Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 17
It’sdifficulttokeepup.Honestly,it’slikeane-mailtoanemployee.IrollmyeyesatitdefiantlyandjoinKatetopack.
KATEANDIAREinthekitchenwhenthere’saknockatthedoor.Taylorstandsontheporch,lookingimmaculateinhissuit.Inoticethetraceofex-armyinhisbuzzcut,histrimphysique,andhiscoolstare.
“MissSteele,”hesays,“I’vecomeforyourcar.”
“Ohyes,ofcourse.Comein,I’llgetthekeys.”
Surelythisisaboveandbeyondthecallofduty.IwonderagainatTaylor’sjobdescription.Ihandhimthekeys,andwewalkinanuncomfortablesilence—forme—towardthelightblueBeetle.Iopenthedoorandremovetheflashlightfromtheglovebox.That’sit.Ihavenothingelsethat’spersonalinWanda.Good-bye,Wanda.Thankyou.IcaressherroofasIclosethepassengerdoor.
“HowlonghaveyouworkedforMr.Grey?”Iask.
“Fouryears,MissSteele.”
Suddenly,Ihaveanoverwhelmingurgetobombardhimwithquestions.WhatthismanmustknowaboutChristian,allhissecrets.Butthenhe’sprobablysignedanNDA.Ilooknervouslyathim.HehasthesametaciturnexpressionasRay,andIwarmtohim.
“He’sagoodman,MissSteele,”hesayswithasmile.Thenhegivesmealittlenod,climbsintomycar,anddrivesaway.
Apartment,Beetle,Clayton’s—it’sallchangenow.IshakemyheadasIwanderbackinside.AndthebiggestchangeofallisChristianGrey.Taylorthinkshe’sagoodman.CanIbelievehim?
JOSÉJOINSUSWITHChinesetakeoutateight.We’redone.We’repackedandreadytogo.
