Fifty Shades of Grey

“Always so eager.” Christian takes my hand and leads me to the couch where he sits and tugs me down beside him.

“You’re stepfather’s a very taciturn man.”

Oh… not soft limits then. I just want to get this out of the way; the anxiety is gnawing at me.

“You managed to have him eating out of your hand.” I pout.

Christian laughs softly.

“Only because I know how to fish.”

“How do you know he liked fishing?”

“You told me. When we went for coffee.”

“Oh… did I?” I take another sip. Wow he has a memory for detail. Hmm… this champagne really is very good. “Did you try the wine at the reception?”

Christian makes a face.

“Yes. It was foul.”

“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”

“I’m not knowledgeable, Anastasia, I just know what I like.” His gray eyes shine, almost silver, and it makes me flush. “Some more?” he asks, referring to the champagne.

“Please.”

Christian rises gracefully and collects the bottle. He fills my cup. Is he getting me tipsy? I eye him suspiciously.

“This place looks pretty bare, are you ready for the move?”

“More or less.”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes, my last day at Clayton’s”

“I’d help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport.”

Oh… this is news.

“Mia arrives from Paris very early Saturday morning. I’m heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Elliot is giving you two a hand.”

“Yes, Kate is very excited about that.”

Christian frowns.

“Yes, Kate and Elliot, who would have thought?” he murmurs, and for some reason, he doesn’t look pleased.

“So what are you doing about work in Seattle?”

When are we going to talk about the limits? What’s his game?

“I have a couple of interviews for intern places.”

“You were going tell me this when?” He arches a brow.

“Err… I’m telling you now.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Where?”

For some reason, possibly because he might use his influence, I don’t want to tell him.

“A couple of publishing houses.”

“Is that what you want to do, something in publishing?”

I nod warily.

“Well?” He looks at me patiently wanting more information.

“Well what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Anastasia, which publishing houses?” he scolds.

“Just small ones,” I murmur.

“Why don’t you want me to know?”

“Undue influence.”

He frowns.

“Oh, now you’re being obtuse.”

He laughs.

“Obtuse? Me? God, you’re challenging. Drink up, let’s talk about these limits.” He fishes out another copy of my