He’s young, he’s sexy, he’s tall—he’s the total package. And no way is he five years old. He can’t be more than thirty. He’s dressed impeccably in a tailored gray suit, pressed white dress shirt, and a black tie with smiley faces on it. With his tousled brown hair and brilliant gray eyes, he’s the kind of guy you want to write fanfic about.
(..)
“Hello, Miss Steal,” he says, gazing at me gazingly with his gazing gray eyes.
I gaze into his gazing eyes gazingly like a gazelle gazing into another gazelle’s gazing gaze.

“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.”
(..)
For the first time in my life, I have found my purpose: to be a doormat for this ridiculously wealthy, attractive, impossible-to-resist man.
(..)
We're at Earl Grey's penthouse apartment at the top of one of the tallest, most elegant-looking steel erections in downtown Seattle. It’s directly across the street from his office; he commutes back and forth using a zip-line stretched between the two buildings.
(..)
"You surprise me so much,” he says, rubbing his chin. “It’s like I learn something new about you every day.”
“Maybe it’s because we’ve only known each other for a week,” I say.


// Fanny Merkin, Andrew Shaffer, 50 Shames of Earl Grey