Fifty Shades of BLACK SILK

BLACK SILK: Part 30

As much as people liked to talk a ton of shit about Christian Grey, his strong magnetic prowess was perhaps the only trait universally agreed upon. Christian Grey was the type of boy to be sullen, the type of teenager to be curious, the type of young adult to be already succeeding, and the type of man at the point beyond success. A chameleon; whenever the occasion called for it he could be gentle, angry, robust, or delicate. He was the type of celebrity that everyone thought they knew and the type of hermit I knew to be more than what everyone thought him to be. So, it was no secret why I went along with him.

Of course, Taylor was driving us to Christian's apartment. I couldn't tell you how many times I've fled that apartment in the hopes that I'd be strong enough not to come back. I now realise it has nothing to do with being strong or weak, but that I wanted to come back. I wanted to be back with Christian. Is it so sad that I quit my job the day I go back to Christian's apartment?

"Do you want something to drink?" Christian asked once we stepped into his apartment and as he took off his jacket.

I shook my head. "No. Umm, this isn't a Red Room, thing, is it?"

He chuckled. But he didn't say no.

He turned around and walked to the kitchen. "Ah, Francoise, merci beaucoup."

The chef, Francoise, and Christian had a conversation for a moment. A lot of French words were thrown around and I kicked myself for not having followed up on my French lessons.

"We're having dinner?" I asked Christian.

"Why is that so shocking?"

"It's not, it's just... dinner," I said, confusedly.

Christian grinned. "Yes, it's this specific time of day where most homosapians enjoy consuming portions from certain food groups."

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you for the history lesson."

"Consider this a second date," he muttered.

That shook me out of my reverie. "What?"

"That's another thing homosapians do—"

I threw my hand up in the air, palm facing him. "Yeah, I get it. Christian, this isn't a date."

"No?"

"No. this is your home."

"People have dates at home."

"Well, yes, usually people highly acquainted with each other."

He stepped forward and I could feel the warmth as the gap between us closed swiftly. "We're highly acquainted with each other, wouldn't you agree?"

I lifted a brow, challenging him. "Sex isn't acquaintance. You stalking me isn't an acquaintance."

"I resent that. I happen to believe the person doing the profile for Vanity Fair was doing the stalking."

"That was through sheer force. And I distinctly remember you having no problems with me writing an article on you."

"I still don't. I never did. I wanted you near me."

I blushed and looked down to hide my face with my hair collecting around the sides. "Yeah, well—"

"Were you kicking and screaming?"

"What?"

"Did they pull you by the hair and shove a pen in your hand?"

"Oh."

He shrugged. "If not, then I highly doubt it was by sheer force you were writing a profile on me."

"I had no choice. Not many people do when they have a boss they have to answer to."

"So, now what will you do?"

I shrugged and whacked my arms against my sides. "Now, I feel like I'm having dinner in the most uncomfortable and itchy pencil skirt."

He poked his chin up. "There's a change of clothes for you upstairs."

I furrowed my brows. "What?"

"Well, our second date—"

"—this isn't a date—"

"—our second date—" he pressed firmly and I rolled my eyes, smiling at his unwavering persistence, "—shouldn't be without a cocktail dress, wouldn't you agree?"

"Well, not if we're highly acquainted," I said, making bunny marks with my fingers and emphasising the last words.

I trotted up the marble stairs in anticipation of meeting a friendly monster down the hallway or out in the open space. Christian had that vibe about him. The type of Beast from Beauty and the Beast vibe. The lovable monster. The one that everyone roots for in the last half of the movie. Christian has had his ups and downs—what with that lawsuit against from that woman—but it never seemed to hinder his image. Hell, forget his image, it never seemed to hinder him. Or his investors. Or his competitors. His charity work and perseverance all remained still. As if it had all been cryogenically frozen during a hard time—a hard short time where he wasn't found guilty of anything and his contracts were legal and solid—and unfrozen when needed to rework the cogs of time.

The thing that irks me though—and this is a tough one because I intentionally refused to allow my mind to ponder this question for the longest time—is that so many people believe he's a bad person. So why is it that I choose to believe he is good?