"I'd better go and have a shower," she says, subdued. She stands and takes a few steps toward the door.
"I've got a couple more calls to make. I'll join you for breakfast once you're out of the shower." I gaze after her, wondering what to say to make this right. "I think Mrs. Jones has laundered your clothes from yesterday. They're in the closet."
She looks surprised, and impressed. "Thank you," she says.
"You're most welcome."
Her brow creases as she studies me, baffled.
"What?" I ask.
"What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you're being more weird than usual."
"You find me weird?" Ana, baby, "weird" is my middle name.
"Sometimes."
Tell her. Tell her no one's pounced on you for a long time.
"As ever, I'm surprised by you, Miss Steele."
"Surprised how?"
"Let's just say that was an unexpected treat."
"We aim to please, Mr. Grey," she teases, still scrutinizing me.
"And please me you do," I acknowledge. But you disarm me, too. "I thought you were going to have a shower?"
Her mouth turns down.
Shit.
"Yes, um, I'll see you in a moment." She turns and scampers out of my study, leaving me standing in a maze of confusion. I shake my head to clear it, then begin picking up my scattered belongings from the floor and arranging them on my desk.
How the hell can she just waltz into my study and seduce me? I'm supposed to be in control of this relationship. This is what I was thinking about last night: her unbridled enthusiasm and affection. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that? It's not something I know. I pause as I pick up my phone.
But it's nice.
Yeah.
More than nice.
I chuckle at the thought and remember her "nice" e-mail. Damn, there's a missed call from Bill. He must have phoned during my tryst with Miss Steele. I sit down at my desk, master of my own universe once more--now that she's in the shower--and call him back. I need Bill to tell me about Detroit...and I need to get back on my game.
Bill doesn't pick up, so I call Andrea.
"Mr. Grey."
"Is the jet free today and tomorrow?"
"It's not scheduled for use until Thursday, sir."
"Great. Can you try Bill for me?"
"Sure."
My conversation with Bill is lengthy. Ruth has done an excellent job scouting all of the available brownfield sites in Detroit. Two are viable for the tech plant we want to build, and Bill is certain that Detroit has the available labor force we require.
My heart sinks.
Does it have to be Detroit?
I have vague memories of the place: drunks, hobos, and crackheads shouting at us on the streets; the seedy dive we called home; and a young, broken woman, the crack whore I called Mommy, staring into space while she sat in a drab, grimy room filled with stale air and dust motes.
And him.
I shudder. Don't think about him...or her.
But I can't help it. Ana has said nothing about my nocturnal confession. I've never mentioned the crack whore to anyone. Perhaps that's why Ana attacked me this morning: she thinks I need some TLC.
Fuck that.
Baby. I'll take your body if you offer it up. I'm doing just fine. But even as the thought pops into my head I wonder if I'm "just fine." I ignore my unease; it's something to discuss with Flynn when he's back.
Right now, I'm hungry. I hope she's gotten her sweet butt out of that shower, because I need to eat.
ANA IS STANDING AT the kitchen counter talking to Mrs. Jones, who has set places for our breakfast.
"Would you like something to eat?" asks Mrs. Jones.
"No thank you," Ana says.
Oh no you don't.
"Of course you'll have something to eat," I growl at both of them. "She likes pancakes, bacon, and eggs, Mrs. Jones."
"Yes, Mr. Grey. What would you like, sir?" she replies, without batting an eyelid.
"Omelet, please, and some fruit. Sit," I tell Ana, pointing to one of the barstools. She does, and I take a seat beside her while Mrs. Jones makes our breakfast.
"Have you bought your air ticket?" I ask.
"No, I'll buy it when I get home, over the Internet."
"Do you have the money?"
"Yes," she says, as if I'm five years old, and she tosses her hair over her shoulder, flattening her lips, peeved, I think.
I arch an eyebrow in censure. I could always spank you again, sweetheart.
"Yes, I do, thank you," she says quickly, in a more subdued tone.
That's better.
"I have a jet. It's not scheduled to be used for three days; it's at your disposal." This will be a "no." But at least I can offer.
Her lips part in shock and her expression transforms, from stunned to impressed and exasperated in equal measure. "We've already made serious misuse of your company's aviation fleet. I wouldn't want to do it again," she says nonchalantly.
"It's my company, it's my jet."
She shakes her head. "Thank you for the offer. But I'd be happier taking a scheduled flight."
Surely most women would jump at the opportunity of taking a private jet, but it seems material wealth really doesn't impress this girl--or she doesn't like to feel indebted to me. I'm not sure which. Either way, she's a stubborn creature.
"As you wish." I sigh. "Do you have much preparation to do for your interview?"
"No."
"Good." I ask but she still won't tell me which of the publishing houses she's seeing. Instead she gives me a sphinxlike smile. There's no way she's divulging this secret.
"I'm a man of means, Miss Steele."
"I'm fully aware of that, Mr. Grey. Are you going to track my phone?"
Trust her to remember that. "Actually, I'll be quite busy this afternoon, so I'll have to get someone else to do it," I answer, smirking.
"If you can spare someone to do that, you're obviously overstaffed."
Oh, she's sassy today.
"I'll send an e-mail to the head of human resources and have her look into our head count." This is what I like: our banter. It's refreshing and fun, and unlike anything I've known before.
Mrs. Jones serves us breakfast, and I'm pleased to see Ana relishing her food. When Mrs. Jones leaves the kitchen Ana peers up at me.
"What is it, Anastasia?"
"You know, you never did tell me why you don't like to be touched."
Not this again!
"I've told you more than I've ever told anybody." My voice is low to conceal my frustration. Why does she persist with these questions? She eats another couple of mouthfuls of her pancakes.
"Will you think about our arrangement while you're away?" I ask.
"Yes." She's earnest.
"Will you miss me?"
Grey!
She turns to face me, as surprised as I am by the question. "Yes," she says after a moment, her expression open and honest. I was expecting a smart remark, yet I get the truth. And strangely, I find her admission comforting.
"I'll miss you, too," I mutter. "More than you know." My apartment will be a little quieter without her, and a little emptier. I stroke her cheek and kiss her. She gives me a sweet smile before returning to her breakfast.
"I'll brush my teeth, then I should go," she announces, once she's finished.
"So soon. I thought you might stay longer."
She's taken aback. Did she think I'd kick her out?
"I've prevailed upon you and taken up your time for long enough, Mr. Grey. Besides, don't you have an empire to run?"
"I can play hooky." Hope swells in my chest and my voice. And I've just cleared my morning.
"I have to prep for my interviews. And get changed." She eyes me warily.
"You look great."
"Why, thank you, Sir," she says graciously. But her cheeks are coloring their familiar rosy pink, like her ass last night
. She's embarrassed. When will she learn to take a compliment?
Rising, she takes her plate to the sink.
"Leave that. Mrs. Jones will do it."
"Okay. I'm just going to brush my teeth."
"Please feel free to use my toothbrush," I offer, with sarcasm.
"I had every intention of doing so," she says, and sashays out of the room. That woman has an answer for everything.
She returns a few moments later with her purse.
"Don't forget to take your BlackBerry, your Mac, and your chargers to Georgia."
"Yes, Sir," she says obediently.
Good girl.
"Come." I lead her to the elevator and step in with her.
"You don't have to come down. I can see myself to my car."
"It's all part of the service," I quip ironically. "Besides, I can kiss you all the way down." I fold her into my arms and do just that, enjoying her taste and her tongue and giving her a proper good-bye.
We're both aroused and breathless by the time the doors open on the garage level. But she's leaving. I take her to her car and open the driver's door for her, ignoring my need.
"Good-bye, for now, Sir," she whispers, and kisses me once more.
"Drive safely, Anastasia. And safe travels." I close her door, stand back, and watch her leave. Then I head upstairs.
I knock on Taylor's study door and let him know that I'd like to go to the office in ten minutes. "I'll have the car waiting, sir."
I CALL WELCH FROM the car.
"Mr. Grey," he rasps.
"Welch. Anastasia Steele is buying an airline ticket today, leaving Seattle tonight for Savannah. I'd like to know which flight she's on."
"Does she have an airline preference?"
"I'm afraid I don't know."
"I'll see what I can do."
I hang up. My cunning plan is falling into place.
"MR. GREY!" ANDREA IS startled at my appearance several hours early. I want to tell her that I do fucking work here, but I decide to behave.
"I thought I'd surprise you."
"Coffee?" she chirps.
"Please."
"With or without milk?"
Good girl.
"With. Steamed milk."
"Yes, Mr. Grey."
"Try Caroline Acton. I'd like to speak to her right away."
"Of course."
"And make an appointment for me to see Flynn, next week." She nods and sits down to work. At my desk, I switch on my computer.
The first e-mail in my inbox is from Elena.
* * *
From: Elena Lincoln
Subject: The Weekend
Date: May 30 2011, 10:15
To: Christian Grey
Christian, what gives?
Your mother told me you took a young woman to dinner yesterday.
I'm intrigued. It's so not your style.
You've found a new submissive?
Call me.
Ex
ELENA LINCOLN
ESCLAVA
For The Beauty That Is YouTM
That's all I need. I close her e-mail, resolving to ignore it for now. Olivia knocks and enters with my coffee as Andrea buzzes my phone.
"I have Welch for you, and I've left a message for Ms. Acton," Andrea announces.
"Good. Put him through."
Olivia places the latte on my desk and exits flustered. I do my best to ignore her.
"Welch."
"No airline tickets purchased as yet, Mr. Grey. But I'll monitor the situation and inform you, should that change."
"Please do."
He hangs up. I take a sip of coffee and dial Ros.
JUST BEFORE LUNCH ANDREA puts Caroline Acton through. "Mr. Grey, how lovely to hear from you. What can I do for you?"
"Hello, Ms. Acton. I'd like the usual."
"The capsule wardrobe? Do you have a color palette in mind?"
"Blues and greens. Silver maybe, for a formal event." The Chamber of Commerce dinner springs to mind. "Gem colors, I think."
"Nice," Ms. Acton responds with her usual enthusiasm.
"And satin and silk underwear and nightwear. Something glamorous."
"Yes, sir. Do you have a budget in mind?"
"No budget. Go all-out. I want everything high-end."
"Shoes, too?"
"Please."
"Great. Sizes?"
"I'll e-mail you. I have your address from last time."
"When would you like delivery?"
"This Friday."
"I'm sure I can do that. Would you like to see photographs of my choices?"
"Please."
"Great. I'll get on it."
"Thank you." I hang up and Andrea puts Welch through.
"Welch."
"Miss Steele is traveling on DL2610 to Atlanta, departing at 22:25 this evening."
I jot down all the details of her flights and connection into Savannah. I summon Andrea, who enters moments later, carrying her notebook.
"Andrea, Anastasia Steele is traveling on these flights. Upgrade her to first class, check her in, and pay for her to enter the first-class lounge. And buy the seat beside her on all flights, there and back. Use my personal credit card." Andrea's puzzled look tells me that she thinks I've taken leave of my senses, but she recovers quickly and accepts my hand-scribbled note.
"Will do, Mr. Grey." She's trying her best to keep it professional, but I catch her smiling.
This is none of her business.
MY AFTERNOON IS SPENT in meetings. Marco has prepared preliminary reports on the four publishing houses based in Seattle. I set them aside to read later. He's also in agreement with me about Woods and his company. This is going to get ugly, but having looked at the synergies, the only way forward is to absorb Woods's tech division and liquidate the rest of his company. It's going to be expensive, but it's best for GEH.
In the late afternoon I manage to have a quick and strenuous workout with Bastille, so I'm calm and relaxed when I head home.
After a light supper I sit down to read at my desk. First order of the evening is to reply to Elena. But when I open my e-mails, there's one from Ana. She hasn't been far from my thoughts all day.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Interviews
Date: May 30 2011 18:49
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
My interviews went well today.
Thought you might be interested.
How was your day?
Ana
I type my response immediately.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: My Day
Date: May 30 2011 19:03
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
Everything you do interests me. You are the most fascinating woman I know.
I'm glad your interviews went well.
My morning was beyond all expectations.
My afternoon was very dull in comparison.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I sit back and rub my chin, waiting.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Fine Morning
Date: May 30 2011 19:05
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
The morning was exemplary for me, too, in spite of you weirding out on me after the impeccable desk sex. Don't think I didn't notice.
Thank you for breakfast. Or thank Mrs. Jones.
I'd like to ask you questions about her--without you weirding out on me again.
Ana
Weirding? What on earth does she mean by that? Is she saying I'm weird? Well, I am, I suppose. Maybe. Perhaps she's realized how surprised I was when she jumped me--and no one's done that for a long time.
"Impeccable"... I'll take that.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Publishing and You?
Date: May
30 2011 19:10
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia,
"Weirding" is not a verb and should not be used by anyone who wants to go into publishing. Impeccable? Compared to what, pray tell? And what do you need to ask about Mrs. Jones? I'm intrigued.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele Subject: You and Mrs. Jones
Date: May 30 2011 19:17
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
Language evolves and moves on. It is an organic thing. It is not stuck in an ivory tower, hung with expensive works of art and overlooking most of Seattle with a helipad stuck on its roof.
Impeccable--compared to the other times we have...what's your word...oh yes...fucked. Actually, the fucking has been pretty impeccable, period, in my humble opinion--but then, as you know, I have very limited experience.
Is Mrs. Jones an ex-sub of yours?
Ana
Her response makes me laugh out loud, then shocks me.
Mrs. Jones! Submissive?
No way.
Ana. Are you jealous? And speaking of language...watch yours!
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Language. Watch Your Mouth!
Date: May 30 2011 19:22
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia,
Mrs. Jones is a valued employee. I have never had any relationship with her beyond our professional one. I do not employ anyone I've had any sexual relations with. I am shocked that you would think so. The only person I would make an exception to this rule is you--because you are a bright young woman with remarkable negotiating skills. Though, if you continue to use such language, I may have to reconsider taking you on here. I am glad you have limited experience. Your experience will continue to be limited--just to me. I shall take "impeccable" as a compliment--though with you, I'm never sure if that's what you mean or if your sense of irony is getting the better of you--as usual.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc., from His Ivory Tower
Though perhaps it might not be a good idea for Ana to work for me.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Not for All the Tea in China
Date: May 30 2011 19:27
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
I think I have already expressed my reservations about working for your company. My views on this have not changed, are not changing, and will not change, ever. I must leave you now, as Kate has returned with food. My sense of irony and I bid you good night.
I will contact you once I'm in Georgia.