Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 11
“Ihaveapackageforyouhere,butIhavetosetitupandshowyouhowtouseit.”
“Really?Atthistime?”
“Onlyfollowingorders,ma’am.”Hesmilesinacharmingbutprofessionalhe’s-not-taking-any-crapway.
Didhejustcallmema’am?HaveIagedtenyearsovernight?IfIhave,it’sthatcontract.Mymouthpuckersindisgust.
“Okay,whatisit?”
“It’saMacBookPro.”
“Ofcourseitis.”Irollmyeyes.
“Thesearen’tavailableintheshopsyet,ma’am;theverylatestfromApple.”
Howcomethatdoesnotsurpriseme?Isighheavily.
“Justsetituponthediningtableoverthere.”
IwanderintothekitchentojoinKate.
“Whatisit?”shesaysinquisitively,bright-eyedandbushy-tailed.She’ssleptwell,too.
“It’salaptopfromChristian.”
“Why’shesentyoualaptop?Youknowyoucanusemine.”Shefrowns.
Notforwhathehasinmind.
“Oh,it’sonlyonloan.Hewantedmetotryitout.”Myexcusesoundsfeeble.ButKatenodsherassent.Ohmy…IhavehoodwinkedKatherineKavanagh.Afirst.Shehandsmemytea.
TheMaclaptopissleekandsilverandratherbeautiful.Ithasaverylargescreen.ChristianGreylikesscale—Ithinkofhislivingarea,infact,hiswholeapartment.
“It’sgotthelatestOSandafullsuiteofprograms,plusaone-point-fiveterabyteharddrivesoyou’llhaveplentyofroom,thirty-twogigsofRAM—whatareyouplanningtouseitfor?”
“Uh…e-mail.”
“E-mail!”hechokes,raisinghiseyebrowswithaslightlysicklookonhisface.
“AndmaybeInternetresearch?”Ishrugapologetically.Hesighs.
