Part II 2

“I’ve missed you . . . really missed you, Christian. The past few days ha一ve been . . . difficult.” I swallow, and a lump in my throat swells as I recall my desperate anguish since I left him. This last week has been the worst in my life, the pain almost indescribable. Nothing has come close. But reality hits home, winding me. hits home, winding me. “Nothing’s changed. I can’t be what you want me to be.” I squeeze the words out past the lump in my throat. “You are what I want you to be,” he says, his soft voice emphatic. “No, Christian, I’m not.” “You’re upset because of what happened last time. I beha一ved stupidly, and you . . . So did you. Why didn’t you safe word, Anastasia?” His tone changes, becoming accusatory. What? Whoa—change of direction. I flush, blinking at him. “Answer me.” “I don’t know. I was overwhelmed. I was trying to be what you wanted me to be, trying to deal with the pain, and it went out of my mind. You know . . . I forgot,” I whisper ashamed, and I shrug apologetically. Jeez, perhaps we could ha一ve a一voided all this heartache. “You forgot!” he gasps with horror, grabbing the sides of the table and glaring at me. I wither under his stare. Shit! He’s furious again. My inner goddess glares at me, 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 at each other, blue eyes to gray. Both of us filled with unspoken recriminations, while the waiter removes the cork with an unnecessary flourish and pours a little wine into Christian’s glass. Automatically Christian reaches out and takes a sip. and takes a sip. “That’s fine.” His voice is curt. Gingerly the waiter fills our glasses, placing the bottle on the table before beating a hasty retreat. Christian has not taken his eyes off me the whole time. I am the first to crack, breaking eye contact, picking up my glass and taking a large gulp. I barely taste it. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, suddenly feeling stupid. I left because I thought we were incompatible, but he’s saying I could 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’m anything but fine. I feel like the sun has set and not risen for five 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 tough and 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’d heard 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 in the past tense?” His voice is low, laced with anxiety. “No, Christian, it’s not.” He gazes at me, and he looks so vulnerable as he exhales. “Good,” he murmurs. exhales. “Good,” he murmurs. I’m shocked by his admission. He’s had a change of heart. When I told him I loved him before, he was horrified. The waiter is back. Briskly he places our plates in front of us and scuttles away. Holy hell. Food. “Eat,” Christian commands. Deep down I know I’m hungry, but right now, my stomach is in knots. Sitting across from the only man I ha一ve ever loved and debating our uncertain future does not promote a healthy appetite. I look dubiously at my food. “So help me God, Anastasia, if you don’t eat, I will take you across my knee here in this restaurant, and it will ha一ve nothing to do with my sexual gratification. Eat!” Jeez, keep your hair on, Grey. My subconscious stares at me over her half-moon specs. She is wholeheartedly 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. A soft-voiced woman sings in the background, her words echoing 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 normal conversation. 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 he planning? “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 any more. How can I negotiate this? “I can’t manage any more. Ha一ve I eaten enough for Sir?” He stares at me impassively, not answering, then glances at his watch. “I am really full,” I add, taking a sip of the delicious wine. “We ha一ve to go shortly. Taylor’s here, and you ha一ve to be 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 collect us. Besides, this way I ha一ve you in the car all to myself for a 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.” He hangs up. Jeez, he’s curt over the phone. Jeez, he’s curt over the phone. “You’re very brusque with Taylor, in fact, with most people.” “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 credit card without checking the bill. He gazes at me speculatively while the waiter swipes his card. Christian’s phone buzzes once, and he peers at it. He has a proposition? What now? A couple of scenarios 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 my knuckles tenderly, and the touch of his lips on my skin resonates throughout my body. Outside the Audi is waiting. Christian opens my door. Climbing in, I sink into the plush leather. He heads to the driver’s side, Taylor steps out of the car and they talk briefly. This isn’t their usual protocol. I’m curious. What are they talking about? Moments later, they both climb in, and I glance at Christian who’s wearing his impassive face as he stares ahead. I allow myself a brief moment to examine his godlike profile: straight nose, sculptured full lips, hair falling deliciously over his forehead. This divine man is surely not meant for me. Soft music suddenly fills the rear of the car, an orchestral piece that I don’t know, and Taylor pulls into the 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. He calls again, still no response. Christian leans over and taps his 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 regular vanilla 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 at Taylor. “Well, I did. Answer me,” he says calmly. I flush. My inner goddess is down on bended knee with 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 in your playroom, and they frighten the living daylights out of me. I don’t want you to use them on me.” “Okay, so no whips or canes—or belts, for that matter,” he says sardonically. I gaze at him puzzled. “Are you attempting to redefine the hard limits?” “Not as such, I’m just trying to understand you, get a clearer picture of what you do and don’t like.” “Fundamentally, Christian, it’s your joy in inflicting pain on me that’s difficult for me to handle. And the idea that you’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 my mouth. 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. Especially with those silver balls . . .” Thank hea一vens it’s dark, my face 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 with this? My anxiety level has shot up several magnitudes on the Richter scale. He strokes his chin, deep in thought. “Anastasia, I want to start again. Do the vanilla thing and then maybe, once you trust me more and I trust you to be honest and to communicate with me, we could move on and do some of the things that I like to do.” I stare at him, stunned, with no thoughts in my head at all—like a computer crash. He gazes at me anxiously, but I can’t see him clearly, as we’re shrouded in the Oregon darkness. 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 through my 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ve been purgatory. All my instincts tell me to let you go, tell me I don’t deserve you. “Those photos the boy took . . . I can see how he sees you. You look so untroubled and beautiful, not that you’re not beautiful now, but here you sit. I see your pain. It’s hard knowing that I’m the one who has made you feel this way. “But I’m a selfish man. I’ve wanted you since you fell into my office. You are exquisite, honest, warm, strong, witty, beguilingly innocent; the list is endless. I am in awe of you. I want you, and the thought of anyone else ha一ving you is like a knife twisting in my dark soul.” My mouth goes dry. Holy shit. My subconscious nods with satisfaction. If that isn’t a declaration of love, I don’t know what is. And the words tumble out of me—a dam breached. “Christian, why do you think you ha一ve a dark soul? I would never say that. Sad maybe, but you’re a good man. I can see that . . . you’re generous, you’re kind, and you’ve never lied to me. And I ha一ven’t tried very hard. “Last Saturday was such a shock to my system. It was my wake-up call. I realized that you’d been easy on me and that I couldn’t be the person you wanted me to be. Then, after I left, it dawned on me that the physical pain you inflicted was not as bad as the pain of losing you. I do want to please you, but it’s hard.” “You please me all the time,” he whispers. “How often do 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’re so closed off . . . like an island state. You intimidate me. That’s why I keep quiet. I don’t know which way your mood is going to go. It swings from north to south and back again in a nanosecond. It’s confusing and you won’t let me touch you, and I want to so much to show you how much I love you.” He blinks at me in the darkness, warily I think, and I can resist him no longer. I unbuckle my seatbelt and scramble into his lap, taking him by surprise, and take his head in my hands. “I love you, Christian Grey. And you’re prepared to do all this for me. I’m the one who is undeserving, and I’m just sorry that I can’t do all those things for you. Maybe with time . . . I don’t know . . . but yes, I accept your proposition. 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 my hair. We sit, our arms wrapped around each other, listening to the music—a soothing piano piece—mirroring the emotions in the car, the sweet tranquil calm after the storm. I snuggle into his arms, resting my head in the crook of his neck. He gently strokes my back. “Touching is a hard limit for me, Anastasia,” he whispers. “I know. I wish I understood why.” After a while, he sighs, and in a soft voice he says, “I had a horrific childhood. One of the crack whore’s had a horrific childhood. One of the crack whore’s pimps . . .” His voice trails off, and his body tenses as he recalls some unimaginable horror. “I can remember that,” he whispers, shuddering. Abruptly, my heart constricts as I remember the burn scars marring his skin. Oh, Christian. I tighten my arms around his neck. “Was she abusive? Your mother?” My voice is low and soft with unshed tears. “Not that I remember. She was neglectful. She didn’t protect me from her pimp.” He snorts. “I think it was me who looked after her. When she finally killed herself, it took four days for someone to raise the alarm and find us . . . I remember that.” 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 dead mother. Oh, Christian. I breathe in his scent. He smells hea一venly, my fa一vorite fragrance in the entire world. He tightens his arms around me and kisses my hair, and I sit wrapped 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. I am 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 in mind?” I flush. “Well, maybe.” He chuckles. “Anastasia, I am not going to touch you again, not until you beg me to.” “What!” “So that you’ll start communicating with me. Next time we make love, you’re going to ha一ve to tell me exactly what you want in fine detail.” “Oh.” He shifts me off his lap as Taylor pulls up outside my apartment. Christian climbs out and holds the car door open for me. “I ha一ve something for you.” He moves to the back of the car, opens the trunk, and pulls out a large gift-wrapped box. 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 him tomorrow.” Christian’s face hardens. “Does he, now?” His voice is laced 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 dig my keys out of my purse. As I unlock the door, he leans forward and cups my chin, tilting my head back. His mouth hovers over mine, and closing his eyes, he runs a trail of kisses from the corner of my eye to the corner of my mouth. A small moan escapes my mouth as my insides melt and unfurl. “Until tomorrow,” he breathes. “Goodnight, Christian,” I whisper, and I hear the need in my voice. He smiles. “In you go,” he orders, and I walk through the lobby carrying my mysterious parcel. “Laters, baby,” he calls, then turns and with his easy grace, heads back to the car. Once in the apartment, I open the gift box and find my MacBook Pro laptop, the Blackberry, and another rectangular 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 . . . an iPad. A white card is resting on the screen with a message written in Christian’s handwriting: Holy cow. I ha一ve a Christian Grey mix-tape in the guise of a high-end iPad. I shake my head in disapproval because of the expense, but deep down I love it. Jack at the 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ve him, mounted on a glass stand and sitting on what I think is Christian’s desk at his office. I gape at it. He built it! He really did build it. I remember now he mentioned it in the note with the flowers. I’m reeling, and I know in that instant that he’s put a great deal of thought into this gift. I slide the arrow at the bottom of the screen to unlock I slide the arrow at the bottom of the screen to unlock it and gasp again. The background photograph is of Christian and me at my graduation in the marquee. It’s the one that appeared in the Seattle Times. Christian looks so handsome and I can’t help my face-splitting grin, as my inner goddess curls up hugging herself on her chaise longue —Yes, and he’s mine! With a swipe of my finger, the icons shift, and several new ones appear on the next screen. A Kindle app, iBooks, Words—whatever that is. Holy shit! The British Library? I touch the icon and a menu appears: HISTORICAL COLLECTION. Scrolling down, I select NOVELS OF THE 18TH AND 19TH CENTURY. Another menu. I tap on a title: THE AMERICAN BY HENRY JAMES. A new window opens, offering me a scanned copy of the book to read. Holy crap—it’s an early edition, published in 1879, and it’s on my iPad! He’s bought me the British Library at a touch of a button. I exit quickly, knowing that I could be lost in this app for an eternity. I notice a “good food” app that makes me roll my eyes and smile at the same time, a news app, a weather app, but his note mentioned music. I go back to the main screen, hit the iPod icon and a playlist appears. I scroll through the songs, and the list makes me smile. Thomas Tallis—I’m not going to forget that in a hurry. I heard it twice, after all, while he flogged and fucked me. “Witchcraft.” My grin gets wider—dancing round the great room. The Bach Marcello piece—oh no, that’s way too 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vorite band—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 never heard. Selecting a song that catches my eye, I press play. It’s called “Try” by Nellie Furtado. She starts to sing, and her voice 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 new relationship? I drink in the lyrics, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand his turnaround. He missed me. I missed him. He must ha一ve some feelings for me. He must. This iPad, these songs, these apps—he cares. He really cares. My heart swells with hope. The song ends and tears spring to my eyes. I quickly scroll to another—“The Scientist” by Coldplay—one of Kate’s fa一vorite bands. I know the track, but I’ve never really listened to the lyrics before. I close my eyes and let the words wash over and through me. My tears start to flow. I can’t stem them. If this isn’t an apology, what is it? Oh, Christian. Or is this an invitation? Will he answer my questions? Am I reading too much into this? I am probably reading too much into this. My subconscious nods at me, trying to hide her pity. I dash my tears away. I ha一ve to e-mail him to thank him. 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 Steele Subject: IPAD Date: June 9, 2011 23:56 To: Christian Grey You’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 xx From: Christian Grey Subject: iPad Date: June 10, 2011 00:03 To: Anastasia Steele I’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 Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. His response makes me smile, still so bossy, still so Christian. Will that change, too? And I realize in that moment that I hope not. I like him like this—commanding —as long as I can stand up to him without fear of punishment. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Mr. Grumpy Date: June 10, 2011 00:07 To: Christian Grey You sound your usual bossy and possibly tense, possibly grumpy 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 xx PS: I also note that you included the Stalker’s Anthem, “Every Breath You Take.” I do enjoy your sense of humor, but does Dr. Flynn know? From: Christian Grey Subject: Zen-Like Calm Date: June 10, 2011 00.10 To: Anastasia Steele My Dearest Miss Steele Spanking occurs in vanilla relationships, too, you know. Usually consensually and in a sexual context . . . but I am more than happy to make an exception. You’ll be relieved to know that Dr. Flynn also enjoys my sense of humor. 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 Grey Tense CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Goodnight, Sweet Dreams Date: June 10, 2011 00:12 To: Christian Grey Well, since you ask so nicely, and I like your delicious threat, I shall curl up with the iPad that you ha一ve so kindly given me and fall asleep browsing in the British Library, listening to the music fall asleep browsing in the British Library, listening to the music that says it for you. A xxx From: Christian Grey Subject: One more request Date: June 10, 2011 00:15 To: Anastasia Steele Dream of me. x Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. Dream of you, Christian Grey? Always. I change quickly into my pajamas, brush my teeth, and slip into bed. Putting my ear buds in, I pull the flattened Charlie Tango balloon from underneath my pillow and hug it to me. I am brimming with joy, a stupid, widemouthed grin on my face. What a difference a day can make. How am I ever going to sleep? José Gonzalez starts to sing a soothing melody with a hypnotic guitar riff, and I drift slowly into sleep, marveling how the world has righted itself in one evening and wondering 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 bus on my way to work, I can plug my headphones into my iPad while it’s safely in my purse and listen to all the wonderful tunes Christian has given me. By the time I arrive at the office, I ha一ve the most ludicrous grin on my face. Jack glances up at me and does a double take. “Good morning, Ana. You look . . . radiant.” His remark 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 them by lunchtime, please?” He hands me four manuscripts. At my horrified expression, he adds, “Just first chapters.” “Sure,” I smile with relief, and he gives me a broad smile in return. I switch on the computer to start work, finishing my latte and eating a banana. There’s an e-mail from Christian. From: Christian Grey Subject: So Help Me . . . Date: June 10, 2011 08:05 To: Anastasia Steele I do hope you’ve had breakfast. I missed you last night. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Old books . . . Date: June 10, 2011 08:33 To: Christian Grey I am eating a banana as I type. I ha一ve not had breakfast for several days, so it is a step forward. I love the British Library App—I started rereading Robinson Crusoe . . . and of course, I love you. Now lea一ve me alone—I am trying to work. Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: Is that all you’ve eaten? Date: June 10, 2011 08:36 To: Anastasia Steele You can do better than that. You’re going to need your energy for begging. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Pest Date: June 10, 2011 08:39 To: Christian Grey Mr. Grey—I am trying to work for a living—and it’s you that will be begging. Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: Bring it On! Subject: Bring it On! Date: June 10, 2011 08:36 To: Anastasia Steele Why Miss Steele, I love a challenge . . . Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. I sit grinning at the screen like an idiot. But I need to read these 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 sandwich and listen to the playlist on my iPad. First up there’s Nitin Sawhney, some world music called “Homelands”—it’s good. Mr. Grey has an eclectic taste in music. I wander back, listening to a classical piece, Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis by Vaughn Williams. Oh, Fifty has a sense of humor, and I love him for it. Will this stupid grin ever lea一ve my face? The afternoon drags. I decide, in an unguarded moment, to e-mail Christian. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Bored . . . Date: June 10, 2011 16:05 To: Christian Grey To: Christian Grey Twiddling my thumbs. How are you? What are you doing? Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: Your thumbs Date: June 10, 2011 16:15 To: Anastasia Steele You 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 Grey Distracted CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. Oh shit. I had no idea. How the hell does he know? I scowl at the screen and quickly check the e-mails we’ve scowl at the screen and quickly check the e-mails we’ve sent, deleting them as I do. Promptly at five thirty, Jack is at my desk. It is Dressdown Friday so he’s wearing jeans and a black shirt. He looks very casual. “Drink, Ana? We usually like to go for a quick one at the bar across the street.” “We?” I ask, hopeful. “Yeah, most of us go . . . you coming?” For some unknown reason, which I don’t want to examine 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 for you?” “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-mail Christian from the Blackberry. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: You’ll Fit Right In Date: June 10, 2011 17:36 To: Christian Grey We 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 x From: Christian Grey Subject: Hazards Date: June 10, 2011 17:38 To: Anastasia Steele Mining is a very, very dangerous occupation. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Hazards? Date: June 10, 2011 17:40 To: Christian Grey And your point is? From: Christian Grey Subject: Merely . . . Date: June 10, 2011 17:42 To: Anastasia Steele Making an observation, Miss Steele. I’ll see you shortly. Sooners rather than laters, baby. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. I check myself in the mirror. What a difference a day can make. I ha一ve more color in my cheeks, and my eyes are shining. It’s the Christian Grey effect. A little e-mail sparring with him will do that to a girl. I grin at the mirror and straighten my pale blue shirt—the one Taylor bought me. I am wearing my fa一vorite jeans today, too. Most of the women in the office wear either jeans or floaty skirts. I will need to invest in a floaty skirt or two. Perhaps I’ll do that this weekend and bank the check Christian ga一ve me for Wanda, my Beetle. As I head out of the building, I hear my name called. “Miss Steele?” I turn expectantly, and an ashen young woman approaches me cautiously. She looks like a ghost—so pale and strangely blank. “Miss Anastasia Steele?” she repeats, and her features “Miss Anastasia Steele?” she repeats, and her features stay static even though she’s speaking. “Yes?” She stops, staring at me from about three feet away on the sidewalk, and I stare back, immobilized. Who is she? What does she want? “Can I help you?” I ask. How does she know my name? “No . . . I just wanted to look at you.” Her voice is eerily soft. Like me, she has dark hair that starkly contrasts with her fair skin. Her eyes are brown, like bourbon, but flat. 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 say politely, trying to ignore the warning tingle up my spine. On closer inspection, she looks odd, disheveled and uncared for. Her clothes are two sizes too big, including her designer trench coat. She laughs, a strange, discordant sound that only feeds my 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 hand through her shoulder length hair, and as she does, the sleeve of her trench coat rides up, revealing a soiled bandage around her wrist. Holy fuck. “Good day, Miss Steele.” Turning, she walks up the street as I stand rooted to the spot. I watch as her slight frame disappears from view, lost amongst the workers frame disappears from view, lost amongst the workers pouring out of their various offices. What was that about? Confused, I cross the street to the bar, trying to assimilate what has just happened, while my subconscious rears her ugly head and hisses at me—She has something to do with Christian. Fifty’s is a ca一vernous, impersonal bar with baseball pennants and posters hanging on the wall. Jack is at the bar with Elizabeth, Courtney the other commissioning editor, 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 my encounter with Ghost Girl. “Cheers.” We clink bottles, and he continues his conversation 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 you any 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 to a big family get-together in Tacoma. She becomes quite animated, and I realize I ha一ven’t spoken to any women my own age since Kate left for Barbados. Absently I wonder how Kate is . . . and Elliot. I must Absently I wonder how Kate is . . . and Elliot. I must remember to ask Christian if he’s heard from him. Oh, and Ethan her brother will be back next Tuesday, and he’ll be staying in our apartment. I can’t imagine Christian is going to be happy about that. My earlier encounter with strange Ghost Girl slips further from my mind. During my conversation with Claire, Elizabeth hands me another beer. “Thanks,” I smile at her. Claire is very easy to talk to—she likes to talk—and before I know it, I am on my third beer, courtesy of one of the guys from finance. When Elizabeth and Courtney lea一ve, Jack joins Claire and me. Where is Christian? One of the finance guys engages 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. But I’ve noticed that he has a tendency to do this with everyone, even at the office. My subconscious narrows her eyes. You’re reading too much into this , she admonishes 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 know what else to say. “Do you live far?” “The Pike Market district.” “Not far from me.” Smiling, he moves even closer and leans against the bar, effectively trapping me. “Do you ha一ve any plans this weekend?” “Well . . . um—” I feel him before I see him. It’s as if my whole body is highly attuned to his presence. It relaxes and ignites at the same time—a weird, internal duality—and I sense that strange pulsing electricity. Christian drapes his arm around my shoulder in a seemingly casual display of affection—but I know differently. He is staking a claim, and on this occasion, it’s very welcome. Softly he kisses my hair. “Hello, baby,” he murmurs. I can’t help but feel relieved, safe, and excited with his arm around me. He draws me to his side, and I glance up at him while he stares at Jack, his expression impassive. Turning his attention to me, he gives me a brief crooked smile followed by a swift kiss. He’s wearing his na一vy pinstriped jacket over jeans and an open white shirt. He looks edible. Jack shuffles back uncomfortably. “Jack, this is Christian,” I mumble apologetically. Why am I apologizing? “Christian, Jack.” “I’m the boyfriend,” Christian says with a small, cool smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he shakes Jack’s hand. I glance up at Jack who is mentally assessing the fine specimen of manhood in front of him. “I’m the boss,” Jack replies arrogantly. “Ana did mention an ex-boyfriend.” Oh, shit. You don’t want to play this game with Fifty. “Well, no longer ex,” Christian replies calmly. “Come on, baby, time to go.” “Please, stay and join us for a drink,” Jack says smoothly. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why is this so uncomfortable? I glance at Claire, who is, of course staring, open-mouthed and with frankly carnal appreciation at Christian. When will I stop caring about the effect he has on other women? “We ha一ve plans,” Christian replies with his enigmatic smile. We do? And a frisson of anticipation runs through my body. “Another time, perhaps,” he adds. “Come,” he says to me as he takes my hand. “See you Monday.” I smile at Jack, Claire, and the guys from finance, trying hard to ignore Jack’s less-thanpleased expression, 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 ask Christian as he opens the car door for me. “Because it was,” he murmurs and gives me his enigmatic smile then shuts my door. “Hello, Taylor,” I say and our eyes meet in the review mirror. “Miss Steele,” Taylor acknowledges with a genial smile. Christian slides in beside me, clasps my hand, and gently 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-combusting look that Christian is giving me. It takes all my self-restraint not to leap on him right here, in the back seat of the car. Oh, the back seat of the car . . . hmm. My inner goddess 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 asking you 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 or yours?” He tilts his head to one side and smiles his oh-sosexy smile at me. “I think you’re being very presumptuous, Mr. Grey. But by way of a change, we could go to my apartment.” I bite my lip deliberately, and his expression darkens. “Taylor, Miss Steele’s, please.” “Sir,” Taylor acknowledges and he heads off into the traffic. “So how has your day been?” he asks. “Good. Yours?” “Good, thank you.” His ridiculously broad grin reflects mine, and he kisses my 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 glance nervously at Taylor. My subconscious inhales sharply, shocked. “Well, he can want all he likes . . . why are we even ha一ving this conversation? You know I ha一ve no interest in him whatsoever. He’s just my boss.” “That’s the point. He wants what’s mine. I need to know 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 himself on his ass on the sidewalk.” “Oh, Christian, what are you talking about? He hasn’t done anything wrong.” . . .Yet. He just stands too close. “He makes one move, you tell me. It’s called gross moral 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! And before I roll my eyes at him, the realization hits me with the force 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 just is 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 fail me. “Are you mad at me?” “Yes. Of course I’m mad at you.” I seethe. “I mean, what kind of responsible business executive makes decisions based on who they are currently fucking?” I blanch and glance nervously once more at Taylor who is stoically ignoring us. Shit. What a time to ha一ve a brain-to-mouth filter malfunction. Anastasia! My subconscious glares at me. Christian opens his mouth then closes it again and scowls at me. I glare at him. The atmosphere in the car plunges from warm with sweet reunion to frigid with unspoken words and potential recriminations as we glower at each other. Fortunately, our uncomfortable car journey doesn’t last long, and Taylor pulls up outside my apartment. I scramble out of the car quickly, not waiting for anyone to open the door. anyone to open the door. I hear Christian mutter to Taylor, “I think you’d better wait here.” I sense him standing close behind me as I struggle to find the front door keys in my purse. “Anastasia,” he says calmly as if I’m some cornered wild animal. I sigh and turn to face him. I am so mad at him, my anger 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. Of the four companies in Seattle, SIP is the most profitable, but it’s on the cusp and it’s going to stagnate—it needs to branch out.” I stare frigidly at him. His eyes are so intense, threatening even, but sexy as hell. I could get lost in their steely 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 fact that I am fucking my boss’s boss’s boss.” “At the moment, you’re arguing with him.” Christian scowls. “That’s because he’s such an arse,” I hiss. Christian steps back in stunned surprise. Oh shit. Ha一ve I gone too far? “An arse?” he murmurs as his expression changes to one of amusement. Goddamn it! I am mad at you, do not make me