I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Steele. Judging from the building, which is
too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired
to match the rest of the personnel.
Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the
right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It’s like Stepford here. Taking a
deep breath, I stand up. “Miss Steele?” the latest blonde asks.
“Yes,” I croak, and clear my throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded more confident.
“Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?”
“Oh please.” I struggle out of the jacket.
“Have you been offered any refreshment?”
“Um – no.” Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?
Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the desk.
“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her attention back to me.
“A glass of water. Thank you,” I murmur.
“Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a glass of water.” Her voice is stern. Olivia scoots
up immediately and scurries to a door on the other side of the foyer.
“My apologies, Miss Steele, Olivia is our new intern. Please be seated. Mr. Grey
will be another five minutes.”
Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.
“Here you go, Miss Steele.”
“Thank you.”
Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels clicking and
echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and they both continue their
work.
Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if
that’s legal, when the office door opens and a tall, elegantly dressed, attractive
African-American man with short dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong
clothes.
He turns and says through the door. “Golf, this week, Grey.”
I don’t hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the
corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the elevator. She seems to excel at
jumping from her seat. She’s more nervous than me!
“Good afternoon ladies,” he says as he departs through the sliding door.
“Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. Do go through,” Blonde Number Two
says.
I stand rather shakily trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my satchel, I
abandon my glass of water and make my way to the partially open door.
“You don’t need to knock – just go in.” She smiles kindly.
I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and