fifty-shades-of-grey

“Miss Steele,” he greets me formally, but I see a hint of smile in his sharp brown eyes.He looks his usual immaculate self – smart charcoal suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie.“I do know what you look like Taylor, you don’t need a board, and I do wish you’d callme, Ana.”“Ana. Can I take your bags, please?”“No, I can manage. Thank you.”His lips tighten perceptibly.“But, if you’d be more comfortable taking them,” I stammer.“Thank you.” He grabs my backpack and my newly acquired wheelie case for theclothes my mother has bought me. “This way, ma’am.”I sigh. He’s so polite. I remember, though I would like to erase it from my memory,that this man has bought me underwear. In fact – and the thought unsettles me – he’s theonly man who’s ever bought me underwear. Even Ray’s never had to endure that hardship.We walk in silence to the black Audi SUV outside in the airport parking lot, and he holdsthe door open for me. I clamber in, wondering if wearing such a short skirt for the return toSeattle was a good idea. It was cool and welcome in Georgia. Here I feel exposed. OnceTaylor has stowed my bags in the trunk, we set off for Escala.The journey is slow, caught up in rush hour traffic. Taylor keeps his eyes on the roadahead. Taciturn does not begin to describe him.I can bear the silence no longer.“How’s Christian, Taylor?”“Mr. Grey is preoccupied, Miss Steele.”Oh, this must be ‘the situation.’ I am mining a seam of gold.“Preoccupied?”“Yes, ma’am.”I frown at Taylor, and he glances at me in the rear-view mirror, our eyes meet. He’ssaying no more. Jeez, he can be as tightlipped as the control freak himself.“Is he okay?”“I believe so, ma’am.”“Are you more comfortable calling me, Miss Steele?”“Yes, ma’am.”“Oh, okay.”Well, that curtails our conversation, and we continue in silence. I begin to think thatTaylor’s recent slip, when he told me that Christian had been hell on wheels, was an anomaly.Perhaps he’s embarrassed about it, worried that he’s been disloyal. The silence is suffocating.“Could you put some music on please?”“Certainly, ma’am. What would you like to hear?”“Something soothing.”I see a smile play on Taylor’s lips as our eyes meet briefly again in the mirror.“Yes, ma’am.”He pushes a few buttons on the steering wheel, and the gentle strains of Pachelbel’scanon fills the space between us. Oh yes… this is what I need.“Thank you.” I sit back as we drive slowly but steadily along the I-5 into Seattle.