When literature student Anastasia Steele goes to interview young entrepreneur Christian Grey, she encounters a man who is beautiful, brilliant, and intimidating. When the couple embarks on a daring, passionately physical affair, Ana discovers Christian Grey’s secrets and. Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades #2) Daunted by the singular tastes and dark secrets of the beautiful, tormented young entrepreneur Christian Grey, Anastasia . Read Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades 1) by E.L. James, Read E.L. James Novels, Read Fifty Shades Series Novels, Best Billionaire Romance Novels, Free .
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aracer.mobi - download Fifty Shades of Grey book online at best prices in India on aracer.mobi Read Fifty Shades of Grey book reviews & author details and more at . In that moment I seriously doubted my ability to read him, maybe I had misread the signs and he'd scoff at my presumption. I drew a bolstering breath, mustering . Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades, #1), Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades, #2), Book 2. Fifty Shades Darker. by E.L. James. · , Ratings · 28,
I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my sensible brown knee-length boots and a blue sweater. For me, this is smart. Please sign in here, Miss Steele. Nothing changes, I inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators past the two security men who are both far more smartly dressed than I am in their well-cut black suits. The elevator whisks me with terminal velocity to the twentieth floor. Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it.
Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through the city toward the Sound.
I sit down, fish the questions from my satchel, and go through them, inwardly cursing Kate for not providing me with a brief biography. He could be ninety or he could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling, and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass and stone edifice. I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Steele. Judging from the building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the personnel.
Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? Taking a deep breath, I stand up. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket? Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk. Olivia scoots up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.
Please be seated. Grey will be another five minutes. She sits down, and they both continue their work. Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes. He turns and says through the door. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves.
Gathering up my satchel, I abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door. I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office. Double crap — me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness.
I have to steel myself to glance up. Are you all right? Would you like to sit? It takes a moment for me to find my voice. In a daze, I place my hand in his and we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel an odd exhilarating shiver run through me.
I withdraw my hand hastily, embarrassed. Must be static. I blink rapidly, my eyelids matching my heart rate. He looks mildly interested, but above all, polite.
His office is way too big for just one man. It matches the coffee table by the couch. Everything else is white — ceiling, floors, and walls except, on the wall by the door, where a mosaic of small paintings hang, thirty-six of them arranged in a square. They are exquisite — a series of mundane, forgotten objects painted in such precise detail they look like photographs.
Displayed together, they are breathtaking. He cocks his head to one side and regards me intently.
Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the Adonis who sinks gracefully into one of the white leather chairs opposite me.
Next, I set up the mini-disc recorder and am all fingers and thumbs, dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me.
Grey says nothing, waiting patiently — I hope — as I become increasingly embarrassed and flustered. I hope. I blink at him, unsure what to say, and I think he takes pity on me because he relents. I frown, dragging my wayward attention back to the task at hand.
My cheeks heat at the realization, and I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating. Pressing the start button on the recorder, I try to look professional.
To what do you owe your success? His smile is rueful, but he looks vaguely disappointed. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well. I work hard, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. His eyes flare momentarily in surprise.
The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It really is all about having the right people on your team and directing their energies accordingly.
I look at him, and he holds my gaze steadily, impassive. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again. Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His overwhelming good-looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? 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.
I am staggered by his lack of humility. I flush. Of course, I would know this if I had done some research. I change tack.
His eyes are alight with some wicked thought. I stop breathing. He really is beautiful. No one should be this good-looking. Why, specifically? Why does he make me so uncomfortable? 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? Fifty Shades 2. Fifty Shades Darker. Top novels. Sins of Sevin. Penelope Ward.
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