really like this car,” I murmur.
“Me too. And I like how you handled it—and how you managed not to break
it.”
“You can buy me one for my birthday,” I smirk at him. Christian’s mouth drops
open as I climb out of the car.
“A white one, I think,” I add, leaning down and smirking at him. He smiles.
“Anastasia Grey, you never cease to amaze me.”
I shut the door and walk to the end of the car to wait for him. Gracefully he
climbs out, watching me with that look . . . that look that calls to something
deep inside me. I know this look well. Once he’s in front of me, he leans
down and whispers, “You like the car. I like the car. I’ve fucked you in it . . .
perhaps I should fuck you on it.”
I gasp. And a sleek silver BMW pulls into the garage. Christian glances at it
anxiously, then with annoyance and smirks down at me.
“But it looks like we ha一ve company. Come.” He grabs my hand and heads for
the garage elevator. He pushes the call button and as we wait, the driver of
the BMW joins us. He’s young, casually dressed, with long, layered, dark
hair. He looks like he works in the media.
“Hi,” he says, smiling warmly at us.
Christian puts his arm around me and nods politely.
“I’ve just moved in. Apartment sixteen.”
“Hello.” I return his smile. He has kind, soft brown eyes. The elevator arrives
and we all walk in. Christian glances down at me, his expression unreadable.
“You’re Christian Grey,” the young man says.
Christian gives him a tight smile.
“Paul Harrison.” He holds out his hand. Reluctantly, Christian takes it. “Which
floor?” Paul asks.
“I ha一ve to input a code.”
“Oh.”
“Penthouse.”
“Oh.” Paul smiles broadly. “Of course.” He presses the button for the eighth
floor and the doors close. “Mrs. Grey, I presume.”
“Yes.” I give him a polite smile and we shake hands. Paul flushes a 100 | P a
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E L JAMES
little as he gazes at me a fraction too long. Oh no. I mirror his flush and
Christian’s arm tightens around me.
“When did you move in?” I ask.
“Last weekend. I love the place.”
T
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