Fifty Shades of Grey

From: Christian Grey Subject: Where Are You? Date: May 27 2011 22:14
To: Anastasia Steele
‘I am at work. I will email 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.

Crap… José… shit.
I grab my phone. Five missed calls and one voice message. Tentatively, I listen to the message. It’s Christian.

‘I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I am 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.’

Double crap. Will he ever give me a break? I scowl at the phone. He is suffocating me. With a deep dread uncurling in my stomach, I scroll down to his number and press dial. My heart is in my mouth as I wait for him to answer. He’d probably like to beat seven shades of shit out of me. The thought is depressing.
“Hi,” he says softly, and his response knocks me off balance because I am expecting his anger, but if anything, he sounds relieved.
“Hi,” I murmur.
“I was worried about you.”
“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reply, but I’m fine.” He pauses for a beat.
“Did you have a pleasant evening?” He is crisply polite.
“Yes. We finished packing and Kate and I shared a Chinese take-out with José.” I close my eyes tightly as I say José’s name. Christian says nothing.
“How about you?” I ask to fill the sudden deafening chasm of silence. I will not let him guilt me out about José.
Eventually, he sighs.
“I went to a fundraising dinner. It was deathly dull. I left as soon as I could.”
He sounds so sad and resigned. My heart clenches. I picture him all those nights ago sat at the piano in his huge living room and the unbearable bittersweet melancholy of the music he was playing.
“I wish you were here,” I whisper, because I have an urge to hold him. Soothe him.
Even though he won’t let me. I want his proximity.
“Do you?” he murmurs blandly. Holy mackerel. This doesn’t sound like him, and my scalp prickles with dawning apprehension.
“Yes,” I breathe. After an eternity, he sighs. “I’ll see you Sunday?”
“Yes, Sunday,” I murmur, and a thrill courses through my body. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sir.”
My address catches him unawares, I can tell by his sharp intake of breath.
“Good luck with your move tomorrow, Anastasia.” His voice is soft. And we’re both hanging on the phone like teenagers, neither wanting to hang up.
“You hang up,” I whisper. Finally, I sense his smile. “No, you hang up.” And I know he’s grinning.
“I don’t want to.” “Neither do I.”
“Were you very angry with me?” “Yes.”
“Are you still?” “No.”
“So you’re not going to punish me?” “No. I’m an in-the-moment kind of guy.” “I’ve noticed.”
“You can hang up now, Miss Steele.” “Do you really want me to, Sir?” “Go to bed, Anastasia.”
“Yes, Sir.”
We both stay on the line.
“Do you ever think you’ll be able to do what you’re told?” He’s amused and exasper- ated at once.
“Maybe. We’ll see after Sunday.” And I press ‘end’ on the phone.