Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           Finallymycognitivefunctionsarerestoredandreconnectedwiththerestofmybody.

           “Ana.Myname’sAna,”Imutter.“WhatcanIhelpyouwith,Mr.Grey?”

           Hesmiles,andagainit’slikehe’sprivytosomebigsecret.Itissodisconcerting.Takingadeepbreath,IputonmyprofessionalI’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-yearsfaçade.Icandothis.

           “ThereareafewitemsIneed.Tostartwith,I’dlikesomecableties,”hemurmurs,hisexpressionbothcoolandamused.

           Cableties?

           “Westockvariouslengths.ShallIshowyou?”Imutter,myvoicesoftandwavering.Getagrip,Steele.

           AslightfrownmarsGrey’sratherlovelybrow.“Please.Leadtheway,MissSteele,”hesays.ItryfornonchalanceasIcomeoutfrombehindthecounter,butreallyI’mconcentratinghardonnotfallingovermyownfeet—mylegsaresuddenlytheconsistencyofJell-O.I’msogladIdecidedtowearmybestjeansthismorning.

           “They’rewiththeelectricalgoods,aisleeight.”Myvoiceisalittletoobright.Iglanceupathimandregretitalmostimmediately.Damn,he’shandsome.

           “Afteryou,”hemurmurs,gesturingwithhislong-fingered,beautifullymanicuredhand.

           Withmyheartalmoststranglingme—becauseit’sinmythroattryingtoescapefrommymouth—Iheaddownoneoftheaislestotheelectricalsection.WhyisheinPortland?WhyishehereatClayton’s?Andfromaverytiny,underusedpartofmybrain—probablylocatedatthebaseofmymedullaoblongatanearwheremysubconsciousdwells—comesthethought:He’sheretoseeyou.Noway!Idismissitimmediately.