* * *
From: Christian Grey Subject: Second Opinions
Date: May 27 2011 08:43
To: Anastasia Steele
Not that it's any of your business, humble or otherwise, but Dr. Flynn is the second opinion.
You will have to speed, in your new car, putting yourself at unnecessary risk--I think that's against the rules.
GO TO WORK.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Kavanagh throws me a question about future-proofing. I let him know that we've recently acquired a company that's an innovative, dynamic player in fiber optics. I don't let him know that I have doubts about the CEO, Lucas Woods. He'll be gone anyway. I'm definitely firing that idiot, no matter what Ros says.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: SHOUTY CAPITALS
Date: May 27 2011 08:47
To: Christian Grey
As the object of your stalker tendencies, I think it is my business, actually.
I haven't signed yet. So rules, schmules. And I don't start until 9:30.
Miss Steele
SHOUTY CAPITALS. I love it.
I respond.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Descriptive Linguistics
Date: May 27 2011 08:49
To: Anastasia Steele
"Schmules"? Not sure where that appears in Webster's dictionary.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
"We can take this conversation offline," Ros says to Kavanagh. "Now that we have an idea of your needs and expectations, we'll prepare a detailed proposal for you and reconvene next week to discuss it."
"Great," I say, trying to look engaged.
There are nods of agreement all around, then good-byes.
"Thanks for giving us the opportunity to quote for this, Eamon," I address Kavanagh.
"It sounds like you guys know what we need," he says. "Great to see you yesterday. Good-bye."
They all hang up except Ros, who's staring at me as if I've grown two heads.
Ana's e-mail pings into my inbox.
"Hang on, Ros. I need a minute or two." I mute her.
And read.
And laugh out loud.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Descriptive Linguistics
Date: May 27 2011 08:52
To: Christian Grey
It's between control freak and stalker.
And descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me.
Will you stop bothering me now?
I'd like to go to work in my new car.
Ana
I type a quick reply.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Challenging but Amusing Young Women Date: May 27 2011 08:56
To: Anastasia Steele
My palm is twitching.
Drive safely, Miss Steele.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Ros is glaring at me when I unmute her. "What the hell, Christian?"
"What?" I feign innocence.
"You know what. Don't hold a goddamn meeting when you're obviously not interested."
"Was it that obvious?"
"Yes."
"Fuck."
"Yes. Fuck. This could be a huge contract for us."
"I know. I know. I'm sorry." I grin.
"I don't know what's got into you lately." She shakes her head, but I can tell she's trying to mask her amusement with exasperation.
"It's the Portland air."
"Well, the sooner you're back here, the better."
"I'm heading back around lunchtime. In the meantime, ask Marco to investigate all the publishing houses in Seattle and see if any are ripe for a takeover."
"You want to go into publishing?" Ros splutters. "It's not a high-potential-growth sector."
She's probably right.
"Just investigate. That's all."
She sighs. "If you insist. Will you be in later this afternoon? We can have a proper catch-up."
"Depends on the traffic."
"I'll pencil in a catch-up with Andrea."
"Great. Bye for now."
I close WebEx, then phone Andrea.
"Mr. Grey."
"Call Dr. Baxter and have him come to my apartment on Sunday, around midday. If he's not available, find a good gynecologist. Get the best."
"Yes, sir," she says. "Anything else?"
"Yes. What's the name of the personal shopper I use at Neiman Marcus at the Bravern center?"
"Caroline Acton."
"Text me her number."
"Will do."
"I'll see you later this afternoon."
"Yes, sir."
I hang up.
So far it's been one interesting morning. I can't recall any exchange of e-mails being that fun, ever. I glance at the laptop, but there's nothing new. Ana must be at work.
I run my hands through my hair.
Ros noticed how distracted I was during that conversation.
Shit, Grey. Get your act together.
I wolf down my breakfast, drink some cold coffee, and head into my bedroom to shower and change. Even when I'm washing my hair I can't get that woman out of my head. Ana.
Amazing Ana.
The image of her bouncing up and down on top of me comes to mind; of her lying over my knee, ass pink; of her tethered to the bed, mouth open in ecstasy. Lord, that woman is hot. And this morning, waking up next to her, it wasn't so bad, and I slept well...really well.
Shouty capitals. Her e-mails make me laugh. They're entertaining. She's funny. I never knew I liked that in a woman. I'll need to think about what we'll do on Sunday in my playroom...something fun, something new for her.
While shaving I have an idea, and as soon as I'm dressed I get back on my laptop to browse my favorite toy store. I need a riding crop--brown plaited leather. I smirk. I'm going to make Ana's dreams come true.
Order placed, I turn to work e-mails, energized and productive, until Taylor interrupts me. "Good morning, Taylor."
"Mr. Grey." He nods, looking at me with a puzzled expression, and I realize I'm grinning because I'm thinking about her e-mails again.
Descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me.
"I've had a good morning," I find myself explaining.
"I'm pleased to hear it, sir. I have Miss Steele's laundry from last week."
"Pack it with my things."
"Will do."
"Thank you." I watch him walk into my bedroom. Even Taylor is noticing the Anastasia Steele effect. My phone buzzes: it's a text from Elliot.
You still in Portland?
Yes. But I'm leaving soon.
I'll be there later. I'm gonna help the girls move.
Shame you can't stay.
Our first DOUBLE DATE since Ana popped your cherry.
Fuck off. I'm picking up Mia.
I need deets bro. Kate tells me nothing.
Good. Fuck off. Again.
"Mr. Grey?" Taylor interrupts once more, my luggage in hand. "The courier has been dispatched with the BlackBerry."
"Thanks."
He nods, and as he leaves I type up another e-mail to Miss Steele.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: BlackBerry ON LOAN
Date: May 27 2011 11:15
To: Anastasia Steele
I need to be able to contact you at all times, and since this is your most honest form of communication, I figured you needed a BlackBerry.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
And maybe you'll answer this phone when I call.
At 11:30 I have another conference call, with our director of finance, to discuss GEH's charitable giving for the next quarter. That takes the best part of an hour, and when it's over I finish a light lunch and read the rest of my Forbes m
agazine.
As I swallow the last forkful of salad, I realize I have no other reason to stay at the hotel. It's time to go, yet I'm reluctant. And deep down I have to acknowledge it's because I won't see Ana until Sunday, unless she changes her mind.
Fuck. I hope not.
Pushing that unpleasant thought aside, I start packing my papers into my messenger bag, and when I reach for my laptop to put it away, I see there's an e-mail from Ana.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Consumerism Gone Mad
Date: May 27 2011 13:22
To: Christian Grey
I think you need to call Dr. Flynn right now.
Your stalker tendencies are running wild.
I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home.
Thank you for yet another gadget.
I wasn't wrong when I said you were the ultimate consumer.
Why do you do this?
Ana
She's scolding me! I respond immediately.
* * *
From: Christian Grey Subject: Sagacity from One So Young Date: May 27 2011 13:24
To: Anastasia Steele
Fair point well made, as ever, Miss Steele.
Dr. Flynn is on vacation.
And I do this because I can.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
She doesn't answer straightaway, so I pack my laptop. Grabbing my bag, I head down to reception and check out. While I'm waiting for my car, Andrea calls to tell me that she's found an ob-gyn to come to Escala on Sunday.
"Her name is Dr. Greene, and she comes highly recommended by your M.D., sir."
"Good."
"She runs her practice out of Northwest."
"Okay." Where is Andrea going with this?
"There's one thing sir--she's expensive."
I dismiss her concern. "Andrea, whatever she wants is fine."
"In that case, she can be at your apartment one thirty on Sunday."
"Great. Go ahead."
"Will do, Mr. Grey."
I hang up, and I'm tempted to call my mother to check Dr. Greene's credentials, as they work in the same hospital; but that might provoke too many questions from Grace.
Once in the car I send Ana an e-mail with details about Sunday.
* * *
From: Christian Grey Subject: Sunday
Date: May 27 2011 13:40
To: Anastasia Steele
Shall I see you at 1 p.m. Sunday?
The doctor will be at Escala to see you at 1:30.
I'm leaving for Seattle now.
I hope your move goes well, and I look forward to Sunday.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Right. All done. I ease the R8 onto the road and roar toward I-5. As I pass the exit for Vancouver I'm inspired. I call Andrea on the hands-free and ask her to organize a housewarming present for Ana and Kate.
"What would you like to send?"
"Bollinger La Grande Annee Rose, 1999 vintage."
"Yes, sir. Anything else?"
"What do you mean, anything else?"
"Flowers? Chocolates? A balloon?"
"Balloon?"
"Yes."
"What sort of balloons?"
"Well...they have everything."
"Okay. Good idea--see if you can get a helicopter balloon."
"Yes, sir. And a message for the card?"
" 'Ladies, good luck in your new home. Christian Grey.' Got that?"
"I have. What's the address?"
Shit. I don't know. "I'll text it to you either later today or tomorrow. Will that work?"
"Yes, sir. I can get it delivered tomorrow."
"Thanks, Andrea."
"You're welcome." She sounds surprised.
I hang up and floor my R8.
BY 6:30 I'M HOME and my earlier ebullient mood has soured--I still haven't heard from Ana. I select a pair of cuff links from the drawers in my closet and as I knot my bow tie for the night's event I wonder if she's okay. She said she would contact me when she got home; I've called her twice, but I've heard nothing, and it's pissing me off. I try her once more and this time I leave a message.
"I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I'm not a patient man. If you say you are going to contact me when you finish work, then you should have the decency to do so. Otherwise I worry, and it's not an emotion I'm familiar with, and I don't tolerate it very well. Call me."
If she doesn't call soon I am going to explode.
I'M SEATED AT A table with Whelan, my banker. I'm his guest at a charity function for a nonprofit that aims to raise awareness of global poverty.
"Glad you could make it," Whelan says.
"It's a good cause."
"And thank you for your generous contribution, Mr. Grey." His wife is cloying, thrusting her perfect, surgically enhanced breasts in my direction.
"Like I said, it's a good cause." I give her a patronizing smile.
Why hasn't Ana called me back?
I check my phone again.
Nothing.
I look around the table at all the middle-aged men with their second or third trophy wives. God forbid this should ever be me.
I'm bored. Seriously bored and seriously pissed.
What is she doing?
Could I have brought her here? I suspect she would have been bored stiff, too. When the conversation around the table moves to the state of the economy, I've had enough. Making my excuses, I leave the ballroom and exit the hotel. While the valet is retrieving my car, I call Ana again.
There's still no answer.
Perhaps now that I'm gone she wants nothing to do with me.
When I get home, I head straight to my study and switch on the iMac.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Where Are You?
Date: May 27 2011 22:14
To: Anastasia Steele
"I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home."
Are you still at work or have you packed your phone, BlackBerry, and MacBook?
Call me, or I may be forced to call Elliot.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I stare out of my window toward the dark waters of the Sound. Why did I volunteer to collect Mia? I could be with Ana, helping her pack all her shit, then going out for pizza with her and Kate and Elliot--or whatever ordinary people do.
For God's sake, Grey.
That's not you. Get a grip.
I wander around my apartment, my footsteps echoing through the living room, and it seems achingly empty since I was last here. I undo my bow tie. Perhaps it's me that's empty. I pour myself an Armagnac and stare back out at the Seattle skyline toward the Sound.
Are you thinking about me, Anastasia Steele? The winking lights of Seattle have no answer.
My phone buzzes.
Thank. Fuck. Finally. It's her.
"Hi." I'm relieved that she's called.
"Hi," she says.
"I was worried about you."
"I know. I'm sorry I didn't reply, but I'm fine."
Fine? I wish I was...
"Did you have a pleasant evening?" I ask, reining in my temper.
"Yes. We finished packing, and Kate and I had Chinese takeout with Jose."
Oh, this just gets better and better. The fucking photographer again. That's why she hasn't called.
"How about you?" she inquires when I don't respond, and there's a hint of desperation in her voice.
Why? What isn't she telling me?
Oh, stop overthinking this, Grey!
I sigh. "I went to a fund-raising dinner. It was deathly dull. I left as soon as I could."
"I wish you were here," she whispers.
"Do you?"
"Yes," she says fervently.
Oh. Perhaps she's missed me.
"I'll see you Sunday?" I confirm, trying to keep the ho
pe out of my voice.
"Yes, Sunday," she says, and I think she's smiling.
"Good night."
"Good night, Sir." Her voice is husky and it takes my breath away.
"Good luck with your move tomorrow, Anastasia."
She stays on the line, her breathing soft. Why doesn't she hang up? She doesn't want to?
"You hang up," she whispers.
She doesn't want to hang up and my mood lightens immediately. I grin out at the view of Seattle.
"No, you hang up."
"I don't want to."
"Neither do I."
"Were you very angry with me?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Are you still?"
"No." Now I know you're safe.
"So you're not going to punish me?"
"No. I'm an in-the-moment kind of guy."
"I've noticed," she teases, and that makes me smile.
"You can hang up now, Miss Steele."
"Do you really want me to, Sir?"
"Go to bed, Anastasia."
"Yes, Sir."
She doesn't hang up, and I know she's grinning. It lifts my spirits higher. "Do you ever think you'll be able to do what you're told?" I ask.
"Maybe. We'll see after Sunday," she says, temptress that she is, and the line goes dead.
Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?
Actually, I have a good idea, provided that riding crop turns up in time. And with that enticing thought I toss down the rest of the Armagnac and go to bed.
SATURDAY, MAY 28, 2011
* * *
Christian!" Mia squeals with delight and runs toward me, abandoning her cartload of luggage. Throwing her arms around my neck, she hugs me tightly.
"I've missed you," she says.
"I've missed you, too." I give her a squeeze in return. She leans back and examines me with intense dark eyes.
"You look good," she gushes. "Tell me about this girl!"
"Let's get you and your luggage home first." I grab her cart, which weighs a ton, and together we head out of the airport terminal toward the parking lot.
"So how was Paris? You appear to have brought most of it home with you."
"C'est incroyable!" she exclaims. "Floubert, on the other hand, was a bastard. Jesus. He was a horrible man. A crap teacher but a good chef."
"Does that mean you're cooking this evening?"
"Oh, I was hoping Mom would cook."
Mia proceeds to talk nonstop about Paris: her tiny room, the plumbing, Sacre-Coeur, Montmartre, Parisians, coffee, red wine, cheese, fashion, shopping. But mainly about fashion and shopping. And I thought she went to Paris to learn to cook.
I've missed her chatter; it's soothing and welcome. She is the only person I know who doesn't make me feel...different.