taxis towards the runway.
I emerge into the Sea-Tac arrivals terminal eight hours later to find Taylor waiting and holding up a board that reads Miss A Steele. Honestly! But it’s good to see him.
“Hello, Taylor.”
“Miss Steele,” he greets me formally, but I see a hint of smile in his sharp brown eyes. He looks his usual immaculate self – smart charcoal suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie.
“I do know what you look like Taylor, you don’t need a board, and I do wish you’d call me, Ana.”
“Ana. Can I take your bags, please?”
“No, I can manage. Thank you.”
His lips tighten perceptibly.
“But, if you’d be more comfortable taking them,” I stammer.
“Thank you.” He grabs my backpack and my newly acquired wheelie case for the clothes my mother has bought me. “This way, ma’am.”
I sigh. He’s so polite. I remember, though I would like to erase it from my memory, that this man has bought me underwear. In fact – and the thought unsettles me – he’s the only man who’s ever bought me underwear. Even Ray’s never had to endure that hardship. We walk in silence to the black Audi SUV outside in the airport parking lot, and he holds the door open for me. I clamber in, wondering if wearing such a short skirt for the return to Seattle was a good idea. It was cool and welcome in Georgia. Here I feel exposed. Once Taylor has stowed my bags in the trunk, we set off for Escala.
The journey is slow, caught up in rush hour traffic. Taylor keeps his eyes on the road ahead. Taciturn does not begin to describe him.
I can bear the silence no longer.
“How’s Christian, Taylor?”
“Mr. Grey is preoccupied, Miss Steele.”
Oh, this must be ‘the situation.’ I am mining a seam of gold.
“Preoccupied?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I frown at Taylor, and he glances at me in the rear-view mirror, our eyes meet. He’s saying no more. Jeez, he can be as tightlipped as the control freak himself.
“Is he okay?”
“I believe so, ma’am.”
“Are you more comfortable calling me, Miss Steele?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, okay.”
Well, that curtails our co
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