Earl takes the BlackBerry from me and stashes it back into his velour sweatpants pocket. He sips his coffee.

“Why did you ask me out, Mr. Grey? I don’t think I’m your type of girl.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “And how would you know my ‘type,’ Anna?”

I shrug. “I saw the kind of girls you hire: tall, blond, well-dressed.”

“So, based on a couple of receptionists who happen to be blond, out of the billion employees who work for me, you think you know my type?”

“I may have made a generalization there,” I admit.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions,” he says. “For instance, if I had assumed Jin was your boyfriend, I may not have asked you out today.”

“How do you know about Jin?”

“I had your duplex outfitted with a surveillance system,” Earl says.

Gulp.

“He’s just a friend,” I say. “We’ve never dated or anything.”

“That’s good to know,” Earl says.

I sip my tea. Earl pulls a banana out of his pocket and peels it with his long fingers. “Want some?”

“No thank you,” I say. So we’re down to just one banana in his pants.

“Do I intimidate you, Anna?” he says.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you seem nervous around me. You sound much more relaxed on the surveillance tapes I’ve watched.”

I sigh heavily. “Yes, I’m a little nervous. I’ve never had a boyfriend, let alone a billionaire CEO stalker flying me around in his private helicopter and holding my hand and buying me tea.”

“You’re a mystery to me, baby,” he says, biting the tip off the banana.

I blush. “Oh, stop.”

“No, it’s true,” he says. “I have no idea what’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours . . . ”

“To be honest, I have no idea either,” I say, looking down at the table to avoid his powerful gaze. “Most times, my mind is just an ongoing, present-tense, first-person monologue. It’s like I’m writing a novel, constantly, but only in my brain. A really bad novel. A trilogy, maybe.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No,” I say.

“I knew that,” he says. “We’re both only children. Are your parents still together?”

“No, they’re—”

“Divorced?” he says, finishing my sentence. “I knew that as well.”

I eye him suspiciously. “You’re a strange man, Mr. Grey.”

“You have no idea,” he says, finishing his banana off.

“Then why play twenty questions?”

“You interviewed me. I don’t think I finished . . . probing you,” Earl says, sipping his coffee.

“Probe away,” I say, deliberately trying to shock the mighty Earl Grey. I succeed, because he accidentally spits his coffee out all over my face.

Oh my.