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- Э. Л. Джеймс
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“
Let
’
s
celebrate
.
I
want
you
to
come
to
the
opening
.
”
José
looks
intently
at
me
and
I
flush
.
“
Both
of
you
,
of
course
,
”
he
adds
,
glancing
nervously
at
Kate
.
José
and
I
are
good
friends
,
but
I
know
deep
down
inside
he
’
d
like
to
be
more
.
He
’
s
cute
and
funny
,
but
he
’
s
just
not
for
me
.
He
’
s
more
like
the
brother
I
never
had
.
Katherine
often
teases
me
that
I
’
m
missing
the
need
-
a
-
boyfriend
gene
,
but
the
truth
is
I
just
haven
’
t
met
anyone
who
…
well
,
whom
I
’
m
attracted
to
,
even
though
part
of
me
longs
for
the
fabled
trembling
knees
,
heart
-
in
-
my
-
mouth
,
butterflies
-
in
-
my
-
belly
moments
.
Sometimes
I
wonder
if
there
’
s
something
wrong
with
me
.
Perhaps
I
’
ve
spent
too
long
in
the
company
of
my
literary
romantic
heroes
,
and
consequently
my
ideals
and
expectations
are
far
too
high
.
But
in
reality
,
nobody
’
s
ever
made
me
feel
like
that
.
Until
very
recently
,
the
unwelcome
,
still
-
small
voice
of
my
subconscious
whispers
.
NO
!
I
banish
the
thought
immediately
.
I
am
not
going
there
,
not
after
that
painful
interview
.
Are
you
gay
,
Mr
.
Grey
?
I
wince
at
the
memory
.
I
know
I
’
ve
dreamed
about
him
most
nights
since
then
,
but
that
’
s
just
to
purge
the
awful
experience
from
my
system
,
surely
.
I
watch
José
open
the
bottle
of
champagne
.
He
’
s
tall
,
and
in
his
jeans
and
T
-
shirt
,
he
’
s
all
shoulders
and
muscles
,
tanned
skin
,
dark
hair
,
and
burning
dark
eyes
.
Yes
,
José
’
s
pretty
hot
,
but
I
think
he
’
s
finally
getting
the
message
:
we
’
re
just
friends
.
The
cork
makes
its
loud
pop
,
and
José
looks
up
and
smiles
.
SATURDAY
AT
THE
STORE
is
a
nightmare
.
We
are
besieged
by
do
-
it
-
yourselfers
wanting
to
spruce
up
their
homes
.
Mr
.
and
Mrs
.
Clayton
and
John
and
Patrick
—
the
two
other
part
-
timers
—
and
I
are
besieged
by
customers
.
But
there
’
s
a
lull
around
lunchtime
,
and
Mrs
.
Clayton
asks
me
to
check
on
some
orders
while
I
’
m
sitting
behind
the
counter
at
the
register
discreetly
eating
my
bagel
.
I
’
m
engrossed
in
the
task
,
checking
catalog
numbers
against
the
items
we
need
and
the
items
we
’
ve
ordered
,
eyes
flicking
from
the
order
book
to
the
computer
screen
and
back
as
I
make
sure
the
entries
match
.
Then
,
for
some
reason
,
I
glance
up
…
and
find
myself
locked
in
the
bold
gray
gaze
of
Christian
Grey
,
who
’
s
standing
at
the
counter
,
staring
at
me
.
Heart
failure
.
“
Miss
Steele
.
What
a
pleasant
surprise
.
”
His
gaze
is
unwavering
and
intense
.
