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『英文書』Fifty Shades of Grey 格雷的五十道灰 纽约时报图书畅销榜连续49周排名第一 好莱坞女星几乎人手一本 彻底颠覆欧美女性坚强独立的印象 (更多此书正在途中)

書城自編碼: 2016568
分類:簡體書→原版英文書→小说 Fiction
作者: E LJames
國際書號(ISBN): 9780345803481
出版社: Random House
出版日期: 2012-04-01
版次: 1 印次: 1
頁數/字數: 514/
書度/開本: 32开 釘裝: 平装

售價:HK$ 234.6

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內容簡介:
When literature student Anastasia Steele goes to interview
young entrepreneur Christian Grey, she encounters a man who is
beautiful, brilliant, and intimidating. The unworldly, innocent Ana
is startled to realize she wants this man and, despite his
enigmatic reserve, finds she is desperate to get close to him.
Unable to resist Ana’s quiet beauty, wit, and independent spirit,
Grey admits he wants her, too—but on his own terms.
Shocked yet thrilled by Grey’s singular erotic tastes, Ana
hesitates. For all the trappings of success—his multinational
businesses, his vast wealth, his loving family—Grey is a man
tormented by demons and consumed by the need to control. When the
couple embarks on a daring, passionately physical affair, Ana
discovers Christian Grey’s secrets and explores her own dark
desires.
Erotic, amusing, and deeply moving, the Fifty Shades Trilogy
is a tale that will obsess you, possess you, and stay with you
forever.
This book is intended for mature audiences.
關於作者:
E L James is a former TV executive, wife and mother of two
based in West London. Since early childhood she dreamed of writing
stories that readers would fall in love with, but put those dreams
on hold to focus on her family and her career. She finally plucked
up the courage to put pen to paper with her first novel, Fifty
Shades of Grey.
內容試閱
CHAPTER ONE
I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. Damn my
hair—it just won’t behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being
ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my
final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to brush my
hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not
sleep with it wet. Reciting this mantra several times, I attempt,
once more, to bring it under control with the brush. I roll my eyes
in exasperation and gaze at the pale, brown-haired girl with blue
eyes too big for her face staring back at me, and give up. My only
option is to restrain my wayward hair in a ponytail and hope that I
look semi-presentable.

Kate is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to
succumb to the flu. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview
she’d arranged to do, with some mega-industrialist tycoon I’ve
never heard of, for the student newspaper. So I have been
volunteered. I have final exams to cram for and one essay to
finish, and I’m supposed to be working this afternoon, but no—today
I have to drive 165 miles to downtown Seattle in order to meet the
enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. As an exceptional
entrepreneur and major benefactor of our university, his time is
extraordinarily precious—much more precious than mine—but he has
granted Kate an interview. A real coup, she tells me. Damn her
extracurricular activities.

Kate is huddled on the couch in the living room.

“Ana, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. It
will take another six to reschedule, and we’ll both have graduated
by then. As the editor, I can’t blow this off. Please,” Kate begs
me in her rasping, sore throat voice. How does she do it? Even ill
she looks gamine and gorgeous, strawberry blond hair in place and
green eyes bright, although now red rimmed and runny. I ignore my
pang of unwelcome sympathy.

“Of course I’ll go, Kate. You should get back to bed. Would you
like some NyQuil or Tylenol?”

“NyQuil, please. Here are the questions and my digital recorder.
Just press record here. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all.”

“I know nothing about him,” I murmur, trying and failing to
suppress my rising panic.

“The questions will see you through. Go. It’s a long drive. I don’t
want you to be late.”

“Okay, I’m going. Get back to bed. I made you some soup to heat up
later.” I stare at her fondly. Only for you, Kate, would I do
this.

“I will. Good luck. And thanks, Ana—as usual, you’re my
lifesaver.”

Gathering my backpack, I smile wryly at her, then head out the door
to the car. I cannot believe I have let Kate talk me into this. But
then Kate can talk anyone into anything. She’ll make an exceptional
journalist. She’s articulate, strong, persuasive, argumentative,
beautiful—and she’s my dearest, dearest friend.


The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, Washington, toward
Interstate 5. It’s early, and I don’t have to be in Seattle until
two this afternoon. Fortunately, Kate has lent me her sporty
Mercedes CLK. I’m not sure Wanda, my old VW Beetle, would make the
journey in time. Oh, the Merc is a fun drive, and the miles slip
away as I hit the pedal to the metal.

My destination is the headquarters of Mr. Grey’s global enterprise.
It’s a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and
steel, an architect’s utilitarian fantasy, with GREY HOUSE written
discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It’s a quarter to
two when I arrive, greatly relieved that I’m not late as I walk
into the enormous—and frankly intimidating—glass, steel, and white
sandstone lobby.

Behind the solid sandstone desk, a very attractive, groomed, blonde
young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She’s wearing the sharpest
charcoal suit jacket and white shirt I have ever seen. She looks
immaculate.

“I’m here to see Mr. Grey. Anastasia Steele for Katherine
Kavanagh.”

“Excuse me one moment, Miss Steele.” She arches her eyebrow as I
stand self-consciously before her. I’m beginning to wish I’d
borrowed one of Kate’s formal blazers rather than worn my navy-blue
jacket. I have made an effort and worn my one and only skirt, my
sensible brown knee-length boots, and a blue sweater. For me, this
is smart. I tuck one of the escaped tendrils of my hair behind my
ear as I pretend she doesn’t intimidate me.

“Miss Kavanagh is expected. Please sign in here, Miss Steele.
You’ll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth
floor.” She smiles kindly at me, amused no doubt, as I sign
in.

She hands me a security pass that has “visitor” very firmly stamped
on the front. I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious that I’m
just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. Nothing changes. I
inwardly sigh. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators
and past the two security men who are both far more smartly dressed
than I am in their well-cut black suits.

The elevator whisks me at terminal velocity to the twentieth floor.
The doors slide open, and I’m in another large lobby—again all
glass, steel, and white sandstone. I’m confronted by another desk
of sandstone and another young blonde woman, this time dressed
impeccably in black and white, who rises to greet me.

“Miss Steele, could you wait here, please?” She points to a seated
area of white leather chairs.

Behind the leather chairs is a spacious glass-walled meeting room
with an equally spacious dark wood table and at least twenty
matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there is a floor-to-ceiling
window with a view of the Seattle skyline that looks out through
the city toward the Sound. It’s a stunning vista, and I’m
momentarily paralyzed by the view. Wow.

I sit down, fish the questions from my backpack, and go through
them, inwardly cursing Kate for not providing me with a brief
biography. I know nothing about this man I’m about to interview. He
could be ninety or he could be thirty. The uncertainty is galling,
and my nerves resurface, making me fidget. I’ve never been
comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring the anonymity of
a group discussion where I can sit inconspicuously at the back of
the room. To be honest, I prefer my own company, reading a classic
British novel, curled up in a chair in the campus library. Not
sitting twitching nervously in a colossal glass-and-stone
edifice.

I roll my eyes at myself. Get a grip, Steele. Judging from the
building, which is too clinical and modern, I guess Grey is in his
forties: fit, tanned, and fair-haired to match the rest of the
personnel.

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large
door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? It’s
like Stepford here. Taking a deep breath, I stand up.

“Miss Steele?” the latest blonde asks.

“Yes,” I croak, and clear my throat. “Yes.” There, that sounded
more confident.

“Mr. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?”

“Oh, please.” I struggle out of the jacket.

“Have you been offered any refreshment?”

“Um—no.” Oh dear, is Blonde Number One in trouble?

Blonde Number Two frowns and eyes the young woman at the
desk.
“Would you like tea, coffee, water?” she asks, turning her
attention back to me.

“A glass of water. Thank you,” I murmur.

“Olivia, please fetch Miss Steele a glass of water.” Her voice is
stern. Olivia scoots up and scurries to a door on the other side of
the foyer.

“My apologies, Miss Steele, Olivia is our new intern. Please be
seated. Mr. Grey will be another five minutes.”

Olivia returns with a glass of iced water.

“Here you go, Miss Steele.”

“Thank you.”

Blonde Number Two marches over to the large desk, her heels
clicking and echoing on the sandstone floor. She sits down, and
they both continue their work.

Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I’m
wondering idly if that’s legal, when the office door opens and a
tall, elegantly dressed, attractive African American man with short
dreads exits. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes.

He turns and says through the door, “Golf this week, Grey?”

I don’t hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark
eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia has jumped up and called the
elevator. She seems to excel at jumping from her seat. She’s more
nervous than me!

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he says as he departs through the sliding
door.

“Mr. Grey will see you now, Miss Steele. Do go through,” Blonde
Number Two says. I stand rather shakily, trying to suppress my
nerves. Gathering up my backpack, I abandon my glass of water and
make my way to the partially open door.

“You don’t need to knock—just go in.” She smiles kindly.

I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet
and falling headfirst into the office.

Double crap—me and my two left feet! I am on my hands and knees in
the doorway to Mr. Grey’s office, and gentle h...

 

 

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