“As I’ve said, the work that GEH and WSU are doing together will provide solutions, and it’s our job to get the message out there. It’s through GEH’s telecommunications division that we intend to supply information and education to the developing world. I’m proud to say that we’re making impressive progress in solar technology, battery life, and wireless distribution that will bring the Internet to the remotest parts of the world—and our goal is to make it free to users at the point of delivery. Access to education and information, which we take for granted here, is the crucial component for ending poverty in these developing regions.
“We’re lucky. We’re all privileged here. Some more than others, and I include myself in that category. We have a moral obligation to offer those less fortunate a decent life that’s healthy, secure, and well nourished, with access to more of the resources that we all enjoy here.
“I’ll leave you with a quote that has always resonated with me. And I’m paraphrasing a Native American saying: ‘Only when the last leaf has fallen, the last tree has died, and the last fish been caught will we realize that we cannot eat money.’ ”
As I sit down to rousing applause, I resist looking at Ana and examine the WSU banner hanging at the back of the auditorium. If she wants to ignore me, fine. Two can play at that game.
The vice chancellor rises to commence handing out the degrees. And so begins the agonizing wait until we reach the S’s and I can see her again.
After an eternity I hear her name called: “Anastasia Steele.” A ripple of applause, and she’s walking toward me looking pensive and worried.
Shit.
What is she thinking?
Hold it together, Grey.
“Congratulations, Miss Steele,” I say as I give Ana her degree. We shake hands, but I don’t let hers go. “Do you have a problem with your laptop?”
She looks perplexed. “No.”
“Then you are ignoring my e-mails?” I release her.
“I only saw the mergers and acquisitions one.”
What the hell does that mean?
Her frown deepens, but I have to let her go—there’s a line forming behind her.
“Later.” I let her know that we’re not finished with this conversation as she moves on.
I’m in purgatory by the time we’ve reached the end of the line. I’ve been ogled, and had eyelashes batted at me, silly giggling girls squeezing my hand, and five notes with phone numbers pressed into my palm. I’m relieved as I exit the stage along with the faculty, to the strains of some dreary processional music and applause.
In the corridor I grab Kavanagh’s arm. “I need to speak to Ana. Can you find her? Now.”
Kavanagh is taken aback, but before she can say anything I add, in as polite a tone as I can manage, “Please.”
Her lips thin with disapproval, but she waits with me as the academics file past and then she returns to the auditorium. The chancellor stops to congratulate me on my speech.
“It was an honor to be asked,” I respond, shaking his hand once again. Out of the corner of my eye I spy Kate in the corridor—with Ana at her side. Excusing myself, I stride toward Ana.
“Thank you,” I say to Kate, who gives Ana a worried glance. Ignoring her, I take Ana’s elbow and lead her through the first door I find. It’s a men’s locker room, and from the fresh smell I can tell it’s empty. Locking the door, I turn to face Miss Steele. “Why haven’t you e-mailed me? Or texted me back?” I demand.
She blinks a couple of times, consternation writ large on her face. “I haven’t looked at my computer today, or my phone.” She seems genuinely bewildered by my outburst. “That was a great speech,” she adds.
“Thank you,” I mutter, derailed. How can she not have checked her phone or e-mail?
“Explains your food issues to me,” she says, her tone gentle—and if I’m not mistaken, pitying, too.
“Anastasia, I don’t want to go there at the moment.”
I don’t need your pity.
I close my eyes. All this time I thought she didn’t want to talk to me. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“Worried, why?”
“Because you went home in that deathtrap you call a car.”
And I thought I’d blown the deal between us.
Ana bristles. “What? It’s not a deathtrap. It’s fine. José regularly services it for me.”
“José, the photographer?” This just gets better and fucking better.
“Yes, the Beetle used to belong to his mother.”
“Yes, and probably her mother and her mother before her. It’s not safe.” I’m almost shouting.
“I’ve been driving it for over three years. I’m sorry you were worried. Why didn’t you call?”
I called her cell phone. Does she not use her damned cell phone? Is she talking about the house phone? Running my hand through my hair in exasperation, I take a deep breath. This is not addressing the fucking elephant in the room.
“Anastasia, I need an answer from you. This waiting around is driving me crazy.”
Her face falls.
Shit.
“Christian, I…look, I’ve left my stepdad on his own.”
“Tomorrow. I want an answer by tomorrow.”
“Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you then,” she says with an anxious look.
Well, it’s still not a “no.” And once more, I’m surprised by my relief.
What the hell is it about this woman? She stares up at me with sincere blue eyes, her face etched in concern, and I resist the urge to touch her. “Are you staying for drinks?” I ask.