Chapter 9


    "Were you a Girl Scout?" he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don''t look at his


    mouth!


    "Organized, group activities aren''t really my thing, Mr. Grey."


    He arches a brow.


    "What is your thing, Anastasia?" he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him


    unable to express myself. I''m on shifting tectonic tes. Try and be cool, Ana, my tortured


    subconscious begs on bended knee.


    "Books," I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing!


    I p it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station.


    "What kind of books?" He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested?


    "Oh, you know. The usual. The ssics. British literature, mainly."


    He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemtes my answer.


    Or perhaps he''s just very bored and trying to hide it.


    "Anything else you need?" I have to get off this subject - those fingers on that face are so beguiling.


    "I don''t know. What else would you rmend?"


    What would I rmendI don''t even know what you''re doing.


    "For a do-it-yourselfer?"


    He nods, gray eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own ord to his snug


    jeans.


    "Coveralls," I reply, and I know I''m no longer screening what''sing out of my mouth.


    He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again.


    "You wouldn''t want to ruin your clothing," I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans.


    "I could always take them off." He smirks.


    "Um." I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of themunist manifesto. Stop


    talking. Stop talking NOW.


    "I''ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing," he says dryly.


    I try and dismiss the unwee image of him without jeans.


    "Do you need anything else?" I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls.


    He ignores my inquiry.


    "How''s the articleing along?"


    He''s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk... a


    question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty.


    "I''m not writing it, Katherine is. Miss Kavanagh. My roommate, she''s the writer.


    She''s very happy with it. She''s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn''t do


    the interview in person." I feel like I''vee up for air - atst, a normal topic of conversation. "Her only


    concern is that she doesn''t have any original photographs of you."


    Grey raises an eyebrow.


    "What sort of photographs does she want?"


    Okay. I hadn''t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don''t know.


    "Well, I''m around. Tomorrow, perhaps... " he trails off.


    "You''d be willing to attend a photo shoot?" My voice is squeaky again. Kate will be in seventh heaven if


    I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark ce at the base of my brain


    whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought - of all the silly, ridiculous...


    "Kate will be delighted - if we can find a photographer." I''m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips


    part, like he''s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost


    somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic tes sliding into a new position.


    Oh my. Christian Grey''s lost look.


    "Let me know about tomorrow." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. "My card. It has


    my cell number on it. You''ll need to call before ten in the morning."


    "Okay." I grin up at him. Kate is going to be thrilled.


    "ANA!"


    Paul has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He''s Mr. yton''s youngest brother. I''d heard he


    was home from Princeton, but I wasn''t expecting to see him today.


    "Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey." Grey frowns as I turn away from him.


    Belonging to N?velDrama.Org.


    Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I''m having with the rich, powerful,


    awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Grey, it''s great to talk to someone who''s normal. Paul


    hugs me hard taking me by surprise.


    "Ana, hi, it''s so good to see you!" he gushes.


    "Hello Paul, how are youYou home for your brother''s birthday?"


    "Yep. You''re looking well, Ana, really well." He grins as he examines me at arm''s length. Then he


    releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot,


    embarrassed. It''s good to see Paul, but he''s always been over-familiar.


    When I nce up at Christian Grey, he''s watching us like a hawk, his gray eyes hooded and


    spective, his mouth a hard impassive line. He''s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to


    someone else - someone cold and distant.


    "Paul, I''m with a customer. Someone you should meet," I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in


    Grey''s eyes. I drag Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly


    arctic.


    "Er, Paul, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey, this is Paul yton. His brother owns the ce." And for


    some irrational reason, I feel I have to exin a bit more.


    "I''ve known Paul ever since I''ve worked here, though we don''t see each other that often. He''s back


    from Princeton where he''s studying business administration." I''m babbling... Stop, now!


    "Mr. yton." Christian holds his hand out, his look unreadable.


    "Mr. Grey," Paul returns his handshake. "Wait up - not the Christian GreyOf Grey Enterprises


    Holdings?" Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Grey gives him a polite smile


    that doesn''t reach his eyes.


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