6

Christian opens the passenger door to the black Audi SUV, and I clamber in. It’s a beast of
a car. He hasn’t mentioned the outburst of passion that exploded in the elevator. Should
I? Should we talk about it or pretend that it didn’t happen? It hardly seems real, my first
proper no-holds-barred kiss. As time ticks on, I assign it mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost
City of Atlantis status. It never happened, it never existed. Perhaps I imagined it all. No.
I touch my lips, swollen from his kiss. It definitely happened. I am a changed woman. I
want this man, desperately, and he wanted me.
I glance at him. Christian is his usual polite, slightly distant self.
How confusing.

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5

It’s very quiet. The light is muted. I am comfortable and warm, in this bed. Hmm… I
open my eyes, and for a moment, I’m tranquil and serene, enjoying the strange unfamiliar
surroundings. I have no idea where I am. The headboard behind me is in the shape of
a massive sun. It’s oddly familiar. The room is large and airy and plushly furnished in
browns and golds and beige. I have seen it before. Where? My befuddled brain struggles
through its recent visual memories. Holy crap. I’m in the Heathman hotel… in a suite. I
have stood in a room similar to this with Kate. This looks bigger. Oh shit. I’m in Christian
Grey’s suite. How did I get here?
Fractured memories of the previous night come slowly back to haunt me. The drinking, oh no the drinking, the phone call, oh no the phone call, the vomiting, oh no the vomiting. José and then Christian. Oh no. I cringe inwardly. I don’t remember coming here.

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4

Kiss me damn it! I implore him, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar
need, completely captivated by him. I’m staring at Christian Grey’s exquisitely sculptured
mouth, mesmerized, and he’s looking down at me, his gaze hooded, his eyes darkening.
He’s breathing harder than usual, and I’ve stopped breathing altogether. I’m in your arms.
Kiss me, please. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives me a small shake of his
head as if in answer to my silent question. When he opens his eyes again, it’s with some
new purpose, a steely resolve.
“Anastasia, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you,” he whispers.
What? Where is this coming from? Surely I should be the judge of that. I frown up at him,
and my head swims with rejection.

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3

Kate is ecstatic.
“But what was he doing at Clayton’s?” Her curiosity oozes through the phone. I’m in
the depths of the stock room, trying to keep my voice casual.
“He was in the area.”
“I think that is one huge coincidence, Ana. You don’t think he was there to see you?”
she speculates. My heart lurches at the prospect, but it’s a short-lived joy. The dull, disappointing reality is that he was here on business.
“He was visiting the farming division of WSU. He’s funding some research,” I mutter.
“Oh yes. He’s given the department a $2.5 million grant.”

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1

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my hair – it just won’t behave,
and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be
studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my hair
into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet. Reciting this
mantra several times, I attempt, once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll
my eyes in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue eyes too big for
her face staring back at me, and give up. My only option is to restrain my wayward hair in
a ponytail and hope that I look semi presentable.

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1 i 2

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as
the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate
sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing,
damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes
and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium.
No man has ever affected me the way Christian Grey has, and I cannot fathom why.
Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction.
I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning
against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather
my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap – what was that? My heart steadies to its regular
rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.

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