Mr. Grey-Book I

6

Emilia

It's been nearly three weeks since my insemination, and I'm not quite sure how I've made it through without completely losing my mind. Sleep eludes me, food tastes like ash, and every time I close my eyes, I'm haunted by the crushing guilt of considering selling my first child for money.

For the past hour, I've been sitting at the dining table, listlessly pushing food around my plate. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be eating; it all tastes equally revolting. Finally giving up, I scrape the leftovers into a container and shove it into the fridge, telling myself I'll eat later even though I know I won't.

As I'm about to retreat to my room, my phone starts vibrating. I fish it out of my pocket and glance at the caller ID. My stomach drops. It's her. Mrs. Grey. The devil herself.

I debate whether to answer, knowing full well that ignoring her isn't an option. She owns me now, after all. With a resigned sigh, I swipe to accept the call.

"Hello," I answer, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

"Meet me at Café Corazón in fifteen minutes," she says curtly, hanging up before I can even respond.

I run a hand through my tangled hair, muttering under my breath, "I hope you choke on your overpriced latte before I get there."

Realizing I can't show up looking like I've been dragged through a hedge backward, I ransack my closet for something presentable. I settle on a simple white V-neck shirt and black jeans, tying my hair into a messy bun. A swipe of mascara, and a spritz of perfume, and I'm out the door, praying the weather holds.

I hail a cab, sliding into the back seat with a quiet, "Café Corazón, please."

The driver nods, pulling away from the curb. I lean back, watching the city blur past my window, trying to quell the anxiety bubbling in my chest.

As we pull up to the trendy coffee shop, I spot Mrs. Grey through the window. She's sipping her coffee with infuriating nonchalance, as if she hasn't a care in the world. I roll my eyes, steeling myself for the encounter.

Without a word, I slide into the chair across from her. She barely glances up from her cup.

"Miss Clark," she acknowledges coolly.

"Mrs. Grey," I return, matching her tone.

She signals a waiter, her diamond bracelet catching the light. "What would you like? You clearly can't afford a place like this, so it's on me."

I bristle at her casual condescension but swallow my pride. "Latte, please."

As the waiter retreats, Mrs. Grey fixes me with her steely gaze. "Any signs yet?"

I shift uncomfortably. "Not really. I was nauseous yesterday, but that's about it."

She nods, looking almost pleased. "That's a good start."

Unable to bear the small talk any longer, I cut to the chase. "Is there a reason we're meeting here instead of your office?"

Mrs. Grey's perfectly manicured nails tap against her cup. "Damien is still insisting on meeting you. He threw quite the tantrum last night."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. What is he, five?

The waiter returns with our drinks, and a tense silence falls as we both take tentative sips.

Finally, Mrs. Grey speaks. "He's quite adamant about seeing you."

I set my cup down with a bit more force than necessary. "Why are we really here, Mrs. Grey?"

She leans forward, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "To remind you of our agreement, Miss Clark. Damien can be very strenuous, I hope you understand and take it in good faith. And, You're not in any way allowed to get familiar with my son."

"Your point?" I interrupt, my patience wearing thin.

"Just stick to why I hired you," she says, her tone sharp. "And make sure you don't get... sidetracked."

I nearly gag at the implication. "Don't worry, Mrs. Grey. I have absolutely zero interest in your son or your family. I would make time run faster, if I could."

She chuckles, but there's no warmth in it. "Very well, then." She stands, gathering her designer purse. "The driver will pick you up at noon tomorrow."

With that, she sweeps out of the café, leaving me alone with my cooling latte and a gnawing sense of dread.

"Is this really why called out here?"

"I wanted to make sure we are on the same page, Ms. Clark."

I stare at her half-empty cup, wondering how I ended up here. How I became this person, willing to do something so morally reprehensible for money. And this is only the beginning.