50 Shades Deeper

Miss Steele

Christian's POV              

  I'm sitting in a chair that doesn't really seem like my style, looking at a seemingly familiar painting resting against the wall on the ground. It seems out of place in this office, but I can't bring myself to do anything with it.

Does this connect to before the accident?

Now that I think about it, that interview should be happening soon.

As if on cue, my thoughts come to a halt when the massive wooden door creeks open and I hear the clattering of heels. I look up from my desk to see a woman, fair in size, dressed in a gray pencil skirt, emerald green blouse and a cotton sweater. Long brown hair forms curtains around her face as she stares at the ground leaning against the door.

Clumsy journalist, do I really have time for this?

When she looks up, our eyes connect, and... where do I know her from? The mental wall that appeared after the accident seems to have cracked a little.

It looks like she knows me too, but from where?

Glancing down at the paper on my desk, I double check the woman's name. Kavanagh. Hm, I wonder if she is related to an old colleague of mine.

"Mrs. Kavanagh." I offer my hand, which she excepts with a weary expression in her blue eyes. When skin meets skin, something happens. I don't know what exactly, but it's not a feeling I shy away from even though I feel like I should.

Suddenly everything clicks.

"You're from the hospital." I recognize her now. At the mention of that memory she seems to deflate even more than when she first stumbled in here. As soon as she speaks, that feeling ignites again, and the wall cracks a bit more.

Her questions get personal, more personal than any other interview I have done for a newspaper or magazine.

She asked if I was gay! Why would she think that? Do other people think that? How could she not pick up the seemingly obvious hints I couldn't control myself from spitting out? I've had to meet with multiple woman since returning to work, and none of them seem to enchant me as this one does, simply by her presence.

Suddenly this stopped feeling like an interview and instead it was like two strangers getting to know each other. She spoke as if she already knew me.

What the hell is this feeling? I don't know if I like it or not.

Every once in a while, there would be an underlying meaning to her questions in which she formed in a challenging tone. No one here does that. I'm not use to that, well except from my dick brother, but it was different with her.

I don't know what has me so intrigued by her. Damn it; I need to be working on getting my fucked up memory back in order instead of getting these warm alien feelings for a woman.

I need to go to the gym after work.

She looks down at her watch then back to me.

"When I called to set up this interview I was told your lunch time was one o'clock, do I need to go?" Do I really need to eat?

"No." I can buy some more time with Miss Anastasia. I need to satisfy this craving I have for her. Not in a physical way, which I expected, but in the way that.... I'm a fucking sap. She visibly relaxes back into the chair.

"Very well, Mr. Grey." My name doesn't seem to roll comfortably off her tongue.

"Continue, Miss Steele." Her eyes widen. "Next question."

She opens her mouth as if to speak, beautiful peach lips parted, looking down at the paper on her exposed knees and then looking around the room as if she is lost. What is it about this woman?