I order a glass of Sancerre and stand at the bar. I’ve been waiting for this moment all day and look repeatedly at my watch. This feels like a first date, and in a way it is. I’ve never taken a prospect out to dinner. I’ve sat through interminable meetings today, bought a business, and fired three people. Nothing I’ve done today, including running—twice—and a quick circuit in the gym, has dispelled the anxiety I’ve wrestled with all day. That power is in the hands of Anastasia Steele. I want her submission.
I hope she’s not going to be late. I glance toward the entrance of the bar…and my mouth dries. She’s standing on the threshold, and for a second I don’t realize it’s her. She looks exquisite: her hair falls in soft waves to her breast on one side, and on the other it’s pinned back so it’s easier to see her delicate jawline and the gentle curve of her slender neck. She’s wearing high heels and a tight dark purple dress that accentuates her lithe, alluring figure.
Wow.
I step forward to meet her. “You look stunning,” I whisper, and kiss her cheek. Closing my eyes, I savor her scent; she smells heavenly. “A dress, Miss Steele. I approve.” Diamonds in her ears would complete the ensemble; I must buy her a pair.
Taking her hand, I lead her to a booth. “What would you like to drink?”
I’m rewarded with a knowing smile as she sits down. “I’ll have what you’re having, please.”
Ah, she’s learning. “Another glass of the Sancerre,” I tell the waiter, and I slide into the booth, opposite her. “They have an excellent wine cellar here,” I add, and take a moment to look at her. She’s wearing a little makeup. Not too much. And I remember when she first fell into my office how ordinary I thought she looked. She is anything but ordinary. With a little makeup and the right clothes, she’s a goddess.
She shifts in her seat and her eyelashes flutter.
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
“Yes.”
This is it, Grey.
Leaning forward, in a candid whisper, I tell her that I’m nervous, too. She looks at me as if I’ve grown three heads.
Yeah, I’m human, too, baby…just.
The waiter places Ana’s wine and two small plates of mixed nuts and olives between us.
Ana squares her shoulders, an indication that she means business, like she did when she first interviewed me. “So, how are we going to do this? Run through my points one by one?” she asks.
“Impatient as ever, Miss Steele.”
“Well, I could ask you what you thought of the weather today,” she retorts.
Oh, that smart mouth.
Let her stew for a moment, Grey.
Keeping my eyes on hers, I pop an olive into my mouth and lick my index finger. Her eyes grow wider and darker.
“I thought the weather was particularly unexceptional today.” I try for nonchalance.
“Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?”
“I am, Miss Steele.”
She purses her lips to stifle her smile. “You know this contract is legally unenforceable.”
“I am fully aware of that, Miss Steele.”
“Were you going to tell me that at any point?”
What? I didn’t think I’d have to…and you’ve worked it out for yourself. “You’d think I’d coerce you into something you don’t want to do, and then pretend that I have a legal hold over you?”
“Well, yes.”
Whoa. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Anastasia, it doesn’t matter if it’s legal or not. It represents an arrangement that I would like to make with you—what I would like from you and what you can expect from me. If you don’t like it, then don’t sign. If you do sign and then decide you don’t like it, there are enough get-out clauses so you can walk away. Even if it were legally binding, do you think I’d drag you through the courts if you did decide to run?”
What does she take me for?
She considers me with her unfathomable blue eyes.
What I need her to understand is that this contract isn’t about the law, it’s about trust.
I want you to trust me, Ana.
As she takes a sip of her wine I rush on, endeavoring to explain. “Relationships like this are built on honesty and trust. If you don’t trust me—trust me to know how I’m affecting you, how far I can go with you, how far I can take you—if you can’t be honest with me, then we really can’t do this.”
She rubs her chin as she considers what I’ve said.
“So it’s quite simple, Anastasia. Do you trust me or not?”
And if she thinks so little of me, then we shouldn’t do this at all.
My gut is knotting with tension.
“Did you have similar discussions with, um…the fifteen?”
“No.” Why is she going off on this tangent?
“Why not?” she asks.
“Because they were all established submissives. They knew what they wanted out of a relationship with me and generally what I expected. With them, it was just a question of fine-tuning the soft limits, details like that.”
“Is there a store you go to? Submissives ’R’ Us?” She arches an eyebrow and I laugh out loud. And like a magician’s rabbit the tension in my body disappears. “Not exactly.” My tone is wry.
“Then how?” She’s ever-curious, but I don’t want to talk about Elena again. Last time I mentioned her Ana turned frosty. “Is that what you want to discuss? Or shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Your issues, as you say.”
She frowns.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
She looks suspiciously at the olives. “No.”
“Have you eaten today?”
She hesitates.
Shit.
“No,” she says. I try not to let her admission anger me.
“You have to eat, Anastasia. We can eat down here or in my suite. Which would you prefer?”
She’ll never go for this.
“I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground.”
As predicted—sensible, Miss Steele.
“Do you think that would stop me?” My voice is husky.
She swallows. “I hope so.”
Put the girl out of her misery, Grey.
“Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public.” Rising, I hold out my hand to her.
