50 Shades of Shepherd

u’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder and you ask me now?” I flush. He’s teasing me. I hope. I blink at him, unsure what to say and

r than logic and facts.” His mouth turns up, and he stares appraising at me. “Possibly. Though there are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.” “Why would they say that?” “Because they know me well.” His lip curls in a wry smile. “Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?” And I regret the question as soon as I say it. It’s not on Lexie’s list. “I’m a very private person, Miss Grey. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I rarely give interviews,” he trails off. “Why did you agree to do this one?” “Because I’m a benefactor of the University and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Miss Grey off my back. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.” I know how tenacious Lexie can be. That’s why I’m sitting here squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze when I should study for my exams. “You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?” “We can’t eat money, Miss Grey, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough to eat.” “That sounds very philanthropic. Is it something you feel passionately about? Feeding the world’s poor?” He shrugs, very non-committal. “It’s shrewd business,” he murmurs, though I think he’s being disingenuous. It makes little sense, feeding the world’s poor. I can’t see the financial benefits of this, only the virtue of the ideal. I glance at the next question, confused by his attitude. “Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?” “I don’t have a philosophy. Maybe a guiding principle, Carnegie’s: ‘A man who gains the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which they justly entitle him.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control of myself and those around me.” “So you want to possess things?” You are a control freak. “I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.” “You sound like the ultimate consumer.” “I am.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes. Again, this is at odds with someone who wants to feed the world, so I can’t help thinking we’re talking about something else, but I’m absolutely mystified by what it is. I swallow hard. The temperature in the room is rising, or maybe it’s just me. I just want this interview to be over. Surely Lexie has enough material now. I glance at the next question. “They adopted you. How far do you think that’s shaped the way you are?” Oh, this is personal. I stare at him, hoping he’s not offended. His brow furrows. “I have no way of knowing.” It piqued my interest. “How old were you when you were adopted?” “That’s a matter of public record, Miss Grey.” His tone is stern. I flush, again. Crap. Yes, if I’d known I was doing this interview, I would have done some research. I move on quickly. “You’ve had to sacrifice family life for your work.” “That’s not a question.” He’s terse. “Sorry.” I squirm, and he’s made me feel like an errant child. I will try again. “Have you had to sacrifice family life for your work?” “I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.” “Are you gay, Mr. Shepherd?” He inhales sharply and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn’t I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I’m just reading the questions? Damn Lexie and her curiosity! “No Meredith, I’m not.” He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He doesn’t look pleased. “I apologize. It’s um... written here.” It’s the first time he’s said my name. My heartbeat has sped up, and my cheeks are heating again. Nervously, I tuck my loosened hair behind my ear. He cocks his head to one side. “These aren’t your own questions?” The blood drains from my head Oh no. “Err... no. Lexie, Miss Grey, she compiled the questions.” “Are you colleagues on the student paper?” Oh crap. I have nothing to do with the student paper. It’s her extracurricular activity, not mine. My face is aflame. “No. She’s my roommate.” He rubs his chin with deliberation, his blue eyes appraising me. “Did you volunteer to do this interview?’’ he asks, his voice deadly quiet. Hang on, who’s supposed to be interviewing whom? His eyes burn into me and I’m compelled to answer with the truth. “They drafted me. She’s not well.” My