Fifty Shades Freed (89 page)

I glare at her. “Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele.”
And I’d like to exercise it over you, right here, right now.

Her eyes widen. That attractive blush steals across her face once more, and she bites that lip again. I ramble on, trying to distract myself from her mouth.

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself, in your secret reveries, that you were born to control things.”

“Do you feel that you have immense power?” she asks in a soft soothing voice, but she arches her delicate brow, revealing the censure in her eyes. My annoyance grows. Is she deliberately trying to goad me? Is it her questions, her attitude, or the fact that I find her attractive that’s pissing me off?

“I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell up, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”

Her mouth pops open at my response. That’s more like it.
Suck it up, Miss Steele
. I feel my equilibrium returning.

“Don’t you have a board to answer to?”

“I own my company. I don’t answer to a board,” I respond sharply. She should know this. I raise a questioning brow.

“And do you have any interests outside of your work?” she continues hastily, correctly gauging my reaction. She knows I’m pissed, and for some inexplicable reason this pleases me enormously.

“I have varied interests, Miss Steele. Very varied.” I smile
.
Images of her in assorted positions in my playroom flash through my mind: shackled on the cross, spread-eagle on the four-poster, splayed over the whipping bench
. Fucking hell! Where is this coming from?
And behold—there’s that blush again. It’s like a defense mechanism.
Calm down, Grey.

“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

“Chill out?” I grin, those words out of her smart mouth sound odd. Besides when do I get time to chill out? Has she no idea of the number of companies I control? But she looks at me with those ingenuous blue eyes, and to my surprise I find myself considering her question. What
do
I do to chill out? Sailing, flying, fucking . . . testing the limits of little brown-haired girls like her, and bringing them to heel . . . The thought makes me shift in my seat, but I answer her smoothly, omitting my two favorite hobbies.

“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?”

Her question drags me rudely back to the present.

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work, what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?” They distribute food around the planet—taking goods from the haves to the have-nots and back again. What’s not to like?

“That sounds like your heart talking, rather than logic and facts.”

Heart? Me? Oh no, baby.
My heart was savaged beyond recognition a long time ago. “Possibly, though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?”

“Because they know me well.” I give her a wry smile. In fact no one knows me that well, except maybe Elena. I wonder what she would make of little Miss Steele here. The girl is a mass of contradictions: shy, uneasy, obviously bright, and arousing as hell.
Yes, okay, I admit it. She’s an alluring little piece.

She recites the next question by rote.

“Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?”

“I’m a very private person, Miss Steele. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews.” Doing what I do, living the life I’ve chosen, I need my privacy.

“Why did you agree to do this one?”

“Because I’m a benefactor of the university, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.”
But I’m glad it’s you who turned up and not her.

“You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”

“We can’t eat money, Miss Steele, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.” I stare at her, poker-faced.

“That sounds very philanthropic. Is that something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?” She regards me with a quizzical expression as if I’m some kind of conundrum for her to solve, but there is no way I want those big blue eyes seeing into my dark soul. This is not an area open to discussion. Ever.

“It’s shrewd business.” I shrug, feigning boredom, and I imagine fucking her smart mouth to distract myself from all thoughts of hunger. Yes, that mouth needs training. Now
that
thought is appealing, and I let myself imagine her on her knees before me.

“Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?” she recites by rote again.

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle, Carnegie’s ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control . . . of myself and those around me.”

“So you want to possess things?” Her eyes widen.

Yes, baby. You, for one.

“I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.” Her voice is tinged with disapproval, pissing me off again. She sounds like a rich kid who’s had all she ever wanted, but as I take a closer look at her clothes—she’s dressed in Walmart, or Old Navy possibly—I know that isn’t it. She hasn’t grown up in an affluent household.

I could really take care of you.

Shit, where the fuck did that come from?
Although, now that I consider it, I do need a new sub. It’s been, what—two months since Susannah? And here I am, salivating over this brown-haired girl. I try a smile and agree with her. Nothing wrong with consumption—after all, it drives what’s left of the American economy.

“You were adopted. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?”

What the fuck does this have to do with the price of oil? I scowl at her. What a ridiculous question. If I’d stayed with the crack whore, I’d probably be dead. I blow her off with a non-answer, trying to keep my voice level, but she pushes me, demanding to know my how old I was when I was adopted.
Shut her down, Grey!

“That’s a matter of public record, Miss Steele.” My voice is arctic. She should know this shit. Now she looks contrite. Good.

“You’ve had to sacrifice a family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question,” I snap.

She blushes again and bites down on that damned lip. But she has the grace to apologize.

“Have you had to sacrifice a family life for your work?”

What do I want with a fucking family?

“I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

“Are you gay, Mr. Grey?”

What the fuck! I cannot
believe
she’s said that out loud! The unspoken question that my own family dares not ask, much to my amusement.
How dare she!
I have to fight down the urge to drag her out of her seat, bend her across my knee, and spank the living shit out of her, then fuck her over my desk with her hands tied tightly behind her back. That would answer her question. How frustrating is this female? I take a deep calming breath. To my vindictive delight, she appears to be acutely embarrassed by her own question.

“No, Anastasia, I’m not.” I raise my eyebrows, but keep my expression impassive. Anastasia. It is a lovely name. I like the way my tongue rolls around it.

“I apologize. It’s um . . . written here.” Nervously, she tucks her hair behind her ear.

She doesn’t know her own questions? Perhaps they’re not hers. I ask her, and she pales. Fuck, she really is very attractive, in an understated sort of way. I would even go so far as to say she is beautiful.

“Er . . . no. Kate—Miss Kavanagh—she compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

“No, she’s my roommate.”

No wonder she is all over the place. I scratch my chin, debating whether to give her a really, really hard time.

“Did you volunteer to do this interview?” I ask, and I’m rewarded with her submissive look: eyes large, nervous about my reaction. I like the effect I have on her.

“I was drafted. She’s not well,” she says softly.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Andrea appears. “Mr. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Andrea hesitates, gaping at me. I stare at her.
Out! Now! I’m busy with Little Miss Steele here.
Andrea blushes scarlet, but recovers quickly.

“Very well, Mr. Grey,” she says, and turning on her heel, she leaves us.

I turn my attention back to the intriguing, frustrating creature on my couch. “Where were we, Miss Steele?”

“Please don’t let me keep you from anything.”

Oh no, baby. It’s my turn now.
I want to know if there are any secrets to uncover behind those beautiful eyes.

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” As I lean back and press my fingers to my lips, her eyes flick to my mouth and she swallows.
Oh, yes—the usual effect.
And it is gratifying to know she isn’t completely oblivious to my charms.

“There’s not much to know,” she says, her blush returning. I’m intimidating her.
Good.

“What are your plans after you graduate?”

She shrugs. “I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Grey. I just need to get through my final exams.”

“We run an excellent internship program here.”
Fuck.
What possessed me to say that? I’m breaking a golden rule—never, ever fuck the staff.
But Grey, you’re not fucking this girl.
She looks surprised, and her teeth sink into that lip again.
Why is that so arousing?

“Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” she mumbles. Then as an afterthought she says, “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.”

Why the hell not? What’s wrong with my company?

“Why do you say that?” I ask.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.” I’m confounded by her response.

She’s flustered again as she reaches for the mini-disc recorder.
Shit, she’s going
. Mentally I run through my schedule for that afternoon—there is nothing that won’t keep.

“Would you like me to show you around?”

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive.”“You’re driving back to WSU in Vancouver?” I glance out the window. It’s one hell of a drive, and it’s raining. Shit. She shouldn’t be driving in this weather, but I can’t forbid her. The thought irritates me. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” My voice is sterner than I intend.

She fumbles with the mini-disc. She wants out of my office, and for some reason I can’t explain, I don’t want her to go.

“Did you get everything you need?” I add in a transparent effort to prolong her stay.

“Yes, sir,” she says quietly.

Her response floors me—the way those words sound, coming out of that smart mouth—and briefly I imagine that mouth at my beck and call.

“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Grey.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” I respond–truthfully, because I haven’t been this fascinated by anyone in a long while. The thought is unsettling.

She stands and I extend my hand, eager to touch her.

“Until we meet again, Miss Steele.” My voice is low as she places her small hand in mine.
Yes, I want to flog and fuck this girl in my playroom.
Have her bound and wanting . . . needing me, trusting me. I swallow.
It ain’t going to happen, Grey.

“Mr. Grey.” She nods and withdraws her hand quickly . . . too quickly.

Shit, I can’t let her go like this. It’s obvious she is desperate to leave. Irritation and inspiration hit me simultaneously as I see her out.

“Just ensuring you make it through the door, Miss Steele.”

She blushes on cue, her delicious shade of pink.

“That’s very considerate, Mr. Grey,” she snaps.

Miss Steele has teeth! I grin behind her as she exits, and I follow in her wake. Both Andrea and Olivia look up in shock.
Yeah, yeah. I’m just seeing the girl out.