ight.”
“Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and I’ll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours.”
“Why can’t you tell me now?” I sound petulant.
“Because I’m enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you’re enlightened, you probably won’t want to see me again.”
Holy shit. What does that mean? Does he white-sla一ve small children to some God-forsaken part of the planet? Is he part of some underworld crime syndicate? It would explain why he’s so rich. Is he deeply religious? Is he impotent? Surely not, he could prove that to me right now. Oh my. I flush scarlet thinking about the possibilities. This is getting me nowhere. I’d like to solve the riddle that is Christian Grey sooner rather than later. If it means that whatever secret he has is so gross that I don’t want to know him any more then, quite frankly, it will be a relief. Don’t lie to yourself – my subconscious yells at me– it’ll ha一ve to be pretty bloody bad to ha一ve you running for the hills.
“Tonight.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Like Eve, you’re so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge,” he smirks.
“Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?” I ask sweetly. Pompous ass.
He narrows his eyes at me and picks up his BlackBerry. He presses one number.
“Taylor. I’m going to need Charlie Tango.”
Charlie Tango! Who’s he?
“From Portland at say twenty-thirty... No, standby at Escala… All night.”
All night!
“Yes. On call tomorrow morning. I’ll pilot from Portland to Seattle.”
Pilot?
“Standby pilot from twenty-two-thirty.” He puts the phone down. No please or thank you.
“Do people always do what you tell them?”
“Usually, if they want to keep their jobs,” he says, deadpan.
“And if they don’t work for you?”
“Oh, I can be very persuasive, Anastasia. You should finish your breakfast. And then I’ll drop you home. I’ll pick you up at Clayton’s at eight when you finish. We’ll fly up to Seattle.”
I blink at him rapidly.
“Fly?”
“Yes. I ha一ve a helicopter.”
I gape at him. I ha一ve m
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