The only man I’ve ever been attracted to, and he comes with a bloody contract, a flogger, and a whole world of issues. Well, at least I got my way this weekend. My inner goddess stops jumping and smiles serenely. Oh yes … she mouths, nodding at me smugly. I flush at the memory of his hands and his mouth on me, his body inside mine. Closing my eyes, I feel the familiar delicious pull of my muscles from deep, deep down. I want to do that again and again. Maybe if I just sign up for the sex … would he go with that? I suspect not.

Am I submissive? Maybe I come across that way. Maybe I misled him in the interview. I’m shy, yes … but submissive? I let Kate bully me—is that the same? And those soft limits, jeez. My mind boggles, but I’m reassured that they are up for discussion.

I wander back to my bedroom. This is too much to think about. I need a clear head—a fresh morning approach to the problem. I put the offending documents in my backpack. Tomorrow … tomorrow is another day. Clambering into bed, I switch off the light and lie staring up at the ceiling. Oh, I wish I’d never met him. My inner goddess shakes her head at me. She and I know it’s a lie. I have never felt as alive as I do now.

I close my eyes, and I drift into a heavy sleep with occasional dreams of four-poster beds and shackles and intense gray eyes.

KATE WAKES ME THE next day.

“Ana, I’ve been calling you. You must have been out cold.”

My eyes reluctantly open. She’s not just up—she’s been for a run. I glance at my alarm. It’s eight in the morning. Holy Moses, I’ve slept for a solid nine hours.

“What is it?” I mumble sleepily.

“There’s a man here with a delivery for you. You have to sign for it.”

“What?”

“Come on. It’s big. It looks interesting.” She hops from foot to foot excitedly and bounds back into the living room. I clamber out of bed and grab my robe hanging on the back of my door. A smart young man with a ponytail is standing in our living room clasping a large box.

“Hi,” I mumble.

“I’ll make you some tea.” Kate scuttles off to the kitchen.

“Miss Steele?”

And I immediately know who the parcel is from.

“Yes,” I answer cautiously.

“I have a package for you here, but I have to set it up and show you how to use it.”

“Really? At this time?”

“Only following orders, ma’am.” He smiles in a charming but professional he’s-not-taking-any-crap way.

Did he just call me ma’am? Have I aged ten years overnight? If I have, it’s that contract. My mouth puckers in disgust.

“Okay, what is it?”

“It’s a MacBook Pro.”

“Of course it is.” I roll my eyes.

“These aren’t available in the shops yet, ma’am; the very latest from Apple.”

How come that does not surprise me? I sigh heavily.

“Just set it up on the dining table over there.”

I wander into the kitchen to join Kate.

“What is it?” she says inquisitively, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She’s slept well, too.

“It’s a laptop from Christian.”

“Why’s he sent you a laptop? You know you can use mine.” She frowns.

Not for what he has in mind.

“Oh, it’s only on loan. He wanted me to try it out.” My excuse sounds feeble. But Kate nods her assent. Oh my … I have hoodwinked Katherine Kavanagh. A first. She hands me my tea.

The Mac laptop is sleek and silver and rather beautiful. It has a very large screen. Christian Grey likes scale—I think of his living area, in fact, his whole apartment.

“It’s got the latest OS and a full suite of programs, plus a one-point-five terabyte hard drive so you’ll have plenty of room, thirty-two gigs of RAM—what are you planning to use it for?”

“Uh … e-mail.”

“E-mail!” he chokes, raising his eyebrows with a slightly sick look on his face.

“And maybe Internet research?” I shrug apologetically. He sighs.

“Well, this has full wireless N, and I’ve set it up with your Me account details. This baby is all ready to go, practically anywhere on the planet.” He looks longingly at it.

“Me account?”

“Your new e-mail address.”

I have an e-mail address?

He points to an icon on the screen and continues to talk at me, but it’s like white noise. I haven’t got a clue what he’s saying, and in all honestly, I’m not interested. Just tell me how to switch it on and off—I’ll figure out the rest. After all, I’ve been using Kate’s for four years. Kate whistles, impressed when she sees it.

“This is next-generation tech.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Most women get flowers or maybe jewelry,” she says suggestively, trying to suppress a smile.

I scowl at her but can’t keep a straight face. We both burst into a fit of giggles, and computer man gapes at us, bemused. He finishes up and asks me to sign the delivery note.

As Kate shows him out, I sit with my cup of tea and open the e-mail program, and waiting for me is an e-mail from Christian. My heart leaps into my mouth. I have an e-mail from Christian Grey. Nervously, I open it.

I shut the computer down, grinning like an idiot. How can I resist playful Christian? I am going to be late for work. Well, it is my last week—Mr. and Mrs. Clayton will probably cut me some slack. I race into the shower, unable to shake my face-splitting grin. He e-mailed me. I’m like a small, giddy child. And all the contract angst fades. As I wash my hair, I try to think of what I could possibly ask him via e-mail. Surely it’s better to talk these things through. Suppose someone hacked into his account? I flush at the thought. I dress quickly, shout a hasty good-bye to Kate, and I’m off to work my last week at Clayton’s.

JOSÉ PHONES AT ELEVEN.

“Hey, are we doing coffee?” He sounds like the old José. José my friend, not a—what did Christian call him? Suitor. Ugh.

“Sure. I’m at work. Can you make it here for, say, twelve?”

“See you then.”

He hangs up, and I go back to restocking the paintbrushes and thinking about Christian Grey and his contract.

José is punctual. He comes bounding into the shop like a gamboling dark-eyed puppy.

“Ana.” He smiles his dazzling toothy all-Hispanic-American smile, and I can’t be angry with him anymore.

“Hi, José.” I hug him. “I’m starving. I’ll just let Mrs. Clayton know I’m going for lunch.”

As we stroll to the local coffee shop, I slip my arm through José’s. I’m so grateful for his … normality. Someone I know and understand.

“Hey, Ana,” he murmurs. “You’ve really forgiven me?”

“José, you know I can never stay mad at you for long.”

He grins.

I CAN’T WAIT TO get home, the lure of e-mailing Christian, and maybe I can begin my research project. Kate is out somewhere, so I fire up the new laptop and open my e-mail. Sure enough, there’s a message from Christian sitting in the inbox. I’m practically bouncing out of my seat with glee.

I type “Submissive” into Wikipedia.

Half an hour later, I feel slight queasy and frankly shocked to my core. Do I really want this stuff in my head? Jeez—is this what he gets up to in the Red Room of Pain? I sit staring at the screen, and part of me, a very moist and integral part of me that I’ve only become acquainted with very recently, is seriously turned on. Oh my, some of this stuff is HOT. But is it for me? Holy shit … could I do this? I need space. I need to think.