Where would you like me?” Grey asks him. His tone sounds vaguely threatening. But Katherine is not about to let José run the show.
　　“Mr. Grey – if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables. And then we’ll do a few standing, too.” She directs him to a chair set up against the wall.
　　Travis switches on the lights, momentarily blinding Grey, and mutters an apology. Then Travis and I stand back and watch as José proceeds to snap away. He takes several photographs hand-held, asking Grey to turn this way, then that, to move his arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, José takes several more, while Grey sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes. My wish has come true: I can stand and admire Grey from not-so-afar. Twice our eyes lock, and I have to tear myself away from his cloudy gaze.
　　“Enough sitting.” Katherine wades in again. “Standing, Mr. Grey?” she asks.
　　He stands, and Travis scurries in to remove the chair. The shutter on José’s Nikon starts clicking again.
　　“I think we have enough,” José announces five minutes later.
　　“Great,” says Kate. “Thank you again, Mr. Grey.” She shakes his hand, as does José.
　　“I look forward to reading the article, Miss Kavanagh,” murmurs Grey, and turns to me, standing by the door. “Will you walk with me, Miss Steele?” he asks.
　　“Sure,” I say, completely thrown. I glance anxiously at Kate, who shrugs at me. I notice José scowling behind her.
　　“Good day to you all,” says Grey as he opens the door, standing aside to allow me out first.
　　Holy hell… what’s this about? What does he want? I pause in the hotel corridor, fidgeting nervously as Grey emerges from the room followed by Mr. Buzz-Cut in his sharp suit.
　　“I’ll call you, Taylor,” he murmurs to Buzz-Cut. Taylor wanders back down the corridor, and Grey turns his burning gray gaze to me. Crap… have I done something wrong?
　　“I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning.”
　　My heart slams into my mouth. A date? Christian Grey is asking me on a date. He’s asking if you want a coffee. Maybe he thinks you haven’t woken up yet, my subconscious whines at me in a sneering mood again. I clear my throat trying to control my nerves.
　　“I have to drive everyone home,” I murmur apologetically, twisting my hands and fingers in front of me.
　　“TAYLOR,” he calls, making me jump. Taylor, who had been retreating down the corridor, turns and heads back toward us.
　　“Are they based at the university?” Grey asks, his voice soft and inquiring. I nod, too stunned to speak.
　　“Taylor can take them. He’s my driver. We have a large 4x4 here, so he’ll be able to take the equipment too.”
　　“Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks when he reaches us, giving nothing away.
　　“Please, can you drive the photographer, his assistant, and Miss Kavanagh back home?”
　　“Certainly, sir,” Taylor replies.
　　“There. Now can you join me for coffee?” Grey smiles as if it’s a done deal.
　　I frown at him.
　　“Um – Mr. Grey, err – this really… look, Taylor doesn’t have to drive them home.” I flash a brief look at Taylor, who remains stoically impassive. “I’ll swap vehicles with Kate, if you give me a moment.”
　　Grey smiles a dazzling, unguarded, natural, all-teeth-showing, glorious smile. Oh my… and he opens the door of the suite so I can re-enter. I scoot around him to enter the room, finding Katherine in deep discussion with José.
　　“Ana, I think he definitely likes you,” she says with no preamble whatsoever. José glares at me with disapproval. “But I don’t trust him,” she adds. I raise my hand up in the hope that she’ll stop talking. By some miracle, she does.

　　“Kate, if you take the Beetle, can I take your car?”
　　“Why?”
　　“Christian Grey has asked me to go for coffee with him.”
　　Her mouth pops open. Speechless Kate! I savor the moment. She grabs me by my arm and drags me into the bedroom that’s off the living area of the suite.
　　“Ana, there’s something about him.” Her tone is full of warning. “He’s gorgeous, I agree, but I think he’s dangerous. Especially to someone like you.”
　　“What do you mean, someone like me?” I demand, affronted.
　　“An innocent like you, Ana. You know what I mean,” she says a little irritated. I flush.
　　“Kate, it’s just coffee. I’m starting my exams this week, and I need to study, so I won’t be long.”
　　She purses her lips as if considering my request. Finally, she fishes her car keys out of her pocket and hands them to me. I hand her mine.
　　“I’ll see you later. Don’t be long, or I’ll send out search and rescue.”
　　“Thanks.” I hug her.
　　I emerge from the suite to find Christian Grey waiting, leaning up against the wall, looking like a male model in a pose for some glossy high-end magazine.
　　“Okay, let’s do coffee,” I murmur, flushing a beet red.
　　He grins.
　　“After you, Miss Steele.” He stands up straight, holding his hand out for me to go first. I make my way down the corridor, my knees shaky, my stomach full of butterflies, and my heart in my mouth thumping a dramatic uneven beat. I am going to have coffee with Christian Grey... and I hate coffee.
　　We walk together down the wide hotel corridor to the elevators. What should I say to him? My mind is suddenly paralyzed with apprehension. What are we going to talk about? What on Earth do I have in common with him? His soft, warm voice startles me from my reverie.
　　“How long have you known Katherine Kavanagh?”
　　Oh, an easy questions for starters.
　　“Since our freshman year. She’s a good friend.”
　　“Hmm,” he replies, non-committal. What is he thinking?
　　At the elevators, he presses the call button, and the bell rings almost immediately. The doors slide open revealing a young couple in a passionate clinch inside. Surprised and embarrassed, they jump apart, staring guiltily in every direction but ours. Grey and I step into the elevator.
　　I am struggling to maintain a straight face, so I gaze down at the floor, feeling my cheeks turning pink. When I peek up at Grey through my lashes, he has a hint of a smile on his lips, but it’s very hard to tell. The young couple says nothing, and we travel down to the first floor in embarrassed silence. We don’t even have trashy piped music to distract us.
　　The doors open and, much to my surprise, Grey takes my hand, clasping it with his long cool fingers. I feel the current run through me, and my already rapid heartbeat accelerates. As he leads me out of the elevator, we can hear the suppressed giggles of the couple erupting behind us. Grey grins.
　　“What is it about elevators?” he mutters.
　　We cross the expansive, bustling lobby of the hotel toward the entrance but Grey avoids the revolving door, and I wonder if that’s because he’d have to let go of my hand.
　　Outside, it’s a mild May Sunday. The sun is shining and the traffic is light. Grey turns left and strolls to the corner, where we stop waiting for the lights of the pedestrian crossing to change. He’s still holding my hand. I’m in the street, and Christian Grey is holding my hand. No one has ever held my hand. I feel giddy, and I tingle all over. I attempt to smother the ridiculous grin that threatens to split my face in two. Try to be cool, Ana, my subconscious implores me. The green man appears, and we’re off again.
　　We walk four blocks before we reach the Portland Coffee House, where Grey releases me to hold the door open so I can step inside.