Part II 2

“I’ve missed you . . . really missed you, Christian. Thepast few days ha一ve been . . . difficult.” I swallow, and alump in my throat swells as I recall my desperate anguishsince I left him.This last week has been the worst in my life, the painalmost indescribable. Nothing has come close. But realityhits home, winding me.hits home, winding me.“Nothing’s changed. I can’t be what you want me tobe.” I squeeze the words out past the lump in my throat.“You are what I want you to be,” he says, his softvoice emphatic.“No, Christian, I’m not.”“You’re upset because of what happened last time. Ibeha一ved stupidly, and you . . . So did you. Why didn’t yousafe word, Anastasia?” His tone changes, becomingaccusatory.What? Whoa—change of direction. I flush, blinkingat him.“Answer me.”“I don’t know. I was overwhelmed. I was trying to bewhat you wanted me to be, trying to deal with the pain,and it went out of my mind. You know . . . I forgot,” Iwhisper ashamed, and I shrug apologetically.Jeez, perhaps we could ha一ve a一voided all thisheartache.“You forgot!” he gasps with horror, grabbing the sidesof the table and glaring at me. I wither under his stare.Shit! He’s furious again. My inner goddess glares atme, too. See, you brought all this on yourself!“How can I trust you?” he says, his voice low. “Ever?”The waiter arrives with our wine as we sit staring ateach other, blue eyes to gray. Both of us filled withunspoken recriminations, while the waiter removes thecork with an unnecessary flourish and pours a little wineinto Christian’s glass. Automatically Christian reaches outand takes a sip.and takes a sip.“That’s fine.” His voice is curt.Gingerly the waiter fills our glasses, placing the bottleon the table before beating a hasty retreat. Christian hasnot taken his eyes off me the whole time. I am the first tocrack, breaking eye contact, picking up my glass andtaking a large gulp. I barely taste it.“I’m sorry,” I whisper, suddenly feeling stupid. I leftbecause I thought we were incompatible, but he’s saying Icould ha一ve stopped him?“Sorry for what?” he says alarmed.“Not using the safe word.”He closes his eyes, as if in relief.“We might ha一ve a一voided all this suffering,” he mutters.“You look fine.” More than fine. You look like you.“Appearances can be deceptive,” he says quietly. “I’manything but fine. I feel like the sun has set and not risen forfive days, Ana. I’m in perpetual night here.”I’m winded by his admission. Oh my, like me.“You said you’d never lea一ve, yet the going gets toughand you’re out the door.”“When did I say I’d never lea一ve?”“In your sleep. It was the most comforting thing I’dheard in so long, Anastasia. It made me relax.”My heart constricts and I reach for my wine.“You said you loved me,” he whispers. “Is that now inthe past tense?” His voice is low, laced with anxiety.“No, Christian, it’s not.”He gazes at me, and he looks so vulnerable as heexhales. “Good,” he murmurs.exhales. “Good,” he murmurs.I’m shocked by his admission. He’s had a change ofheart. When I told him I loved him before, he washorrified. The waiter is back. Briskly he places our platesin front of us and scuttles away.Holy hell. Food.“Eat,” Christian commands.Deep down I know I’m hungry, but right now, mystomach is in knots. Sitting across from the only man Iha一ve ever loved and debating our uncertain future does notpromote a healthy appetite. I look dubiously at my food.“So help me God, Anastasia, if you don’t eat, I willtake you across my knee here in this restaurant, and it willha一ve nothing to do with my sexual gratification. Eat!”Jeez, keep your hair on, Grey. My subconsciousstares at me over her half-moon specs. She iswholeheartedly in agreement with Fifty Shades.“Okay, I’ll eat. Stow your twitching palm, please.”He doesn’t smile but continues to glare at me.Reluctantly I lift my knife and fork and slice into my steak.Oh, it’s mouthwateringly good. I am hungry, really hungry.I chew and he visibly relaxes.We eat our supper in silence. The music’s changed. Asoft-voiced woman sings in the background, her wordsechoing my thoughts.I glance at Fifty. He’s eating and watching me. Hunger,longing, anxiety combined in one hot look.“Do you know who’s singing?” I try for some normalconversation.Christian pauses and listens. “No . . . but she’s good,Christian pauses and listens. “No . . . but she’s good,whoever she is.”“I like her, too.”Finally he smiles his private enigmatic smile. What’s heplanning?“What?” I ask.He shakes his head. “Eat up,” he says mildly.I ha一ve eaten half the food on my plate. I cannot eat anymore. How can I negotiate this?“I can’t manage any more. Ha一ve I eaten enough forSir?”He stares at me impassively, not answering, thenglances at his watch.“I am really full,” I add, taking a sip of the deliciouswine.“We ha一ve to go shortly. Taylor’s here, and you ha一ve tobe up for work in the morning.”“So do you.”“I function on a lot less sleep than you do, Anastasia.At least you’ve eaten something.”“Aren’t we going back via Charlie Tango?”“No, I thought I might ha一ve a drink. Taylor will collectus. Besides, this way I ha一ve you in the car all to myself fora few hours, at least. What can we do but talk?”Oh, that’s his plan.Christian summons the waiter to ask for the check,then picks up his Blackberry and makes a call.“We’re at Le Picotin, South West Third Avenue.” Hehangs up.Jeez, he’s curt over the phone.Jeez, he’s curt over the phone.“You’re very brusque with Taylor, in fact, with mostpeople.”“I just get to the point quickly, Anastasia.”“You ha一ven’t gotten to the point this evening.Nothing’s changed, Christian.”“I ha一ve a proposition for you.”“This started with a proposition.”“A different proposition.”The waiter returns, and Christian hands over his creditcard without checking the bill. He gazes at mespeculatively while the waiter swipes his card. Christian’sphone buzzes once, and he peers at it.He has a proposition? What now? A couple ofscenarios run through my mind: kidnap, working for him.No, nothing makes sense. Christian finishes paying.“Come. Taylor’s outside.”We stand and he takes my hand.“I don’t want to lose you, Anastasia.” He kisses myknuckles tenderly, and the touch of his lips on my skinresonates throughout my body.Outside the Audi is waiting. Christian opens my door.Climbing in, I sink into the plush leather. He heads to thedriver’s side, Taylor steps out of the car and they talkbriefly. This isn’t their usual protocol. I’m curious. Whatare they talking about? Moments later, they both climb in,and I glance at Christian who’s wearing his impassive faceas he stares ahead.I allow myself a brief moment to examine his godlikeprofile: straight nose, sculptured full lips, hair fallingdeliciously over his forehead. This divine man is surely notmeant for me.Soft music suddenly fills the rear of the car, anorchestral piece that I don’t know, and Taylor pulls intothe light traffic, heading for the I-5 and Seattle.Christian shifts to face me. “As I was saying,Anastasia, I ha一ve a proposition for you.”I glance nervously at Taylor.“Taylor can’t hear you,” Christian reassures me.“How?”“Taylor,” Christian calls. Taylor doesn’t respond. Hecalls again, still no response. Christian leans over and tapshis shoulder. Taylor removes an ear bud I hadn’t noticed.“Yes, sir?”“Thank you, Taylor. It’s okay; resume your listening.”“Sir.”“Happy now? He’s listening to his iPod. Puccini.Forget he’s here. I do.”“Did you deliberately ask him to do that?”“Yes.”Oh. “Okay, your proposition?”Christian looks suddenly determined and businesslike.Holy shit. We’re negotiating a deal. I listen attentively.“Let me ask you something first. Do you want a regularvanilla relationship with no kinky fuckery at all?”My mouth drops open. “Kinky fuckery?” I squeak.“Kinky fuckery.”“I can’t believe you said that.” I glance nervously atTaylor.“Well, I did. Answer me,” he says calmly.I flush. My inner goddess is down on bended kneewith her hands clasped in supplication begging me.“I like your kinky fuckery,” I whisper.“That’s what I thought. So what don’t you like?”Not being able to touch you. You enjoying my pain,the bite of the belt . . .“The threat of cruel and unusual punishment.”“What does that mean?”“Well, you ha一ve all those canes and whips and stuff inyour playroom, and they frighten the living daylights out ofme. I don’t want you to use them on me.”“Okay, so no whips or canes—or belts, for thatmatter,” he says sardonically.I gaze at him puzzled. “Are you attempting to redefinethe hard limits?”“Not as such, I’m just trying to understand you, get aclearer picture of what you do and don’t like.”“Fundamentally, Christian, it’s your joy in inflicting painon me that’s difficult for me to handle. And the idea thatyou’ll do it because I ha一ve crossed some arbitrary line.”“But it’s not arbitrary; the rules are written down.”“I don’t want a set of rules.”“None at all?”“No rules.” I shake my head, but my heart is in mymouth. Where is he going with this?“But you don’t mind if I spank you?”“Spank me with what?”“This.” He holds up his hand.I squirm uncomfortably. “No, not really. Especiallywith those silver balls . . .” Thank hea一vens it’s dark, myface is flaming and my voice trails off as I recall that night.Yeah . . . I’d do that again.He smirks at me. “Yes, that was fun.”“More than fun,” I mutter.“So you can deal with some pain.”I shrug. “Yes, I suppose.” Oh, where is he going withthis? My anxiety level has shot up several magnitudes onthe Richter scale.He strokes his chin, deep in thought. “Anastasia, Iwant to start again. Do the vanilla thing and then maybe,once you trust me more and I trust you to be honest and tocommunicate with me, we could move on and do some ofthe things that I like to do.”I stare at him, stunned, with no thoughts in my head atall—like a computer crash. He gazes at me anxiously, but Ican’t see him clearly, as we’re shrouded in the Oregondarkness. It occurs to me, finally, this is it.He wants the light, but can I ask him to do this for me?And don’t I like the dark? Some dark, sometimes.Memories of the Thomas Tallis night drift invitingly throughmy mind.“But what about punishments?”“No punishments.” He shakes his head. “None.”“And the rules?”“No rules.”“None at all? But you ha一ve needs.”“None at all? But you ha一ve needs.”“I need you more, Anastasia. These last few days ha一vebeen purgatory. All my instincts tell me to let you go, tellme I don’t deserve you.“Those photos the boy took . . . I can see how he seesyou. You look so untroubled and beautiful, not that you’renot beautiful now, but here you sit. I see your pain. It’shard knowing that I’m the one who has made you feel thisway.“But I’m a selfish man. I’ve wanted you since you fellinto my office. You are exquisite, honest, warm, strong,witty, beguilingly innocent; the list is endless. I am in aweof you. I want you, and the thought of anyone else ha一vingyou is like a knife twisting in my dark soul.”My mouth goes dry. Holy shit. My subconscious nodswith satisfaction. If that isn’t a declaration of love, I don’tknow what is. And the words tumble out of me—a dambreached.“Christian, why do you think you ha一ve a dark soul? Iwould never say that. Sad maybe, but you’re a good man.I can see that . . . you’re generous, you’re kind, andyou’ve never lied to me. And I ha一ven’t tried very hard.“Last Saturday was such a shock to my system. It wasmy wake-up call. I realized that you’d been easy on meand that I couldn’t be the person you wanted me to be.Then, after I left, it dawned on me that the physical painyou inflicted was not as bad as the pain of losing you. I dowant to please you, but it’s hard.”“You please me all the time,” he whispers. “How oftendo I ha一ve to tell you that?”do I ha一ve to tell you that?”“I never know what you’re thinking. Sometimes you’reso closed off . . . like an island state. You intimidate me.That’s why I keep quiet. I don’t know which way yourmood is going to go. It swings from north to south andback again in a nanosecond. It’s confusing and you won’tlet me touch you, and I want to so much to show you howmuch I love you.”He blinks at me in the darkness, warily I think, and Ican resist him no longer. I unbuckle my seatbelt andscramble into his lap, taking him by surprise, and take hishead in my hands.“I love you, Christian Grey. And you’re prepared todo all this for me. I’m the one who is undeserving, and I’mjust sorry that I can’t do all those things for you. Maybewith time . . . I don’t know . . . but yes, I accept yourproposition. Where do I sign?”He snakes his arms around me and crushes me to him.“Oh, Ana,” he breathes as he buries his nose in myhair.We sit, our arms wrapped around each other, listeningto the music—a soothing piano piece—mirroring theemotions in the car, the sweet tranquil calm after the storm.I snuggle into his arms, resting my head in the crook of hisneck. He gently strokes my back.“Touching is a hard limit for me, Anastasia,” hewhispers.“I know. I wish I understood why.”After a while, he sighs, and in a soft voice he says, “Ihad a horrific childhood. One of the crack whore’shad a horrific childhood. One of the crack whore’spimps . . .” His voice trails off, and his body tenses as herecalls some unimaginable horror. “I can remember that,”he whispers, shuddering.Abruptly, my heart constricts as I remember the burnscars marring his skin. Oh, Christian. I tighten my armsaround his neck.“Was she abusive? Your mother?” My voice is lowand soft with unshed tears.“Not that I remember. She was neglectful. She didn’tprotect me from her pimp.”He snorts. “I think it was me who looked after her.When she finally killed herself, it took four days forsomeone to raise the alarm and find us . . . I rememberthat.”I cannot contain my gasp of horror. Holy mother fuck.Bile rises in my throat.“That’s pretty fucked-up,” I whisper.“Fifty shades,” he murmurs.I turn my head and press my lips against his neck,seeking and offering solace as I imagine a small, dirty,gray-eyed boy lost and lonely beside the body of his deadmother.Oh, Christian. I breathe in his scent. He smellshea一venly, my fa一vorite fragrance in the entire world. Hetightens his arms around me and kisses my hair, and I sitwrapped in his embrace as Taylor speeds into the night.When I wake, we’re driving through Seattle.When I wake, we’re driving through Seattle.“Hey,” Christian says softly.“Sorry,” I murmur as I sit up, blinking and stretching. Iam still in his arms, on his lap.“I could watch you sleep forever, Ana.”“Did I say anything?”“No. We’re nearly at your place.”Oh? “We’re not going to yours?”“No.”I sit up and gaze at him. “Why not?”“Because you ha一ve work tomorrow.”“Oh.” I pout.He smirks at me. “Why, did you ha一ve something inmind?”I flush. “Well, maybe.”He chuckles. “Anastasia, I am not going to touch youagain, not until you beg me to.”“What!”“So that you’ll start communicating with me. Next timewe make love, you’re going to ha一ve to tell me exactly whatyou want in fine detail.”“Oh.” He shifts me off his lap as Taylor pulls upoutside my apartment. Christian climbs out and holds thecar door open for me.“I ha一ve something for you.” He moves to the back ofthe car, opens the trunk, and pulls out a large gift-wrappedbox. What the hell is this?“Open it when you get inside.”“You’re not coming in?”“No, Anastasia.”“No, Anastasia.”“So when will I see you?”“Tomorrow.”“My boss wants me to go for a drink with himtomorrow.”Christian’s face hardens. “Does he, now?” His voice islaced with latent menace.“To celebrate my first week,” I add quickly.“Where?”“I don’t know.”“I could pick you up from there.”“Okay . . . I’ll e-mail or text you.”“Good.”He walks me to the lobby door and waits while I digmy keys out of my purse. As I unlock the door, he leansforward and cups my chin, tilting my head back. His mouthhovers over mine, and closing his eyes, he runs a trail ofkisses from the corner of my eye to the corner of mymouth.A small moan escapes my mouth as my insides meltand unfurl.“Until tomorrow,” he breathes.“Goodnight, Christian,” I whisper, and I hear the needin my voice.He smiles.“In you go,” he orders, and I walk through the lobbycarrying my mysterious parcel.“Laters, baby,” he calls, then turns and with his easygrace, heads back to the car.Once in the apartment, I open the gift box and find myMacBook Pro laptop, the Blackberry, and anotherrectangular box. What is this? I unwrap the silver paper.Inside is a black, slim, leather case.Opening the case, I find an iPad. Holy shit . . . aniPad. A white card is resting on the screen with a messagewritten in Christian’s handwriting:Holy cow. I ha一ve a Christian Grey mix-tape in theguise of a high-end iPad. I shake my head in disapprovalbecause of the expense, but deep down I love it. Jack atthe office has one, so I know how they work.I switch it on and gasp as the wallpaper image appears:a small model glider. Oh my. It’s the Blanik L23 I ga一vehim, mounted on a glass stand and sitting on what I think isChristian’s desk at his office. I gape at it.He built it! He really did build it. I remember now hementioned it in the note with the flowers. I’m reeling, and Iknow in that instant that he’s put a great deal of thoughtinto this gift.I slide the arrow at the bottom of the screen to unlockI slide the arrow at the bottom of the screen to unlockit and gasp again. The background photograph is ofChristian and me at my graduation in the marquee. It’s theone that appeared in the Seattle Times. Christian looks sohandsome and I can’t help my face-splitting grin, as myinner goddess curls up hugging herself on her chaise longue—Yes, and he’s mine!With a swipe of my finger, the icons shift, and severalnew ones appear on the next screen. A Kindle app,iBooks, Words—whatever that is.Holy shit! The British Library? I touch the icon and amenu appears: HISTORICAL COLLECTION. Scrolling down,I select NOVELS OF THE 18TH AND 19TH CENTURY.Another menu. I tap on a title: THE AMERICAN BY HENRYJAMES. A new window opens, offering me a scannedcopy of the book to read. Holy crap—it’s an early edition,published in 1879, and it’s on my iPad! He’s bought methe British Library at a touch of a button.I exit quickly, knowing that I could be lost in this appfor an eternity. I notice a “good food” app that makes meroll my eyes and smile at the same time, a news app, aweather app, but his note mentioned music. I go back tothe main screen, hit the iPod icon and a playlist appears. Iscroll through the songs, and the list makes me smile.Thomas Tallis—I’m not going to forget that in a hurry. Iheard it twice, after all, while he flogged and fucked me.“Witchcraft.” My grin gets wider—dancing round thegreat room. The Bach Marcello piece—oh no, that’s waytoo sad for my mood right now. Hmm. Jeff Buckley—yeah, I’ve heard of him. Snow Patrol—my fa一vorite—yeah, I’ve heard of him. Snow Patrol—my fa一voriteband—and a song called “Principles of Lust” by Enigma.How Christian. I smirk. Another called “Possession” . . .oh yes, very Fifty Shades. And a few more I ha一ve neverheard.Selecting a song that catches my eye, I press play. It’scalled “Try” by Nellie Furtado. She starts to sing, and hervoice is a silken scarf wrapping around me, enveloping me.I lie down on my bed.Does this mean Christian’s going to try? Try this newrelationship? I drink in the lyrics, staring at the ceiling,trying to understand his turnaround. He missed me. Imissed him. He must ha一ve some feelings for me. He must.This iPad, these songs, these apps—he cares. He reallycares. My heart swells with hope.The song ends and tears spring to my eyes. I quicklyscroll to another—“The Scientist” by Coldplay—one ofKate’s fa一vorite bands. I know the track, but I’ve neverreally listened to the lyrics before. I close my eyes and letthe words wash over and through me.My tears start to flow. I can’t stem them. If this isn’t anapology, what is it? Oh, Christian.Or is this an invitation? Will he answer my questions?Am I reading too much into this? I am probablyreading too much into this. My subconscious nods atme, trying to hide her pity.I dash my tears away. I ha一ve to e-mail him to thankhim. I leap off my bed to fetch the mean machine.Coldplay continues as I sit cross-legged on my bed.The Mac powers up and I log in.The Mac powers up and I log in.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: IPADDate: June 9, 2011 23:56To: Christian GreyYou’ve made me cry again.I love the iPad.I love the songs.I love the British Library App.I love you.Thank you.Goodnight.Ana xxFrom: Christian GreySubject: iPadDate: June 10, 2011 00:03To: Anastasia SteeleI’m glad you like it. I bought one for myself.Now, if I were there, I would kiss away your tears.But I’m not—so go to sleep.Christian GreyCEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.His response makes me smile, still so bossy, still soChristian. Will that change, too? And I realize in thatmoment that I hope not. I like him like this—commanding—as long as I can stand up to him without fear ofpunishment.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: Mr. GrumpyDate: June 10, 2011 00:07To: Christian GreyYou sound your usual bossy and possibly tense, possiblygrumpy self, Mr. Grey.I know something that could ease that. But then, you’re not here—you wouldn’t let me stay, and you expect me to beg . . .Dream on, Sir.Ana xxPS: I also note that you included the Stalker’s Anthem, “EveryBreath You Take.” I do enjoy your sense of humor, but does Dr.Flynn know?From: Christian GreySubject: Zen-Like CalmDate: June 10, 2011 00.10To: Anastasia SteeleMy Dearest Miss SteeleSpanking occurs in vanilla relationships, too, you know. Usuallyconsensually and in a sexual context . . . but I am more than happyto make an exception.You’ll be relieved to know that Dr. Flynn also enjoys my sense ofhumor.Now, please go to sleep as you won’t get much tomorrow.Incidentally—you will beg, trust me. And I look forward to it.Christian GreyTense CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: Goodnight, Sweet DreamsDate: June 10, 2011 00:12To: Christian GreyWell, since you ask so nicely, and I like your delicious threat, Ishall curl up with the iPad that you ha一ve so kindly given me andfall asleep browsing in the British Library, listening to the musicfall asleep browsing in the British Library, listening to the musicthat says it for you.A xxxFrom: Christian GreySubject: One more requestDate: June 10, 2011 00:15To: Anastasia SteeleDream of me.xChristian GreyCEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.Dream of you, Christian Grey? Always.I change quickly into my pajamas, brush my teeth, andslip into bed. Putting my ear buds in, I pull the flattenedCharlie Tango balloon from underneath my pillow and hugit to me.I am brimming with joy, a stupid, widemouthed grin onmy face. What a difference a day can make. How am Iever going to sleep?José Gonzalez starts to sing a soothing melody with ahypnotic guitar riff, and I drift slowly into sleep, marvelinghow the world has righted itself in one evening andwondering idly if I should make a playlist for Christian.wondering idly if I should make a playlist for Christian.The one good thing about being car-less is that on the buson my way to work, I can plug my headphones into myiPad while it’s safely in my purse and listen to all thewonderful tunes Christian has given me. By the time Iarrive at the office, I ha一ve the most ludicrous grin on myface.Jack glances up at me and does a double take.“Good morning, Ana. You look . . . radiant.” Hisremark flusters me. How inappropriate!“I slept well, thank you, Jack. Good morning.”His brow crinkles.“Can you read these for me and ha一ve reports on themby lunchtime, please?” He hands me four manuscripts. Atmy horrified expression, he adds, “Just first chapters.”“Sure,” I smile with relief, and he gives me a broadsmile in return.I switch on the computer to start work, finishing mylatte and eating a banana. There’s an e-mail fromChristian.From: Christian GreySubject: So Help Me . . .Date: June 10, 2011 08:05To: Anastasia SteeleI do hope you’ve had breakfast.I missed you last night.Christian GreyCEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: Old books . . .Date: June 10, 2011 08:33To: Christian GreyI am eating a banana as I type. I ha一ve not had breakfast for severaldays, so it is a step forward. I love the British Library App—Istarted rereading Robinson Crusoe . . . and of course, I love you.Now lea一ve me alone—I am trying to work.Anastasia SteeleAssistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIPFrom: Christian GreySubject: Is that all you’ve eaten?Date: June 10, 2011 08:36To: Anastasia SteeleYou can do better than that. You’re going to need your energy forbegging.Christian GreyCEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: PestDate: June 10, 2011 08:39To: Christian GreyMr. Grey—I am trying to work for a living—and it’s you that willbe begging.Anastasia SteeleAssistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIPFrom: Christian GreySubject: Bring it On!Subject: Bring it On!Date: June 10, 2011 08:36To: Anastasia SteeleWhy Miss Steele, I love a challenge . . .Christian GreyCEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.I sit grinning at the screen like an idiot. But I need to readthese chapters for Jack and write reports on all of them.Placing the manuscripts on my desk, I begin.At lunchtime I head to the deli for a pastrami sandwichand listen to the playlist on my iPad. First up there’s NitinSawhney, some world music called “Homelands”—it’sgood. Mr. Grey has an eclectic taste in music. I wanderback, listening to a classical piece, Fantasia on a Themeof Thomas Tallis by Vaughn Williams. Oh, Fifty has asense of humor, and I love him for it. Will this stupid grinever lea一ve my face?The afternoon drags. I decide, in an unguardedmoment, to e-mail Christian.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: Bored . . .Date: June 10, 2011 16:05To: Christian GreyTo: Christian GreyTwiddling my thumbs.How are you?What are you doing?Anastasia SteeleAssistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIPFrom: Christian GreySubject: Your thumbsDate: June 10, 2011 16:15To: Anastasia SteeleYou should ha一ve come to work for me.You wouldn’t be twiddling your thumbs.I am sure I could put them to better use.In fact I can think of a number of options . . .I am doing the usual humdrum mergers and acquisitions.It’s all very dry.Your e-mails at SIP are monitored.Christian GreyDistracted CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.Oh shit. I had no idea. How the hell does he know? Iscowl at the screen and quickly check the e-mails we’vescowl at the screen and quickly check the e-mails we’vesent, deleting them as I do.Promptly at five thirty, Jack is at my desk. It is DressdownFriday so he’s wearing jeans and a black shirt. Helooks very casual.“Drink, Ana? We usually like to go for a quick one atthe bar across the street.”“We?” I ask, hopeful.“Yeah, most of us go . . . you coming?”For some unknown reason, which I don’t want toexamine too closely, relief floods through me.“I’d love to. What’s the bar called?”“50s.”“You’re kidding.”He looks at me oddly. “No. Some significance foryou?”“No, sorry. I’ll join you over there.”“What would you like to drink?”“A beer please.”“Cool.”I make my way to the powder room and e-mailChristian from the Blackberry.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: You’ll Fit Right InDate: June 10, 2011 17:36To: Christian GreyWe are going to a bar called Fifty’s.The rich seam of humor that I could mine from this is endless.I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Grey.A xFrom: Christian GreySubject: HazardsDate: June 10, 2011 17:38To: Anastasia SteeleMining is a very, very dangerous occupation.Christian GreyCEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: Hazards?Date: June 10, 2011 17:40To: Christian GreyAnd your point is?From: Christian GreySubject: Merely . . .Date: June 10, 2011 17:42To: Anastasia SteeleMaking an observation, Miss Steele.I’ll see you shortly.Sooners rather than laters, baby.Christian GreyCEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.I check myself in the mirror. What a difference a day canmake. I ha一ve more color in my cheeks, and my eyes areshining. It’s the Christian Grey effect. A little e-mailsparring with him will do that to a girl. I grin at the mirrorand straighten my pale blue shirt—the one Taylor boughtme. I am wearing my fa一vorite jeans today, too. Most ofthe women in the office wear either jeans or floaty skirts. Iwill need to invest in a floaty skirt or two. Perhaps I’ll dothat this weekend and bank the check Christian ga一ve mefor Wanda, my Beetle.As I head out of the building, I hear my name called.“Miss Steele?”I turn expectantly, and an ashen young womanapproaches me cautiously. She looks like a ghost—sopale and strangely blank.“Miss Anastasia Steele?” she repeats, and her features“Miss Anastasia Steele?” she repeats, and her featuresstay static even though she’s speaking.“Yes?”She stops, staring at me from about three feet away onthe sidewalk, and I stare back, immobilized. Who is she?What does she want?“Can I help you?” I ask. How does she know myname?“No . . . I just wanted to look at you.” Her voice iseerily soft. Like me, she has dark hair that starkly contrastswith her fair skin. Her eyes are brown, like bourbon, butflat. There’s no life in them at all. Her beautiful face is pale,and etched with sorrow.“Sorry—you ha一ve me at a disadvantage,” I saypolitely, trying to ignore the warning tingle up my spine. Oncloser inspection, she looks odd, disheveled and uncaredfor. Her clothes are two sizes too big, including herdesigner trench coat.She laughs, a strange, discordant sound that only feedsmy anxiety.“What do you ha一ve that I don’t?” she asks sadly.My anxiety turns to fear. “I’m sorry—who are you?”“Me? I’m nobody.” She lifts her arm to drag her handthrough her shoulder length hair, and as she does, thesleeve of her trench coat rides up, revealing a soiledbandage around her wrist.Holy fuck.“Good day, Miss Steele.” Turning, she walks up thestreet as I stand rooted to the spot. I watch as her slightframe disappears from view, lost amongst the workersframe disappears from view, lost amongst the workerspouring out of their various offices.What was that about?Confused, I cross the street to the bar, trying toassimilate what has just happened, while my subconsciousrears her ugly head and hisses at me—She has somethingto do with Christian.Fifty’s is a ca一vernous, impersonal bar with baseballpennants and posters hanging on the wall. Jack is at thebar with Elizabeth, Courtney the other commissioningeditor, two guys from finance, and Claire from reception.She is wearing her trademark silver hooped earrings.“Hi, Ana!” Jack hands me a bottle of Bud.“Cheers . . . thank you,” I murmur, still shaken by myencounter with Ghost Girl.“Cheers.” We clink bottles, and he continues hisconversation with Elizabeth. Claire smiles sweetly at me.“So, how has your first week been?” she asks.“Good, thank you. Everyone seems very friendly.”“You seem much happier today.”I flush. “It’s Friday,” I mutter quickly. “So—ha一ve youany plans this weekend?”My patented distraction technique works and I’m sa一ved.Claire turns out to be one of seven kids, and she’s going toa big family get-together in Tacoma. She becomes quiteanimated, and I realize I ha一ven’t spoken to any women myown age since Kate left for Barbados.Absently I wonder how Kate is . . . and Elliot. I mustAbsently I wonder how Kate is . . . and Elliot. I mustremember to ask Christian if he’s heard from him. Oh, andEthan her brother will be back next Tuesday, and he’ll bestaying in our apartment. I can’t imagine Christian is goingto be happy about that. My earlier encounter with strangeGhost Girl slips further from my mind.During my conversation with Claire, Elizabeth handsme another beer.“Thanks,” I smile at her.Claire is very easy to talk to—she likes to talk—andbefore I know it, I am on my third beer, courtesy of one ofthe guys from finance.When Elizabeth and Courtney lea一ve, Jack joins Claireand me. Where is Christian? One of the finance guysengages Claire in conversation.“Ana, think you made the right decision coming here?”Jack’s voice is soft, and he’s standing a bit too close. ButI’ve noticed that he has a tendency to do this witheveryone, even at the office. My subconscious narrowsher eyes. You’re reading too much into this , sheadmonishes me.“I’ve enjoyed myself this week, thank you, Jack. Yes,I think I made the right decision.”“You’re a very bright girl, Ana. You’ll go far.”I blush. “Thank you,” I mutter, because I don’t knowwhat else to say.“Do you live far?”“The Pike Market district.”“Not far from me.” Smiling, he moves even closer andleans against the bar, effectively trapping me. “Do youha一ve any plans this weekend?”“Well . . . um—”I feel him before I see him. It’s as if my whole body ishighly attuned to his presence. It relaxes and ignites at thesame time—a weird, internal duality—and I sense thatstrange pulsing electricity.Christian drapes his arm around my shoulder in aseemingly casual display of affection—but I knowdifferently. He is staking a claim, and on this occasion, it’svery welcome. Softly he kisses my hair.“Hello, baby,” he murmurs.I can’t help but feel relieved, safe, and excited with hisarm around me. He draws me to his side, and I glance upat him while he stares at Jack, his expression impassive.Turning his attention to me, he gives me a brief crookedsmile followed by a swift kiss. He’s wearing his na一vypinstriped jacket over jeans and an open white shirt. Helooks edible.Jack shuffles back uncomfortably.“Jack, this is Christian,” I mumble apologetically. Whyam I apologizing? “Christian, Jack.”“I’m the boyfriend,” Christian says with a small, coolsmile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he shakes Jack’s hand.I glance up at Jack who is mentally assessing the finespecimen of manhood in front of him.“I’m the boss,” Jack replies arrogantly. “Ana didmention an ex-boyfriend.”Oh, shit. You don’t want to play this game withFifty.“Well, no longer ex,” Christian replies calmly. “Comeon, baby, time to go.”“Please, stay and join us for a drink,” Jack sayssmoothly.I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why is this souncomfortable? I glance at Claire, who is, of coursestaring, open-mouthed and with frankly carnal appreciationat Christian. When will I stop caring about the effect hehas on other women?“We ha一ve plans,” Christian replies with his enigmaticsmile.We do? And a frisson of anticipation runs through mybody.“Another time, perhaps,” he adds. “Come,” he says tome as he takes my hand.“See you Monday.” I smile at Jack, Claire, and theguys from finance, trying hard to ignore Jack’s less-thanpleasedexpression, and follow Christian out of the door.Taylor is at the wheel of the Audi waiting at the curb.“Why did that feel like a pissing contest?” I askChristian as he opens the car door for me.“Because it was,” he murmurs and gives me hisenigmatic smile then shuts my door.“Hello, Taylor,” I say and our eyes meet in the reviewmirror.“Miss Steele,” Taylor acknowledges with a genialsmile.Christian slides in beside me, clasps my hand, andgently kisses my knuckles. “Hi,” he says softly.My cheeks turn pink, knowing that Taylor can hear us,grateful that he can’t see the scorching, panty-combustinglook that Christian is giving me. It takes all my self-restraintnot to leap on him right here, in the back seat of the car.Oh, the back seat of the car . . . hmm. My innergoddess strokes her chin gently in quiet contemplation.“Hi,” I breathe, my mouth dry.“What would you like to do this evening?”“I thought you said we had plans.”“Oh, I know what I’d like to do, Anastasia. I’m askingyou what you want to do.”I beam at him.“I see,” he says with a wickedly salacious grin. “So . . .begging it is, then. Do you want to beg at my place oryours?” He tilts his head to one side and smiles his oh-sosexysmile at me.“I think you’re being very presumptuous, Mr. Grey.But by way of a change, we could go to my apartment.” Ibite my lip deliberately, and his expression darkens.“Taylor, Miss Steele’s, please.”“Sir,” Taylor acknowledges and he heads off into thetraffic.“So how has your day been?” he asks.“Good. Yours?”“Good, thank you.”His ridiculously broad grin reflects mine, and he kissesmy hand again.“You look lovely,” he says.“You look lovely,” he says.“As do you.”“Your boss, Jack Hyde, is he good at his job?”Whoa! That’s a sudden change in direction? I frown.“Why? This isn’t about your pissing contest?”Christian smirks. “That man wants into your panties,Anastasia,” he says dryly.I go crimson as my mouth drops open, and I glancenervously at Taylor. My subconscious inhales sharply,shocked.“Well, he can want all he likes . . . why are we evenha一ving this conversation? You know I ha一ve no interest inhim whatsoever. He’s just my boss.”“That’s the point. He wants what’s mine. I need toknow if he’s good at his job.”I shrug. “I think so.” Where is he going with this?“Well, he’d better lea一ve you alone, or he’ll find himselfon his ass on the sidewalk.”“Oh, Christian, what are you talking about? He hasn’tdone anything wrong.” . . .Yet. He just stands too close.“He makes one move, you tell me. It’s called grossmoral turpitude—or sexual harassment.”“It was just a drink after work.”“I mean it. One move and he’s out.”“You don’t ha一ve that kind of power.” Honestly! Andbefore I roll my eyes at him, the realization hits me with theforce of a speeding freight truck. “Do you, Christian?”Christian gives me his enigmatic smile.“You’re buying the company,” I whisper in horror.His smile slips in response to the panic in my voice.His smile slips in response to the panic in my voice.“Not exactly,” he says.“You’ve bought it. SIP. Already.”He blinks at me, warily. “Possibly.”“You ha一ve or you ha一ven’t?”“Ha一ve.”What the hell? “Why?” I gasp, appalled. Oh, this justis too much.“Because I can, Anastasia. I need you safe.”“But you said you wouldn’t interfere in my career!”“And I won’t.”I snatch my hand out of his. “Christian . . .” Words failme.“Are you mad at me?”“Yes. Of course I’m mad at you.” I seethe. “I mean,what kind of responsible business executive makesdecisions based on who they are currently fucking?” Iblanch and glance nervously once more at Taylor who isstoically ignoring us.Shit. What a time to ha一ve a brain-to-mouth filtermalfunction. Anastasia! My subconscious glares at me.Christian opens his mouth then closes it again andscowls at me. I glare at him. The atmosphere in the carplunges from warm with sweet reunion to frigid withunspoken words and potential recriminations as we glowerat each other.Fortunately, our uncomfortable car journey doesn’t lastlong, and Taylor pulls up outside my apartment.I scramble out of the car quickly, not waiting foranyone to open the door.anyone to open the door.I hear Christian mutter to Taylor, “I think you’d betterwait here.”I sense him standing close behind me as I struggle tofind the front door keys in my purse.“Anastasia,” he says calmly as if I’m some corneredwild animal.I sigh and turn to face him. I am so mad at him, myanger is palpable—a dark entity threatening to choke me.“First, I ha一ven’t fucked you for a while—a long while,it feels—and second, I wanted to get into publishing. Ofthe four companies in Seattle, SIP is the most profitable,but it’s on the cusp and it’s going to stagnate—it needs tobranch out.”I stare frigidly at him. His eyes are so intense,threatening even, but sexy as hell. I could get lost in theirsteely depths.“So you’re my boss now,” I snap.“Technically, I’m your boss’s boss’s boss.”“And, technically, it’s gross moral turpitude—the factthat I am fucking my boss’s boss’s boss.”“At the moment, you’re arguing with him.” Christianscowls.“That’s because he’s such an arse,” I hiss.Christian steps back in stunned surprise. Oh shit. Ha一veI gone too far?“An arse?” he murmurs as his expression changes toone of amusement.Goddamn it! I am mad at you, do not make me