#anyways I’m glad that I finished building her disc drives

[rubywolf0201]

Got my hands on a Tuning Calibrator after fruitlessly farming for the materials needed for Burnice and Lighter (Seriously the boss fight was horrible) and used it to get a PEN Ratio Disc for Rina!

Good thing the substats aren’t shitty and it helped to give out more Anamoly Proficiency!

And now my Rina is going to be cracked in Anton Hypercarry!

This is me btw when I finally build Rina, after anticipating for her since playing the game back in July and getting her as my free S Rank from the 300 pulls:

[aljam0]

FebuFluff - ME!!

MY GAWD.

WhO kNeW tHaT wRiTiNg 1000 WoRdS cOuLd Be So HaRd?!

Well anyways. here it is. @febufluff-whump

DISCLAMER: Slight gore in first like part of oneshot. Fluff more toward the end.

FebuFluff

Supernatural Fandom

Destiel (Dean x Castiel)

Enough said.

1) Snuggles

Pre-established relationship

Summary: Team Free Will just got back from a hunt and Dean and Cas end up cuddling on the couch while watching some 80’s movies. (And 90’s too).

Team Free Will had to go take care of a small vampire nest somewhere. (Idk where. Have it be whatever you want.) It was in an abandoned building, close to the town. They drove there in the  impala to go take care of the monsters. Sam and Dean entered the building first, both with knifes read for anything. Cas went in after them, with his angel mojo, which he would use to kill the vampires. They each went there separate ways, and they went from room to room, looking for anyone. Soon Sam found some, and they all started to fight. After a long time of fighting, Dean swung the knife straight through the neck of the last vampire in the nest, blood splattering on his face. He wiped the blood off as he turned around, going to go find Sam and Cas. Since he couldn’t find them anywhere, he went outside and saw them there waiting for him by the impala. They all got into the car, Dean in the drivers seat of course. After about a minute of silence, Sam spoke up. “So want to head back to the bunker tonight?” Sam asked, sleep lurking into his voice. “Nah.” Replied Dean, starting to yawn from being exhausted. “We’ll stay another night in town. I’m too tired to drive back tonight. We’ll leave in the morning.” Dean started the car and they drove off back to the motel. When they got there, they all passed out on the bed’s. The next morning, they woke up at about 8, as it was a 6 hour drive back. The whole car ride was basically just Dean screaming singing the lyrics to rock songs (EYE OF THE TIGER!!!), Sam being sick of Dean’s non-stop screaming singing, and wanting to leave the car, and Cas looking out the window. When they finally got to the bunker, Dean had made them all lunch. They ate in silence. After they had eaten, they all started to go there separate ways. Dean took the plates and headed off to the kitchen, so he could wash them. “Hey Dean?” He heard Sam say behind him. “Ya?” Dean said, turning his head to face Sam while still washing the plates from lunch. “I’m going to out for the day. I’m taking the Impala too.” Sam said, holding up the key’s “Ya, ya. Just don’t get a scratch on her, or I swear to god I will kill you, and all your friends… and whatever!” Dean yelled after Sam as he left the room. Dean finished washing and drying the dishes, as well as putting them away in the cabinets. He sat down at a table and opened Sam’s laptop looking for the next case. •*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*• Dean sighed, closing Sam’s laptop. It was a happy sigh, of course, since there was no new cases that he could find, he had a whole day to do what he wanted. He had just spent the last hour of his life reading news article after news article, and was glad to be done. Dean looked at the time, it was about 6ish. Dean stood up from the table and started to walk around the bunker, looking for his angel. He went from room to room until he finally found him. There, he found Cas seated in the library, reading a book he seemed very interested in. Dean pulled the chair out right next to Cas, and sat down. “Hey angel.” Dean said with a smile his face. Cas looked up from his book, with a confused expression on his face. “Hello… human?” He replies, still utterly confused as to the purpose behind this. Dean sighs, realizing Cas didn’t know about pet names. All this time on Earth and he still doesn’t know the basics. But yet again, he has been quite busy. “Never mind.” He mumbled, still looking at Cas. “Find any cases?” Cas asks while looking back at his book and turning the page. Which Dean has noticed was in a different language he couldn’t read. “Nah.” Dean replies with a shrug. “I was thinking we could sit on the couch and watch some movies for the day?” Cas looked up from his book, looking at Dean as he smiled at him. He looked so happy to Cas. “I would love that Dean.” Cas said, with a small smile on his face.

One small microwave fire later, (Cas didn’t know how to use a microwave, and set the popcorn bag on fire). The two were seated on the couch, with a blanket onto of them, and popcorn bowls in there hands. Dean had chose to start off with a classic, Back to the Future. A little later in to the movie, (after the popcorn had been finished) they were snuggled with each other. Both of there warm bodies pressed up against the other, under the blanket as the movie continued on. After Back to the Future had ended, Dean put in another classic movie, Jurassic Park. Dean had Cas’ head on his shoulder, for the rest of the movie. As the credits rolled, Dean went to get up to replace the disc again, only to feel something grab his wrist. He looked down to see it was Cas. “Please don’t go.” He said, with his puppy eyes. Dean gave him a small smile. “Alright,” He whispered, while slowly climbing under the blanket. Cas immediately rested his head on Dean’s lap, and Dean started to run his fingers through his hair. After a little while, Cas started to fall asleep, and Dean seemed to notice this. He picked him up bridal style, and caring him to their bed. Slowly siting him down, he tucked him in, before joining him. He wrapped his arms around Cas, as Cas nuzzled his face in Dean’s chest. Dean sat there, stroking Cas’ hair for quite some time before Dean started to feel a little tired, forgetting about everything he was thinking off. Soon, they were both dead asleep in the bed, snuggled up together.

Words: 1,000

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 SHADES OF KWON JI YONG PT 2

A/N LISTEN UP BEACHES I EDITED THIS WHILE EATING SKITTLES AND DUPLINGS SO YOU KNOW I WASNT NORMAL WHILE EDITING I HOPE I EDITED EVERYTHING IF NOT I’LL CORECT THIS LATER

Genre:Fanfiction/Romance/Erotic Romance

Type:Rated-r(later chapters)

Word Count 5,084

PT.1 , PT2 PT.3

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seoul. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium. No man has ever affected me the way Kwon Jiyong has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap – what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself – but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be – he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I’m irritated that Hyo-Rin didn’t give me a brief biography

While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic – as if he had a hidden agenda. And Hyo-Rin’s questions – ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Min Hyo-Rin! I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating Brown eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Kwon’s more like a man double his age. Forget it, y/n, I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the 1-5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want. We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Gangnam-gu, close to the Gangnam campus of GAU. I’m lucky – Rin’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Hyo-Rin is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini-disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview. “Y/N! You’re back.” Rin sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals – though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little kittens, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard. “I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.” “Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini-disc recorder at her. “Y/N, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?” Oh no – here we go, the Min Hyo-Rin, Inquisition. I struggle to answer her question. What can I say? “I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused, intense even – and young. Really young.” Rin gazes innocently at me. I frown at her. “Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Hyo-Rin clamps a hand to her mouth. “Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry – I didn’t think.” I huff. “Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy – like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?” “Twenty-eight. Jeez, Y/N, I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

“You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject. “Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch. “I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”(a/n let’s imagine that this store is in korea ok?!) “Y/N, you’ll be exhausted.” “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started atGAU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Gangnam area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell – although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Kwon Ji Yong. We’re busy – it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me. “y/n! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.” “My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.” “I’m real pleased to see you.” She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task. When I arrive home later, Hyo-Rin is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained – exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with… him. “You’ve got some good stuff here,Y/N. Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.” She gives me a fleeting quizzical look. I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn’t the reason, surely? He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I’m biting my lip, and I hope Rin doesn’t notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription. “I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?” she asks. “Um… no, I didn’t.” “That’s fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don’t have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?” I flush. “I suppose so.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed. “Oh come on,Y/N – even you can’t be immune to his looks.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me. Crap! I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy. “You probably would have got a lot more out of him.” “I doubt that,Y/N. Come on , he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well.” She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen. “So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this go? Think of something – quick. “He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant – scary really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all. “You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” she snorts. I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face. “Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory. “Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date.” “It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.” “Oh, Y/N, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.” Taken with me? Now Hyo-Rin’s being ridiculous. “Would you like a sandwich?” “Please.” We talk no more of Kwon Ji Yong that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten, I’m able to sit at the dining table with Rin and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Hyo-Rin has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accomplished so much for a Monday. I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me, close my eyes, and I’m instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and Brown eyes. For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton’s. Hyo-Rin is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she’s much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-kittens PJs. I call my mom in Jeju to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making – my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It’ll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob – her relatively new but much older husband – is keeping an eye on her now that I’m no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three. “How are things with you, Y/N?” For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention. “I’m fine.” “Y/N? Have you met someone?” Wow… how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable. “No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.” “Y/N, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.” “Mom, I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy. Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation. In fact, it’s not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he’s still alive, he’s still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he’s not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him. Friday night, Hyo-Rin and I are debating what to do with our evening – we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers – when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Mino, (dont hate Me)clutching a bottle of champagne. “Mino! Great to see you!” I give him a quick hug. “Come in.” Mino is the first person I met when I arrived at GAU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Mino’s Father were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too. Mino is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Mino has a great eye for a good picture. “I have news.” He grins, his dark eyes twinkling. “Don’t tell me – you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week,” I tease, and he scowls playfully at me. “The Gangnam Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.” “That’s amazing – congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again. Hyo-Rin beams at him too. “Way to go Mino! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening.” She grins. “Let’s celebrate. I want you to come to the opening.” Mino looks intently at me. I flush. “Both of you, of course,” he adds, glancing nervously at Rin. Mino and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he’d like to be more. He’s cute and funny, but he’s just not for me. He’s more like the brother I never had. Hyo-Rin often teases me that I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is – I just haven’t met anyone who… well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.(a/n ME THO) But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that. Until very recently, the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Mr. Kwon? I wince at the memory. I know I’ve dreamt about him most nights since then, but that’s just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely? I watch Mino open the bottle of champagne. He’s tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he’s all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Mino’s pretty hot, but I think he’s finally getting the message: we’re just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Mino looks up and smiles. Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick – the two other part-timers – and I are all rushed off our feet. But there’s a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I’m sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I’m engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up… and find myself locked in the bold Brown gaze of Kwon Ji Yong who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently. Heart failure. “Miss Y/L/N. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense. Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice. “Mr. Kwon,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke. “I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Y/L/N.” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something. I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking – he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body. “Y/N. My name’s Y/N,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Mr.Kwon?” He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years façade. I can do this. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his gray eyes cool but amused. Cable ties? “We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery. Get a grip, Y/L/N. A slight frown mars Kwon’s rather lovely brow. “Please. Lead the way, Miss Y/L/N,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet – my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning. “They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush. “After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand. With my heart almost strangling me – because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth – I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Gangnam? Why is he here at Clayton’s? And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain – probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells – comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head. “Are you in Gangnam on business?” I ask, and my voice is too high, like I’ve got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool Y/N! “I was visiting the GAU farming division. It’s based at Gangnam. I’m currently funding some research there in crop rotation and soil science,” he says matter-of-factly. See? Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts. “All part of your feed-the-world plan?” I tease. “Something like that,” he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile. He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet. “These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush. “Is there anything else?” “I’d like some masking tape.” Masking tape? “Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate? “No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me. Am I that funny? Funny looking? “This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.” I glance behind me as he follows. “Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, Brown eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me? I feel like I’m fourteen years old – gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Y/L/N! “Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock. “I’ll take that one,” Kwon says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium. “Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly. “Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky. “This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle. “What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope… twine… cable cord… ” I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.” Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot brown gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self-conscious? Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife. “Were you a Girl Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth! “Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Kwon.” He arches a brow. “What is your thing,Y/N?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Y/N, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee. “Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing! I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station. “What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested? “Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.” He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer. Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it. “Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject – those fingers on that face are so beguiling. “I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” What would I recommend? I don’t even know what you’re doing. “For a do-it-yourselfer?” He nods, brown eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans. “Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth. He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans. “I could always take them off.” He smirks.(A/N BOIIII!!!!) “Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing,” he says dryly. I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans. “Do you need anything else?” I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls. He ignores my inquiry. “How’s the article coming along?” He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk… a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty. “I’m not writing it, Rin is. Miss Min. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air – at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.” Kwon raises an eyebrow. “What sort of photographs does she want?” Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know. “Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps… ” he trails off. “You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Hyo-Rin will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought – of all the silly, ridiculous… “Hyo-Rin will be delighted – if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position. Oh my. Kwon Ji Yong’s lost look. “Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” “Okay.” I grin up at him. Hyo-Rin is going to be thrilled. “Y/N!” Paul has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest brother. I’d heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today. “Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Grey.” Grey frowns as I turn away from him. Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Kwon, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Paul hugs me hard taking me by surprise. “Y/N, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes. “Hello Paul, how are you? You home for your brother’s birthday?” “Yep. You’re looking well, Y/N, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Paul, but he’s always been over-familiar. When I glance up at Kwon Jiyong, he’s watching us like a hawk, his brown eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else – someone cold and distant. “Paul, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Kwon’s eyes. I drag Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic. “Er, Paul, this is Kwon Ji Yong. Mr. Kwon, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more. “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton where he’s studying business administration.” I’m babbling… Stop, now! “Mr. Clayton.” Ji Yong holds his hand out, his look unreadable. “Mr. Kwon,” Paul returns his handshake. “Wait up – not the Kwon Ji Yong? Of Kwon Enterprises Holdings?” Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Kwon gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wow – is there anything I can get you?” “Y/N has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words… it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling. “Cool,” Paul responds. “Catch you later, Y/N.” “Sure, Paul.” I watch him disappear toward the stock room. “Anything else, Mr. Kwon?” “Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn… have I offended him? Taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem? I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Kwon, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his brown eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving. “Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card. “Please, Y/N.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic. I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier. “You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card. “Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh – and Y/N, I’m glad Miss Min couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth. Okay – I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Hyo-Rin and organize a photo-shoot.

boi i swear he...ugh he as a rich ceo....just yasss,also i didnt change the paul name because its the only time he appers in the book so yeah tommorow i will upload another part!!!!

[phanficminr]

Fifty shades of phan; chapter 2

Fifty shades of Phan A/N: I know Phil is 30 now but in this story he is 27, oh and they are not in London in this story

Chapter 2

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium. No man has ever affected me the way Phil Lester has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks, his civility, wealth,power I don’t understand my irrational reaction.

I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap - what was thatMy heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car. As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself - but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be - he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he again, I’m irritated that Luoise didn’t give me a brief biography. While cruising along the I-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic - as if he had a hidden agenda. And Luoise’s questions - ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Luoise Pentland!

I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating blue eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Lester’s more like a man double his age. Forget it, Dan,I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it . Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator.

We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Vancouver, Washington, close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I’m lucky - Luoise’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know luoise going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini-disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.

“Dan! You’re back.” Luoise sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals - though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.

“I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.”

“Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini-disc recorder at her.

“Dan, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it what was he like?” Oh no - here we go, the Luoise Pentland Inquisition.

I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?

“I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused,kind….and really intimidating .”

Luoise gazes innocently at me. I frown at her.

“Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography he made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Luoise clamps a hand to her mouth. “Jeez, Dan , I’m sorry - I didn’t think.” I huff. “Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy - like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?” “Twenty-seven. Jeez, Dan,I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.” “You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject. “Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch. “I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.” “Dan,you’ll be exhausted.” “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started at WSU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell - although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of a boy. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Phil Lester We’re busy - it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me.

“Dan! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.” “My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.” “I’m real pleased to see you.” She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task. When I arrive home later, Luoise is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained - exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with … him.

“So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this goThink of something - quick. “He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant - scary really, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all. “You, fascinated by a man that’s a first,” she snorts.

I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face. “Why did you want to know if he was gay Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory. “Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date…and you also haven’t had a date in so long.” “It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.” “Oh, Dan it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.” Taken with me Now Luoise is being ridiculous. “Would you like a sandwich?” “Please.” We talk no more of Phil Lester that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten, I’m able to sit at the dining table with Luoise and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D'Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Luoise has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accomplished so much for a Monday.

Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick - the two other part-timers.

“How are things with you, Ana?” For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention.

“I’m fine.”

“Dan have you met someone?” Wow… how does she do that The excitement in her voice is palpable. “No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.” “Dan,you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.” “Mom,I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy.

As I end the call I turn sharp round, Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I turn around and glance up… and find myself locked in the bold blue gaze of Phil Lester who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently. Heart failure. “Mister Howell What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense.

Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice. “Mr. Lester,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke. “I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mister Howell .” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel… or something. I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking - he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

“Dan. My name’s Dan,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Mr. Lester ?” He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years face?. I can do this. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his blue eyes cool but amused. Cable ties? “We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery. Get a grip, Howell . A slight frown mars Lester’s rather lovely brow. “Please. Lead the way, Mister Howell ,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet - my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning.

“They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush. “After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand.With my heart almost strangling me - because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth - I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Portland? Why is he here at Clayton’s And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain - probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells - comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beautiful, powerful, urbane man want to see me the idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with thoseI cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet. “These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush. “Is there anything else?” “I’d like some masking tape.” Masking tape? “Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate? “No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me. Am I that funny looking? “This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.” I glance behind me as he follows.

“Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, blur eyes concentrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me? I feel like I’m fourteen years old - gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Howell !

“Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock. “I’ll take that one,” Grey says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him. Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium.

“Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly. “Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky. “This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle.

cable cord… “ I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow. “I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.”

Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot blue gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self-conscious taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife.

“Were you a Boy Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth! “Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Lester.” He arches a brow. “What is your thing, Daniel?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Dan,my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee. “Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing! I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station. “What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested? “Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer.

Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it.

“Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject - those fingers on that face are so beguiling. “I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” What would I recommendI don’t even know what you’re doing. “For a do-it-yourselfer?” He nods, blue eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans. “Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth. He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans. “I could always take them off.” He smirks. “Um…okay then no clothes-I mean no coveralls….I can’t really think of anything else"I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW.

“Do you need anything else?” I squeak . He ignores my inquiry. “How’s the article coming along?” He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk… a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty. “I’m not writing it, Luoise is. Miss Pentland . My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air - at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.” Lester raises an eyebrow. “What sort of photographs does she want?” Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps… ” he trails off.

“You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Luoise will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought - of all the silly, ridiculous… “Luoise will be delighted - if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.

Oh my. Phil lester’s lost look.

“Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” “Okay.” I grin up at him. Luoise is going to be thrilled.

“Dan!”

Caspar (lee) has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest brother. I’d heard he was home from Africa, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today. “Er, excuse me for a moment, Mr. Lester.” Lester frowns as I turn away from him. Caspar has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Lester, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Caspar hugs me hard taking me by surprise. “Dan, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes. “Hello Caspar , how are you, you home for your brother’s birthday?” “Yep. You’re looking well, Dan, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Caspar , but he’s always been over-familiar. When I glance up at Phil Lester , he’s watching us like a hawk, his blue eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else - someone cold and distant.

“Caspar, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Lester’s eyes. I drag Caspar over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic. “Er, Caspar, this is Phil Lester . Mr. Lester, this is Caspar Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more. “I’ve known Caspar ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Africa where he’s studying business administration.” I’m babbling… Stop, now! “Mr. Clayton.” Phil holds his hand out, his look unreadable. “Mr. Lester,” Caspar returns his handshake. “Wait up - not the phil Lester of Lester Enterprises Holdings?” Caspar goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Lester gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Wow - is there anything I can get you?“ "Daniel has it covered, Mr. Clayton. He’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words… it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling. “Cool,” Caspar responds. “Catch you later, Dan.” “Sure, Caspar .” I watch him disappear toward the stock room.

“Anything else, Mr.lester?”

“Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn… have I offended him taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem I ring up the rope,masking tape, and cable ties at the till. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Lester, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his blue eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving. “Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card. “Please, Daniel.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic.

I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card.

“Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.”

He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh - and Daniel, I’m glad Miss Pentland couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth. Okay - I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely no harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Luoise and organize a photo-shoot.

………………………………………………….

Character placement: https://phanficminr.tumblr.com/post/160124305810/fifty-shades-of-phan-character-placement

First chapter: https://phanficminr.tumblr.com/post/160150333965/fifty-shades-of-phan-chapter-1

[fiftyshadesofdimmadome]

Book 1; Chapter 2

My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once, but fortunately not sprawling on to the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and I’m free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what’s left of my equilibrium.

No man has ever affected me the way Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don’t understand my irrational reaction.

I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven’s name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. Holy crap what was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and I can breathe normally again. I head for the car.

As I leave the city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely, I’m over-reacting to something that’s imaginary. Okay, so he’s very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself but on the flip side, he’s arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he’s autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be he’s accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I’m irritated that Kate didn’t give me a brief biography.

While cruising along the 1-5, my mind continues to wander. I’m truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic as if he had a hidden agenda. And Kate’s questions ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can’t believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Katherine Kavanagh!

I check the speedometer. I’m driving more cautiously than I would on any other occa sion. And I know it’s the memory of two penetrating gray eyes gazing at me, and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome���s more like a man double his age.

Forget it, Ana, I scold myself. I decide that all in all, it’s been a very interesting expe rience, but I shouldn’t dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I’m immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the MP3 player and turn the volume up loud, sit back, and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit the 1 -5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.

We live in a small community of duplex apartments in Vancouver, Washington, close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I’m lucky Kate’s parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It’s been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Kate is go ing to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the mini disc. Hopefully I won’t have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.

“Ana! You’re back.” Kate sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She’s clearly been studying for finals though she’s still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.

“I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.”

“Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over.” I wave the mini disc recorder at her.

“Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?” Oh no here we go, the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.

I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?

“I’m glad it’s over, and I don’t have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know.” I shrug. “He’s very focused, intense even and young. Really young.”

Kate gazes innocently at me. I frown at her.

“Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research.” Kate clamps a hand to her mouth.

“Jeez, Ana, I’m sorry I didn’t think.”

I huff.

“Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy like he’s old before his time. He doesn’t talk like a man of twenty-something. How old is he anyway?”

“Twenty-seven. Jeez, Ana, I’m sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the mini-disc, and I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

“You look better. Did you eat your soup?” I ask, keen to change the subject.

“Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I’m feeling much better.” She smiles at me in grati tude. I check my watch.

“I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton’s.”

“Ana, you’ll be exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

I’ve worked at Clayton’s since I started at WSU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I’ve worked here, I’ve come to know a little bit about most everything we sell although ironically, I’m crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad. I’m much more of a curl-up-with-a-book-in-a-comfy-chair-by-the-fire kind of girl. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. We’re busy it’s the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton is pleased to see me.

“Ana! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.”

“My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours.”

“I’m real pleased to see you.”

She sends me to the storeroom to start re-stocking shelves, and I’m soon absorbed in the task.

When I arrive home later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she’s concentrating and typing furiously. I’m thoroughly drained exhausted by the long drive, the grueling interview, and by being rushed off my feet at Clayton’s. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven’t done today because I was holed up with... him.

“You’ve got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can’t believe you didn’t take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you.” She gives me a fleeting quizzical look.

I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn’t the reason, surely? He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I’m biting my lip, and I hope Kate doesn’t notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcrip tion.

“I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?” she asks.

“Urn... no, I didn’t.”

“That’s fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don’t have some origi nal stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

I flush.

“I suppose so.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed.

“Oh come on, Ana even you can’t be immune to his looks.” She arches a perfect eyebrow at me.

Crap! I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy.

“You probably would have got a lot more out of him.”

“I doubt that, Ana. Come on he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well.” She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen.

“So what did you really think of him?” Damn, she’s inquisitive. Why can’t she just let this go? Think of something quick.

“He’s very driven, controlling, arrogant scary really, but very charismatic. I can un derstand the fascination,” I add truthfully, as I peer round the door at her hoping this will shut her up once and for all.

“You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” she snorts.

I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can’t see my face.

“Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrass ing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked too.” I scowl at the memory.

“Whenever he’s in the society pages, he never has a date.”

“It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I’m glad I’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.”

“Oh, Ana, it can’t have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you.”

Taken with me? Now Kate’s being ridiculous.

“Would you like a sandwich?”

“Please.”

We talk no more of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome that evening, much to my relief. Once we’ve eaten,

I’m able to sit at the dining table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Damn, but that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it’s midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I’ve accom plished so much for a Monday.

I curl up in my white iron bed, wrapping my mother’s quilt around me, close my eyes, and I’m instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak white cold floors, and gray eyes.

For the rest of the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton’s. Kate is busy too, compiling her last edition of her student magazine before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she’s much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck for my final ex ams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candle making my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally she’s bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It’ll be something new next week.

She worries me. I hope she hasn’t mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope that Bob her relatively new but much older husband is keeping an eye on her now that I’m no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three.

“How are things with you, Ana?”

For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom’s full attention.

“I’m fine.”

“Ana? Have you met someone?” Wow... how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable.

“No, Mom, it’s nothing. You’ll be the first to know if I do.”

“Ana, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.”

“Mom, I’m fine. How’s Bob?” As ever, distraction is the best policy.

Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom’s Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father, and the man whose name I bear. It’s a brief conversation. In fact, it’s not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coax ing. Ray is not a talker. But he’s still alive, he’s still watching soccer on TV, and going bowling and fly-fishing or making furniture when he’s not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him.

Friday night, Kate and I are debating what to do with our evening we want some time out from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Jose, clutching a bottle of champagne.

“Jose! Great to see you!” I give him a quick hug. “Come in.”

Jose is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each of us that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we discovered that both Ray and Jose Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become firm friends too.

Jose is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He’s pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Jose has a great eye for a good picture.

“I have news.” He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.

“Don’t tell me you’ve managed not to get kicked out for another week,” I tease, and he scowls playfully at me.

“The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.”

“That’s amazing congratulations!” Delighted for him, I hug him again. Kate beams at him too.

“Way to go Jose! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last minute editorial changes on a Friday evening.” She grins.

“Let’s celebrate. I want you to come to the opening.” Jose looks intently at me. I flush. “Both of you, of course,” he adds, glancing nervously at Kate.

Jose and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside, he’d like to be more. He’s cute and funny, but he’s just not for me. He’s more like the brother I never had. Katherine often teases me that I’m missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is I just haven’t met anyone who. . . well, whom I’m attracted to, even though part of me longs for those trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly, sleepless nights.

Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expecta tions are far too high. But in reality, nobody’s ever made me feel like that.

Until very recently, the unwelcome, still small voice of my subconscious whispers.

NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful inter view. Are you gay, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome? I wince at the memory. I know I’ve dreamt about him most nights since then, but that’s just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely?

I watch Jose open the bottle of champagne. He’s tall, and in his jeans and t-shirt he’s all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair and burning dark eyes. Yes, Jose’s pretty hot, but I think he’s finally getting the message: we’re just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Jose looks up and smiles.

Saturday at the store is a nightmare. We are besieged by do-it-yourselfers wanting to spruce up their homes. Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, John and Patrick -the two other part-timers and I are all rushed off our feet. But there’s a lull around lunchtime, and Mrs. Clayton asks me to check on some orders while I’m sitting behind the counter at the till discreetly eating my bagel. I’m engrossed in the task, checking catalogue numbers against the items we need and the items we’ve ordered, eyes flicking from the order book to the computer screen and back as I check the entries match. Then, for some reason, I glance up. . . and find myself locked in the bold gray gaze of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently.

Heart failure.

“Miss Steele. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense.

Holy crap. What the hell is he doing here looking all tousled-hair and outdoorsy in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome,” I whisper, because that’s all I can manage. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are alight with humor, as if he’s enjoying some private joke.

“I was in the area,” he says by way of explanation. “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Steele.” His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel... or something.

I shake my head to gather my wits. My heart is pounding a frantic tattoo, and for some reason I’m blushing furiously under his steady scrutiny. I am utterly thrown by the sight of him standing before me. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here. Here in Clayton’s Hardware Store. Go figure. Finally my cognitive functions are restored and reconnected with the rest of my body.

“Ana. My name’s Ana,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome?”

He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so disconcerting. Tak ing a deep breath, I put on my professional l’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-years fagade. I can do this.

“There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties,” he murmurs, his gray eyes cool but amused.

Cable ties?

“We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” I mutter, my voice soft and wavery.

Get a grip, Steele. A slight frown mars Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s rather lovely brow.

“Please. Lead the way, Miss Steele,” he says. I try for nonchalance as I come out from behind the counter, but really I’m concentrating hard on not falling over my own feet my legs are suddenly the consistency of Jell-O. I’m so glad I decided to wear my best jeans this morning.

“They’re in with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” My voice is a little too bright. I glance up at him and regret it almost immediately. Damn, he’s handsome. I blush.

“After you,” he murmurs, gesturing with his long-fingered, beautifully manicured hand.

With my heart almost strangling me because it’s in my throat trying to escape from my mouth I head down one of the aisles to the electrical section. Why is he in Portland? Why is he here at Clayton’s? And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata where my subconscious dwells comes the thought: he’s here to see you. No way! I dismiss it immediately. Why would this beauti ful, powerful, urbane man want to see me? The idea is preposterous, and I kick it out of my head.

“Are you in Portland on business?” I ask, and my voice is too high, like I’ve got my finger trapped in a door or something. Damn! Try to be cool Ana!

“I was visiting the WSU farming division. It’s based at Vancouver. I’m currently fund ing some research there in crop rotation and soil science,” he says matter-of-factly. See?

Not here to find you at all, my subconscious sneers at me, loud, proud, and pouty. I flush at my foolish wayward thoughts.

“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” I tease.

“Something like that,” he acknowledges, and his lips quirk up in a half smile.

He gazes at the selection of cable ties we stock at Clayton’s. What on Earth is he going to do with those? I cannot picture him as a do-it-yourselfer at all. His fingers trail across the various packages displayed, and for some inexplicable reason, I have to look away. He bends and selects a packet.

“These will do,” he says with his oh-so-secret smile, and I blush.

“Is there anything else?”

“I’d like some masking tape.”

Masking tape?

“Are you redecorating?” The words are out before I can stop them. Surely he hires laborers or has staff to help him decorate?

“No, not redecorating,” he says quickly then smirks, and I have the uncanny feeling that he’s laughing at me.

Am I that funny? Funny looking?

“This way,” I murmur embarrassed. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.”

I glance behind me as he follows.

“Have you worked here long?” His voice is low, and he’s gazing at me, gray eyes con centrating hard. I blush even more brightly. Why the hell does he have this effect on me?

I feel like I’m fourteen years old gauche, as always, and out of place. Eyes front Steele!

“Four years,” I mutter as we reach our goal. To distract myself, I reach down and select the two widths of masking tape that we stock.

“I’ll take that one,” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome says softly pointing to the wider tape, which I pass to him.

Our fingers brush very briefly, and the current is there again, zapping through me like I’ve touched an exposed wire. I gasp involuntarily as I feel it, all the way down to somewhere dark and unexplored, deep in my belly. Desperately, I scrabble around for my equilibrium.

“Anything else?” My voice is husky and breathy. His eyes widen slightly.

“Some rope, I think.” His voice mirrors mine, husky.

“This way.” I duck my head down to hide my recurring blush and head for the aisle.

“What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament rope... twine... cable cord... ” I halt at his expression, his eyes darkening. Holy cow.

“I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope please.”

Quickly, with trembling fingers, I measure out five yards against the fixed ruler, aware that his hot gray gaze is on me. I dare not look at him. Jeez, could I feel any more self conscious? Taking my Stanley knife from the back pocket of my jeans, I cut it then coil it neatly before tying it in a slipknot. By some miracle, I manage not to remove a finger with my knife.

“Were you a Girl Scout?” he asks, sculptured, sensual lips curled in amusement. Don’t look at his mouth!

“Organized, group activities aren’t really my thing, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.”

He arches a brow.

“What is your thing, Anastasia?” he asks, his voice soft and his secret smile is back. I gaze at him unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try and be cool, Ana, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee.

“Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming: You! You are my thing!

I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas above its station.

“What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested?

“Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer. Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it.

“Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject those fingers on that face are so beguiling.

“I don’t know. What else would you recommend?”

What would I recommend? I don’t even know what you’re doing.

“For a do-it-yourselfer?”

He nods, gray eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my eyes stray of their own accord to his snug jeans.

“Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth.

He raises an eyebrow, amused, yet again.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing,” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans.

“I could always take them off.” He smirks.

“Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of the communist manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW.

“I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing,” he says dryly.

I try and dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans.

“Do you need anything else?” I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls.

He ignores my inquiry.

“How’s the article coming along?”

He’s finally asked me a normal question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double talk... a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if were a life raft, and I go for honesty.

“I’m not writing it, Katherine is. Miss Kavanagh. My roommate, she’s the writer.

She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the magazine, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.”

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome raises an eyebrow.

“What sort of photographs does she want?”

Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps... ” he trails off.

“You’d be willing to attend a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Kate will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought of all the silly, ridiculous...

“Kate will be delighted if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly. His lips part, like he’s taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.

Oh my. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s lost look.

“Let me know about tomorrow.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his wal let. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.”

“Okay.” I grin up at him. Kate is going to be thrilled.

“ANA!”

Paul has materialized at other the end of the aisle. He’s Mr. Clayton’s youngest broth er. I’d heard he was home from Princeton, but I wasn’t expecting to see him today.

“Er, excuse me for a moment, Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome.” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome frowns as I turn away from him.

Paul has always been a buddy, and in this strange moment that I’m having with the rich, powerful, awesomely off-the-scale attractive control-freak Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, it’s great to talk to someone who’s normal. Paul hugs me hard taking me by surprise.

“Ana, hi, it’s so good to see you!” he gushes.

“Hello Paul, how are you? You home for your brother’s birthday?”

“Yep. You’re looking well, Ana, really well.” He grins as he examines me at arm’s length. Then he releases me but keeps a possessive arm draped over my shoulder. I shuffle from foot to foot, embarrassed. It’s good to see Paul, but he’s always been over-familiar.

When I glance up at Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, he’s watching us like a hawk, his gray eyes hooded and speculative, his mouth a hard impassive line. He’s changed from the weirdly attentive customer to someone else someone cold and distant.

“Paul, I’m with a customer. Someone you should meet,” I say, trying to defuse the antagonism I see in Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome’s eyes. I drag Paul over to meet him, and they weigh each other up. The atmosphere is suddenly arctic.

“Er, Paul, this is Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.” And for some irrational reason, I feel I have to explain a bit more.

“I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton where he’s studying business administration.” I’m bab bling... Stop, now!

“Mr. Clayton.” Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome holds his hand out, his look unreadable.

“Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome,” Paul returns his handshake. “Wait up not the Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome? Of Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome Enterprises Holdings?” Paul goes from surly to awestruck in less than a nanosecond. Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome gives him a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Wow is there anything I can get you?”

“Anastasia has it covered, Mr. Clayton. She’s been very attentive.” His expression is impassive, but his words... it’s like he’s saying something else entirely. It’s baffling.

“Cool,” Paul responds. “Catch you later, Ana.”

“Sure, Paul.” I watch him disappear toward the stock room. “Anything else, Mr.

Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome?”

“Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn... have I offended him? Tak ing a deep breath, I turn and head for the till. What is his problem?

I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties at the till.

“That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Doug Dimmadome, Owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, his gray eyes intense and smoky. It’s unnerving.

“Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card.

“Please, Anastasia.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic.

I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic carrier.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card.

“Good. Until tomorrow perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh and Anastasia, I’m glad Miss Kavanagh couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quiver ing mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet Earth.

Okay I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive, very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely? No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Kate and organize a photo-shoot.

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