Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 1
“Icouldn’tagreemore,MissSteele,”hereplies,hisvoicesoft,andforsomeinexplicablereasonIfindmyselfblushing.
Apartfromthepaintings,therestoftheofficeiscold,clean,andclinical.IwonderifitreflectsthepersonalityoftheAdoniswhosinksgracefullyintooneofthewhiteleatherchairsoppositeme.Ishakemyhead,disturbedatthedirectionofmythoughts,andretrieveKate’squestionsfrommybackpack.Next,Isetupthedigitalrecorderandamallfingersandthumbs,droppingittwiceonthecoffeetableinfrontofme.Mr.Greysaysnothing,waitingpatiently—Ihope—asIbecomeincreasinglyembarrassedandflustered.WhenIpluckupthecouragetolookathim,he’swatchingme,onehandrelaxedinhislapandtheothercuppinghischinandtrailinghislongindexfingeracrosshislips.Ithinkhe’stryingtosuppressasmile.
“S-sorry,”Istutter.“I’mnotusedtothis.”
“Takeallthetimeyouneed,MissSteele,”hesays.
“DoyoumindifIrecordyouranswers?”
“Afteryou’vetakensomuchtroubletosetuptherecorder,youaskmenow?”
Iflush.He’steasingme?Ihope.Iblinkathim,unsurewhattosay,andIthinkhetakespityonmebecauseherelents.“No,Idon’tmind.”
“DidKate,Imean,MissKavanagh,explainwhattheinterviewwasfor?”
“Yes.ToappearinthegraduationissueofthestudentnewspaperasIshallbeconferringthedegreesatthisyear’sgraduationceremony.
