“Did he now?” I remark.
What does the photographer want?
“I thought we might have lunch together, but I can see you have other plans, and I don’t want to interrupt your day.” Grace stands, and for once I’m grateful that she’s intuitive and can read a situation. She offers me her cheek again. I kiss her good-bye.
“I have to drive Anastasia back to Portland.”
“Of course, darling.” Grace turns her bright—and if I’m not mistaken, grateful—smile on Ana.
It’s irritating.
“Anastasia, it’s been such a pleasure.” Grace beams and takes Ana’s hand. “I do hope we meet again.”
“Mrs. Grey?” Taylor appears on the threshold of the room.
“Thank you, Taylor,” Grace responds, and he escorts her from the room and through the double doors to the foyer.
Well, that was interesting.
My mother’s always thought I was gay. But as she’s always respected my boundaries, she’s never asked me.
Well, now she knows.
Ana is worrying her bottom lip, radiating anxiety…as she should be.
“So the photographer called?” I sound gruff.
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Just to apologize, you know—for Friday.”
“I see.” Maybe he wants another shot at her. The thought is displeasing.
Taylor clears his throat. “Mr. Grey, there’s an issue with the Darfur shipment.”
Shit. This is what I get for not checking my e-mail this morning. I’ve been too preoccupied with Ana.
“Charlie Tango back at Boeing Field?” I ask Taylor.
“Yes, sir.”
Taylor acknowledges Ana with a nod. “Miss Steele.”
She gives him a broad smile and he leaves.
“Does he live here? Taylor?” Ana asks.
“Yes.”
Heading into the kitchen, I pick up my phone and quickly check my e-mail. There’s a flagged message from Ros and a couple of texts. I call her immediately.
“Ros, what’s the issue?”
“Christian, hi. The report back from Darfur is not good. They can’t guarantee the safety of the shipments or road crew, and the State Department isn’t willing to sanction the relief without the NGO’s backing.”
Fuck this.
“I’m not having either crew put at risk.” Ros knows this.
“We could try and pull in mercenaries,” she says.
“No, cancel—”
“But the cost,” she protests.
“We’ll air-drop instead.”
“I knew that’s what you’d say, Christian. I have a plan in the works. It will be costly. In the meantime, the containers can go to Rotterdam out of Philly and we can take it from there. That’s it.”
“Good.” I hang up. More support from the State Department would be helpful. I resolve to call Blandino to discuss this further.
My attention reverts to Miss Steele, who’s standing in my living room, regarding me warily. I need to get us back on track.
Yes. The contract. That’s the next step in our negotiation.
In my study, I gather the papers that are on my desk and stuff them into a manila envelope.
Ana’s not moved from where I left her in the living room. Perhaps she’s been thinking about the photographer…my mood takes a nosedive.
“This is the contract.” I hold up the envelope. “Read it, and we’ll discuss it next weekend. May I suggest you do some research, so you know what’s involved?” She looks from the manila envelope to me, her face pale. “That’s if you agree, and I really hope you do,” I add.
“Research?”
“You’ll be amazed what you can find on the Internet.”
She frowns.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I don’t have a computer. I usually use the computers at school. I’ll see if I can use Kate’s laptop.”
No computer? How can a student not have a computer? Is she that broke? I hand her the envelope. “I’m sure I can, um—lend you one. Get your things, we’ll drive back to Portland and grab some lunch on the way. I need to dress.”
“I’ll just make a call,” she says, her voice soft and hesitant.
“The photographer?” I snap. She looks guilty.
What the hell? “I don’t like to share, Miss Steele. Remember that.” I storm out of the room before I say anything else.
Is she hung up on him?
Was she just using me to break her in?
Fuck.
Maybe it’s the money. That’s a depressing thought…though she doesn’t strike me as a gold digger. She was quite vehement about me not buying her any clothing. I remove my jeans and put on a pair of boxer briefs. My Brioni tie is on the floor. I stoop to pick it up.
She took to being tied up well…There’s hope, Grey. Hope.
I stuff the tie and two others into a messenger bag along with socks, underwear, and condoms.
What am I doing?
Deep down I know I’m going to stay at The Heathman all next week…to be near her. I gather a couple of suits and shirts that Taylor can bring down later in the week. I’ll need one for the graduation ceremony.
I slip on some clean jeans and grab a leather jacket, and my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Elliot.
I’m driving back today in your car.
Hope that doesn’t screw up your plans.
I text back.
No. I’m coming back to Portland now.
Let Taylor know when you arrive.
I buzz Taylor through the internal phone system.
“Mr. Grey?”
“Elliot is bringing the SUV back sometime this afternoon. Bring it down to Portland tomorrow. I’m going to stay at The Heathman until the graduation ceremony. I’ve left some clothes that I’d like you to bring down as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And call Audi. I may need the A3 sooner than I thought.”
“It’s ready, Mr. Grey.”
“Oh. Good. Thanks.”
So that’s the car taken care of; now it’s the computer. I call Barney, assuming he’ll be in his office, and knowing he’ll have a state-of-the-art laptop lying around.
“Mr. Grey?” he answers.
“What are you doing in the office, Barney? It’s Sunday.”
What does the photographer want?
“I thought we might have lunch together, but I can see you have other plans, and I don’t want to interrupt your day.” Grace stands, and for once I’m grateful that she’s intuitive and can read a situation. She offers me her cheek again. I kiss her good-bye.
“I have to drive Anastasia back to Portland.”
“Of course, darling.” Grace turns her bright—and if I’m not mistaken, grateful—smile on Ana.
It’s irritating.
“Anastasia, it’s been such a pleasure.” Grace beams and takes Ana’s hand. “I do hope we meet again.”
“Mrs. Grey?” Taylor appears on the threshold of the room.
“Thank you, Taylor,” Grace responds, and he escorts her from the room and through the double doors to the foyer.
Well, that was interesting.
My mother’s always thought I was gay. But as she’s always respected my boundaries, she’s never asked me.
Well, now she knows.
Ana is worrying her bottom lip, radiating anxiety…as she should be.
“So the photographer called?” I sound gruff.
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Just to apologize, you know—for Friday.”
“I see.” Maybe he wants another shot at her. The thought is displeasing.
Taylor clears his throat. “Mr. Grey, there’s an issue with the Darfur shipment.”
Shit. This is what I get for not checking my e-mail this morning. I’ve been too preoccupied with Ana.
“Charlie Tango back at Boeing Field?” I ask Taylor.
“Yes, sir.”
Taylor acknowledges Ana with a nod. “Miss Steele.”
She gives him a broad smile and he leaves.
“Does he live here? Taylor?” Ana asks.
“Yes.”
Heading into the kitchen, I pick up my phone and quickly check my e-mail. There’s a flagged message from Ros and a couple of texts. I call her immediately.
“Ros, what’s the issue?”
“Christian, hi. The report back from Darfur is not good. They can’t guarantee the safety of the shipments or road crew, and the State Department isn’t willing to sanction the relief without the NGO’s backing.”
Fuck this.
“I’m not having either crew put at risk.” Ros knows this.
“We could try and pull in mercenaries,” she says.
“No, cancel—”
“But the cost,” she protests.
“We’ll air-drop instead.”
“I knew that’s what you’d say, Christian. I have a plan in the works. It will be costly. In the meantime, the containers can go to Rotterdam out of Philly and we can take it from there. That’s it.”
“Good.” I hang up. More support from the State Department would be helpful. I resolve to call Blandino to discuss this further.
My attention reverts to Miss Steele, who’s standing in my living room, regarding me warily. I need to get us back on track.
Yes. The contract. That’s the next step in our negotiation.
In my study, I gather the papers that are on my desk and stuff them into a manila envelope.
Ana’s not moved from where I left her in the living room. Perhaps she’s been thinking about the photographer…my mood takes a nosedive.
“This is the contract.” I hold up the envelope. “Read it, and we’ll discuss it next weekend. May I suggest you do some research, so you know what’s involved?” She looks from the manila envelope to me, her face pale. “That’s if you agree, and I really hope you do,” I add.
“Research?”
“You’ll be amazed what you can find on the Internet.”
She frowns.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I don’t have a computer. I usually use the computers at school. I’ll see if I can use Kate’s laptop.”
No computer? How can a student not have a computer? Is she that broke? I hand her the envelope. “I’m sure I can, um—lend you one. Get your things, we’ll drive back to Portland and grab some lunch on the way. I need to dress.”
“I’ll just make a call,” she says, her voice soft and hesitant.
“The photographer?” I snap. She looks guilty.
What the hell? “I don’t like to share, Miss Steele. Remember that.” I storm out of the room before I say anything else.
Is she hung up on him?
Was she just using me to break her in?
Fuck.
Maybe it’s the money. That’s a depressing thought…though she doesn’t strike me as a gold digger. She was quite vehement about me not buying her any clothing. I remove my jeans and put on a pair of boxer briefs. My Brioni tie is on the floor. I stoop to pick it up.
She took to being tied up well…There’s hope, Grey. Hope.
I stuff the tie and two others into a messenger bag along with socks, underwear, and condoms.
What am I doing?
Deep down I know I’m going to stay at The Heathman all next week…to be near her. I gather a couple of suits and shirts that Taylor can bring down later in the week. I’ll need one for the graduation ceremony.
I slip on some clean jeans and grab a leather jacket, and my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Elliot.
I’m driving back today in your car.
Hope that doesn’t screw up your plans.
I text back.
No. I’m coming back to Portland now.
Let Taylor know when you arrive.
I buzz Taylor through the internal phone system.
“Mr. Grey?”
“Elliot is bringing the SUV back sometime this afternoon. Bring it down to Portland tomorrow. I’m going to stay at The Heathman until the graduation ceremony. I’ve left some clothes that I’d like you to bring down as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And call Audi. I may need the A3 sooner than I thought.”
“It’s ready, Mr. Grey.”
“Oh. Good. Thanks.”
So that’s the car taken care of; now it’s the computer. I call Barney, assuming he’ll be in his office, and knowing he’ll have a state-of-the-art laptop lying around.
“Mr. Grey?” he answers.
“What are you doing in the office, Barney? It’s Sunday.”
