Fifty Sheds of Grey

C. T. Grey

St. Martin's Griffin


'Mr Grey?'

'I keep telling you, Olivia, call me Colin. Mr Grey sounds so formal. Now, what is it?'

'There's someone down here in the lobby, Mr Grey. She says she needs to see you. She says it's urgent.'

I bite my lip, pensively. She? It must be a woman.

'What's her name? Does she have an appointment?'

'No, Mr Grey, and she won't tell me her name, but she's very insistent. She says she knows you.'

I gaze out of the twentieth-floor window at the vast, sprawling metropolis from behind my vast, sprawling desk and frown. Who could it be?

'Very well,' I reply eventually, 'Send her up.'

'Yes, Mr Grey.'

I lay the receiver back on its cradle. As I await my mysterious visitor, my steel grey eyes roll around my vast, sprawling office, entirely white from floor to ceiling apart from a mosaic of small monochrome photographs hanging on the opposite wall - my Fifty Sheds of Grey. One of the pictures catches my attention and my manly lips curve upwards into a wistful smile...



WARNING: Fifty Sheds of Grey contains fifty graphic shed-based images. Please do not look if you are easily offended.

FIFTY SHEDS OF GREY. Copyright 2012 by 50ShedsofGrey