by E. L. James
“Breakfast,” he whispers, making it sound deliciously erotic.
How can he make bacon and eggs sound like forbidden fruit? It’s an extraordinary skill. He turns, clasping my hand, and we head back toward the car.
“What about the glider?”
“Someone will take care of that,” he says dismissively. “We’ll eat now.” His tone is unequivocal.
Food! He’s talking food, when really all I want is him.
“Come.” He smiles.
I have never seen him like this, and it’s a joy to behold. I find myself walking beside him, hand in hand, with a stupid, goofy grin plastered on my face. It reminds me of when I was ten and spent the day at Disneyland with Ray. It was a perfect day, and this is sure shaping out to be the same.
BACK IN THE CAR, as we head back along Interstate 95 toward Savannah, my phone alarm goes off. Oh yes … my pill.
“What’s that?” Christian asks, curious, glancing at me.
I fumble in my purse for the packet.
“Alarm for my pill,” I mutter as my cheeks flush.
His lips quirk up.
“Good, well done. I hate condoms.”
I flush some more. He’s as patronizing as ever.
“I like that you introduced me to Mark as your girlfriend,” I murmur.
“Isn’t that what you are?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Am I? I thought you wanted a submissive.”
“So did I, Anastasia, and I do. But I’ve told you, I want more, too.”
Oh my. He’s coming around, and hope surges through me, leaving me breathless.
“I’m very happy that you want more,” I whisper.
“We aim to please, Miss Steele.” He smirks as we pull into the International House of Pancakes.
“IHOP.” I grin back at him. I don’t believe it. Who would have thought …? Christian Grey at IHOP.
IT’S 8:30 A.M. BUT quiet in the restaurant. It smells of sweet batter, fried food, and disinfectant. Hmm … not such an enticing aroma. Christian leads me to a booth.
“I would never have pictured you here,” I say as we slide into a booth.
“My dad used to bring us to one of these whenever my mom went away to a medical conference. It was our secret.” He smiles at me, eyes dancing, then picks up a menu, running a hand through his wayward hair.
Oh, I want to run my hands through that hair. I pick up a menu and examine it. I realize I’m starving.
“I know what I want,” he breathes, his voice low and husky.
I glance up at him, and he’s staring at me in that way that tightens all the muscles in my belly and takes my breath away, his eyes dark and smoldering. Holy shit. I gaze at him, my blood singing in my veins, answering his call.
“I want what you want,” I whisper.
He inhales sharply.
“Here?” he asks suggestively, raising an eyebrow at me, smiling wickedly, his teeth trapping the tip of his tongue.
Oh my … sex in IHOP. His expression changes, growing darker.
“Don’t bite your lip,” he orders. “Not here, not now.” His eyes harden momentarily, and for a moment, he looks so deliciously dangerous. “If I can’t have you here, don’t tempt me.”
“Hi, my name’s Leandra. What can I get for you … er … folks … er … today, this mornin’ …?” Her voice trails off, stumbling over her words as she gets an eyeful of Mr. Beautiful opposite me. She flushes scarlet, and a small ounce of sympathy for her bubbles unwelcome into my consciousness because he still does that to me. Her presence allows me to escape briefly from his sensual glare.
“Anastasia?” he prompts me, ignoring her, and I don’t think anyone could squeeze as much carnality into my name as he does at that moment.
I swallow, praying that I don’t turn the same color as poor Leandra.
“I told you, I want what you want.” I keep my voice soft, low, and he looks at me hungrily. Jeez, my inner goddess swoons. Am I up to this game?
Leandra looks from me to him and back again. She’s practically the same color as her shiny red hair.
“Shall I give you folks another minute to decide?”
“No. We know what we want.” Christian’s mouth twitches with a small, sexy smile.
“We’ll have two portions of the original buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup and bacon on the side, two glasses of orange juice, one black coffee with skim milk, and one English breakfast tea, if you have it,” says Christian, not taking his eyes off me.
“Thank you, sir. Will that be all?” Leandra whispers, looking anywhere but at the two of us. We both turn to stare at her, and she flushes crimson again and scuttles away.
“You know, it’s really not fair.” I glance down at the Formica tabletop, tracing a pattern on it with my index finger, trying to sound nonchalant.
“What’s not fair?”
“How you disarm people. Women. Me.”
“Do I disarm you?”
I snort. “All the time.”
“It’s just looks, Anastasia,” he says mildly.
“No, Christian, it’s much more than that.”
His brow creases. “You disarm me totally, Miss Steele. Your innocence. It cuts through all the crap.”
“Is that why you’ve changed your mind?”
“Changed my mind?”
“Yes—about … er … us?”
He strokes his chin thoughtfully with his long, skilled fingers. “I don’t think I’ve changed my mind per se. We just need to redefine our parameters, redraw our battle lines, if you will. We can make this work, I’m sure. I want you submissive in my playroom. I will punish you if you digress from the rules. Other than that … well, I think it’s all up for discussion. Those are my requirements, Miss Steele. What say you to that?”
“So I get to sleep with you? In your bed?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“I agree then. Besides, I sleep very well when you’re in my bed. I had no idea.” His brow creases as his voice fades.
“I was frightened you’d leave me if I didn’t agree to all of it,” I whisper.
“I’m not going anywhere, Anastasia. Besides …” He trails off, and after some thought, he adds, “We’re following your advice, your definition: compromise. You e-mailed it to me. And so far, it’s working for me.”
“I love that you want more,” I murmur shyly.
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust me. I just do.” He smirks at me. He’s hiding something. What?
At that moment, Leandra arrives with breakfast and our conversation ceases. My stomach rumbles, reminding me how ravenous I am. Christian watches with annoying approval as I devour everything on my plate.
“Can I treat you?” I ask Christian.
“Treat me how?”
“Pay for this meal.”
Christian snorts.
“I don’t think so,” he scoffs.
“Please. I want to.”
He frowns at me.
“Are you trying to completely emasculate me?”
“This is probably the only place that I’ll be able to afford to pay.”
“Anastasia, I appreciate the thought. I do. But no.”
I purse my lips.
“Don’t scowl,” he threatens, his eyes glinting ominously.
OF COURSE HE DOESN’T ask me for my mother’s address. He knows it already, stalker that he is. When he pulls up outside the house, I don’t comment. What’s the point?
“Do you want to come in?” I ask shyly.
“I need to work, Anastasia, but I’ll be back this evening. What time?”
I ignore the unwelcome stab of disappointment. Why do I want to spend every single minute with this controlling sex god? Oh yes, I’ve fallen in love with him, and he can fly.
“Thank you … for the more.”
“My pleasure, Anastasia.” He kisses me, and I inhale his sexy Christian smell.
“I�
�ll see you later.”
“Try to stop me,” he whispers.
I wave good-bye as he drives off into the Georgia sunshine. I’m still wearing his sweatshirt and his underwear, and I’m too warm.
In the kitchen, my mom is in a complete flap. It’s not every day she has to entertain a multi-zillionaire, and it’s stressing her out.
“How are you, darling?” she asks, and I flush because she must know what I was doing last night.
“I’m good. Christian took me gliding this morning.” I hope the new information will distract her.
“Gliding? As in a small plane with no engine? That sort of gliding?”
I nod.
“Wow.”
She’s speechless—a novel concept for my mother. She gapes at me, but eventually recovers herself and resumes her original line of questioning.
“How was last night? Did you talk?”
Jeez. I flush bright scarlet.
“We talked—last night and today. It’s getting better.”
“Good.” She turns her attention back to the four cookbooks she has open on the kitchen table.
“Mom … if you like, I’ll cook this evening.”
“Oh, honey, that’s kind of you, but I want to do it.”
“Okay.” I grimace, knowing full well that my mother’s cooking is pretty hit or miss. Perhaps she’s improved since she moved to Savannah with Bob. There was a time I wouldn’t subject anyone to her cooking … even—who do I hate? Oh yes—Mrs. Robinson—Elena. Well, maybe her. Will I ever meet this damned woman?
I decide to send a quick thank-you to Christian.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Soaring as Opposed to Sore-ing
Date: June 2 2011 10:20 EST
To: Christian Grey
Sometimes, you really know how to show a girl a good time.
Thank you
Ana x
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Soaring vs Sore-ing
Date: June 2 2011 10:24 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
I’ll take either of those over your snoring. I had a good time, too.
But I always do when I’m with you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: SNORING
Date: June 2 2011 10:26 EST
To: Christian Grey
I DO NOT SNORE. And if I do, it’s very ungallant of you to point it out.
You are no gentleman, Mr. Grey! And you are in the Deep South, too!
Ana
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Somniloquy
Date: June 2 2011 10:28 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
I have never claimed to be a gentleman, Anastasia, and I think I have demonstrated that point to you on numerous occasions. I am not intimidated by your SHOUTY capitals. But I will confess to a small white lie: no—you don’t snore, but you do talk. And it’s fascinating.
What happened to my kiss?
Christian Grey
Cad & CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Holy shit. I know I talk in my sleep. Kate has told me enough times. What the hell have I said? Oh no.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Spill the Beans
Date: June 2 2011 10:32 EST
To: Christian Grey
You are a cad and a scoundrel—definitely no gentleman.
So, what did I say? No kisses for you until you talk!
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Sleeping Talking Beauty
Date: June 2 2011 10:35 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
It would be most ungallant of me to say, and I have already been chastised for that.
But if you behave yourself, I may tell you this evening. I do have to go into a meeting now.
Laters, baby.
Christian Grey
CEO, Cad & Scoundrel, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Right! I shall maintain radio silence until this evening. I fume. Jeez. Suppose I’ve said I hate him, or worse still, that I love him, in my sleep. Oh, I hope not. I am not ready to tell him that, and I’m sure he’s not ready to hear it, if he ever wants to hear it. I scowl at my computer and decide that whatever Mom cooks, I will make bread to vent my frustrations while kneading the dough.
MY MOM HAS DECIDED on gazpacho soup and a barbecue with steaks marinated in olive oil, garlic, and lemon. Christian likes meat, and it’s simple to do. Bob has volunteered to man the BBQ grill. What is it about men and fire? I ponder as I trail after my mother through the supermarket with the shopping cart.
As we browse the raw meat cabinet, my phone rings. I scramble for it, thinking it may be Christian. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” I answer breathlessly.
“Anastasia Steele?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Elizabeth Morgan from SIP.”
“Oh—hi.”
“I’m calling to offer you the job of assistant to Mr. Jack Hyde. We’d like you to start on Monday.”
“Wow. That’s great. Thank you!”
“You know the salary details?”
“Yes. Yes … that’s—I mean, I accept your offer. I’d love to come and work for you.”
“Excellent. We’ll see you Monday at 8:30 a.m.?”
“See you then. Good-bye. And thank you.”
I beam at my mom.
“You have a job?”
I nod gleefully, and she squeals and hugs me in the middle of Publix supermarket.
“Congratulations, darling! We have to buy some champagne!” She’s clapping her hands and jumping up and down. Is she forty-two or twelve?
I glance down at my phone and frown; there’s a missed call from Christian. He never phones me. I call him straight back.
“Anastasia,” he answers immediately.
“Hi,” I murmur shyly.
“I have to return to Seattle. Something’s come up. I am on my way to Hilton Head now. Please apologize to your mother—I can’t make dinner.” He sounds very businesslike.
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“I have a situation that I have to deal with. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll send Taylor to collect you from the airport if I can’t come myself.” He sounds cold. Angry even. But for the first time, I don’t immediately think it’s me.
“Okay. I hope you sort out your situation. Have a safe flight.”
“You too, baby,” he breathes, and with those words, my Christian is back. Then he hangs up.
Oh no. The last “situation” he had was my virginity. Jeez, I hope it’s nothing like that. I gaze at my mom. Her earlier jubilation has metamorphosed into concern.
“It’s Christian. He’s had to go back to Seattle. He apologizes.”
“Oh! That’s a shame, darling. We can still have our barbecue, and now we have something to celebrate—your new job! You have to tell me all about it.”
IT’S LATE AFTERNOON, AND Mom and I are lying beside the pool. My mother has relaxed to the point where she is literally horizontal now that Mr. Megabucks is not coming to dinner. As I lie in the sun, endeavoring to lose the pale, I think about yesterday evening and breakfast today. I think about Christian, and my ridiculous grin refuses to subside. It keeps creeping across my face, unbidden and disconcerting, as I recall our various conversations and what we did … what he did.
There seems to be a tidal shift in Christian’s attitude. He denies it, but he admits he’s trying for more. What could have changed? What has altered since he sent his long e-mail and when I saw him yesterday? What has he done? I sit up suddenly, almost spilling my soda. He had dinner with … her. Elena.
Holy fuck!
My scalp prickles at the realization. Did she say something to him? Oh … to have been a fly on the wall durin
g their dinner. I could have landed in her soup or on her wine glass and choked her.
“What is it, Ana, honey?” Mom asks, startled from her torpor.
“I’m just having a moment, Mom. What time is it?”
“About six thirty p.m., darling.”
Hmm … he wouldn’t have landed yet. Can I ask him? Should I ask him? Or perhaps she has nothing to do with it. I fervently hope so. What did I say in my sleep? Crap … some unguarded remark while dreaming about him, I bet. Whatever it is, or was, I hope the sea change is coming from within him and not because of her.
I am sweltering in this damned heat. I need another dip in the pool.
AS I GET READY for bed, I switch on my computer. I have heard nothing from Christian. Not even a word that he’s arrived safely.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Safe Arrival?
Date: June 2 2011 22:32 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
Please let me know that you have arrived safely. I am starting to worry. Thinking of you.
Your Ana x
Three minutes later, I hear the ping from my e-mail inbox.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Sorry
Date: June 2 2011 19:36