Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           MyheadisstillswimmingasItrytorememberaworseone—andIcanonlycomeupwithChristian’srejection—andthisisso,somanyshadesdarkerintermsofhumiliation.Iriskapeekathim.He’sstaringdownatme,hisfacecomposed,givingnothingaway.Turning,IglanceatJosé,wholooksprettyshamefacedhimselfand,likeme,intimidatedbyGrey.Iglareathim.Ihaveafewchoicewordsformyso-calledfriend,noneofwhichIcanrepeatinfrontofChristianGrey,CEO.Ana,whoareyoukidding?He’sjustseenyouhurlalloverthegroundandintothelocalflora.There’snodisguisingyourlackofladylikebehavior.

           “I’ll,er…seeyouinside,”Josémutters,butwebothignorehim,andheslinksoffbackintothebuilding.I’monmyownwithGrey.Doublecrap.WhatshouldIsaytohim?Apologizeforthephonecall.

           “I’msorry,”Imutter,staringatthehandkerchief,whichIamfuriouslyworryingwithmyfingers.It’ssosoft.

           “Whatareyousorryfor,Anastasia?”

           Damnit,hewantshisdamnedpoundofflesh.

           “Thephonecall,mainly.Beingsick.Oh,thelistisendless,”Imurmur,feelingmyskincoloringup.Please,please,canIdienow?

           “We’veallbeenhere,perhapsnotquiteasdramaticallyasyou,”hesaysdryly.“It’saboutknowingyourlimits,Anastasia.Imean,I’mallforpushinglimits,butreallythisisbeyondthepale.Doyoumakeahabitofthiskindofbehavior?”

           Myheadbuzzeswithexcessalcoholandirritation.Whatthehellhasitgottodowithhim?Ididn’tinvitehimhere.Hesoundslikeamiddle-agedmanscoldingmelikeanerrantchild.