by E. L. James
I glance up at Jack and he’s staring at me. Oh, shit. I studiously ignore him and continue to stuff envelopes.
Half an hour later my phone buzzes. It’s Claire. “He’s here again, in Reception. The blond god.”
Ethan is a joy to see after all the angst of yesterday and the bad temper my boss is inflicting on me today, but all too soon, he’s saying good-bye.
“Will I see you this evening?”
“I’ll probably stay with Christian.” I flush.
“You have got it bad,” Ethan observes good-naturedly.
I shrug. That’s not the half of it, and in that moment I realize, I have it more than bad. I have it for life. And amazingly, Christian seems to feel the same. Ethan gives me a swift hug.
“Laters, Ana.”
I return to my desk, wrestling with my realization. Oh, what I would do for a day on my own, to just think all this through.
“Where have you been?” Jack is suddenly looming over me.
“I had some business to attend to in Reception.” He is really getting on my nerves.
“I want my lunch. The usual,” he says abruptly and stomps back into his office.
Why didn’t I stay home with Christian? My inner goddess crosses her arms and purses her lips; she wants to know the answer to that one, too. Picking up my purse and my BlackBerry, I head for the door. I check my messages.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing you
Date: June 15 2011 09:06
To: Anastasia Steele
My bed is too big without you.
Looks like I’ll have to go to work after all.
Even megalomaniac CEOs need something to do.
x
Christian Grey
Twiddling His Thumbs CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
And there’s another from him, from later this morning.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Discretion
Date: June 15 2011 09:50
To: Anastasia Steele
Is the better part of valor.
Please use discretion … your work e-mails are monitored.
HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THIS?
Yes. Shouty capitals as you say. USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.
Dr. Flynn can see us tomorrow evening.
x
Christian Grey,
Still Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
And an even later one … Oh no.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Crickets
Date: June 15 2011 12:15
To: Anastasia Steele
I haven’t heard from you.
Please tell me you are okay.
You know how I worry.
I will send Taylor to check!
x
Christian Grey,
Overanxious CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I roll my eyes, and call him. I don’t want him to worry.
“Christian Grey’s phone, Andrea Parker speaking.”
Oh. I am so disconcerted that it’s not Christian who answers that it halts me in the street, and the young man behind me mutters angrily as he swerves to avoid bumping into me. I stand under the green awning of the deli.
“Hello? Can I help you?” Andrea fills the void of awkward silence.
“Sorry … Er … I was hoping to speak to Christian—”
“Mr. Grey is in a meeting at this time.” She bristles with efficiency. “Can I take a message?”
“Can you tell him Ana called?”
“Ana? As in Anastasia Steele?”
“Er … Yes.” Her question confuses me.
“Hold one second please, Miss Steele.”
I listen attentively as she puts the phone down, but I can’t tell what’s going on. A few seconds later Christian is on the line. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
He releases his held breath, relieved.
“Christian, why wouldn’t I be okay?” I whisper reassuringly.
“You’re normally so quick at responding to my e-mails. After what I told you yesterday, I was worried,” he says quietly, and then he’s talking to someone in his office.
“No, Andrea. Tell them to wait,” he says sternly. Oh, I know that tone of voice.
I can’t hear Andrea’s response.
“No. I said wait,” he snaps.
“Christian, you’re obviously busy. I only called to let you know that I’m okay, and I mean that—just very busy today. Jack has been cracking the whip. Er … I mean …” I flush and fall silent.
Christian says nothing for a minute.
“Cracking the whip, eh? Well, there was a time when I would have called him a lucky man.” His voice is full of dry humor. “Don’t let him get on top of you, baby.”
“Christian!” I scold him and I know he’s grinning.
“Just watch him, that’s all. Look, I’m glad you’re okay. What time should I pick you up?”
“I’ll e-mail you.”
“From your BlackBerry,” he says sternly.
“Yes, Sir,” I snap back.
“Laters, baby.”
“Bye …”
He’s still hanging on.
“Hang up,” I scold, smiling.
He sighs heavily down the phone. “I wish you’d never gone to work this morning.”
“Me, too. But I am busy. Hang up.”
“You hang up.” I hear his smile. Oh, playful Christian. I love playful Christian. Hmm … I love Christian, period.
“We’ve been here before.”
“You’re biting your lip.”
Shit, he’s right. How does he know?
“You see, you think I don’t know you, Anastasia. But I know you better than you think,” he murmurs seductively in that way that makes me weak, and wet.
“Christian, I’ll talk to you later. Right now, I really wish I hadn’t left this morning, too.”
“I’ll wait for your e-mail, Miss Steele.”
“Good day, Mr. Grey.”
Hanging up, I lean against the cold, hard glass of the deli store window. Oh my, even on the phone he owns me. Shaking my head to clear it of all thoughts Grey, I head into the deli, depressed by all thoughts Jack.
HE IS SCOWLING WHEN I get back.
“Is it okay if I go to lunch now?” I ask tentatively. He gazes up at me and his scowl deepens.
“If you must,” he snaps. “Forty-five minutes. Make up the time you lost this morning.”
“Jack, can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“You seem kind of out of sorts today. Have I done something to offend you?”
He blinks at me momentarily. “I don’t think I’m in the mood to list your misdemeanors right now. I’m busy.” He continues to stare at his computer screen, effectively dismissing me.
Whoa … What have I done?
I turn and leave his office, and for a minute I think I’m going to cry. Why has he taken such a sudden and intense dislike to me? A very unwelcome idea pops into my head, but I ignore it. I don’t need his shit right now—I have enough of my own.
I head out of the building to the nearby Starbucks, order a latte, and sit down in the window. Taking my iPod from my purse, I plug my headphones in. I choose a song haphazardly and press “repeat” so it will play over and over again. I need music to think by.
My mind drifts. Christian the sadist. Christian the submissive. Christian the untouchable. Christian’s Oedipal impulses. Christian bathing Leila. I groan and close my eyes while that last image haunts me.
Can I really marry this man? He’s so much to take in. He’s complex and difficult, but deep down I know I don’t want to leave him despite all his issues. I could never leave him. I love him. It would be like cutting off my right arm.
Right now, I have never felt so alive, so vital. I’ve encountered all manner of perplexing, profound feelings and new experie
nces since I met him. It’s never a dull moment with Fifty.
Looking back on my life before Christian, it’s as if everything was in black and white, like José’s pictures. Now my whole world is in rich, bright, saturated color. I am soaring in a beam of dazzling light, Christian’s dazzling light. I am still Icarus, flying too close to his sun. I snort to myself. Flying with Christian—who can resist a man who can fly?
Can I give him up? Do I want to give him up? It’s as if he’s flipped a switch and lit me up from within. It’s been an education knowing him. I have discovered more about myself in the last few weeks than ever before. I’ve learned about my body, my hard limits, my soft limits, my tolerance, my patience, my compassion, and my capacity for love.
And it strikes me like a thunderbolt—that’s what he needs from me, what he’s entitled to—unconditional love. He never received it from the crack whore—it’s what he needs. Can I love him unconditionally? Can I accept him for who he is regardless of his revelations last night?
I know he’s damaged, but I don’t think he’s irredeemable. I sigh, recalling Taylor’s words. “He’s a good man, Miss Steele.”
I’ve seen the weighty evidence of his goodness—his charity work, his business ethics, his generosity—and yet he doesn’t see it in himself. He doesn’t feel deserving of any love. Given his history and his predilections, I have an inkling of his self-loathing—that’s why he’s never let anyone in. Can I get past this?
He said once that I couldn’t begin to understand the depths of his depravity. Well, he’s told me now, and given the first few years of his life, it doesn’t surprise me … though it was still a shock to hear it out loud. At least he’s told me—and he seems happier now that he has. I know everything.
Does it devalue his love for me? No, I don’t think so. He’s never felt this way before and neither have I. We’ve both come so far.
Tears prick and pool in my eyes as I recall his final barriers crumbling last night when he let me touch him. And it took Leila and all her craziness to get us to there.
Perhaps I should be grateful. The fact that he bathed her is not quite such a bitter taste on my tongue now. I wonder which clothes he gave her. I hope it wasn’t the plum dress. I liked that.
So can I love this man with all his issues unconditionally? Because he deserves nothing less. He still needs to learn boundaries and little things like empathy, and to be less controlling. He says he no longer feels the compulsion to hurt me; perhaps Dr. Flynn will be able to cast some light on that.
Fundamentally, that’s what concerns me most—that he needs that and has always found like-minded women who need it, too. I frown. Yes, this is the reassurance I need. I want to be all things to this man, his Alpha and his Omega and everything in between, because he is all things to me.
I hope Flynn will have the answers, and maybe then I can say yes. Christian and I can find our own slice of heaven close to the sun.
I gaze out at bustling, lunchtime Seattle. Mrs. Christian Grey—who would have thought? I glance at my watch. Shit! I leap up from my seat and dash to the door—a whole hour of just sitting—where did the time go? Jack is going to go ballistic!
I SLINK BACK TO my desk. Fortunately he’s not in his office. It looks like I’ve gotten away with it. I gaze intently at my computer screen, unseeing, trying to reassemble my thoughts into work mode.
“Where were you?”
I jump. Jack is standing, arms crossed, behind me.
“I was in the basement, photocopying,” I lie. Jack’s lips press into a thin, uncompromising line.
“I’m leaving for my plane at six thirty. I need you to stay until then.”
“Okay.” I smile as sweetly as I can manage.
“I’d like my itinerary for New York printed out and photocopied ten times. And get the brochures packaged up. And get me some coffee!” he snarls and stalks into his office.
I breathe a sigh of relief and stick my tongue out at him as he closes the door. Bastard.
AT FOUR O’CLOCK, CLAIRE rings from Reception.
“I have Mia Grey on the line for you.”
Mia? I hope she doesn’t want to hang at the mall.
“Hi, Mia!”
“Ana, hi. How are you?” Her excitement is stifling.
“Good. Busy today. You?”
“I am so bored! I need to find something to do, so I’m arranging a birthday party for Christian.”
Christian’s birthday? Jeez, I had no idea. “When is it?”
“I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t tell you. It’s on Saturday. Mom and Dad want everyone over for a meal to celebrate. I’m officially inviting you.”
“Oh, that’s lovely. Thank you, Mia.”
“I’ve already called Christian and told him, and he gave me your number here.”
“Cool.” My mind is in a flat spin—what the hell am I going to get Christian for his birthday? What do you buy the man who has everything?
“And maybe sometime next week we can go out for lunch?”
“Sure. How about tomorrow? My boss is away in New York.”
“Oh, that would be cool, Ana. What time?”
“Twelve forty-five?”
“I’ll be there. Bye, Ana.”
“Bye.” I hang up.
Christian. Birthday. What on earth should I get him?
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Antediluvian
Date: June 15 2011 16:11
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
When, exactly, were you going to tell me?
What shall I get my old man for his birthday?
Perhaps some new batteries for his hearing aid?
A x
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Prehistoric
Date: June 15 2011 16:20
To: Anastasia Steele
Don’t mock the elderly.
Glad you are alive and kicking.
And that Mia has been in touch.
Batteries are always useful.
I don’t like celebrating my birthday.
x
Christian Grey,
Deaf as a Post CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Hmmm.
Date: June 15 2011 16:24
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
I can imagine you pouting as you wrote that last sentence.
That does things to me. A xox
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Rolling Eyes
Date: June 15 2011 16:29
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele
WILL YOU USE YOUR BLACKBERRY!!!
x
Christian Grey,
Twitchy Palmed, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I roll my eyes. Why is he so touchy about e-mails?
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Inspiration
Date: June 15 2011 16:33
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
Ah … your twitchy palms can’t stay still for long, can they?
I wonder what Dr. Flynn would say about that?
But now I know what to give you for your birthday—and I hope it makes me sore …
;)
A x
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Angina
Date: June 15 2011 16:38
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele
I don’t think my heart could stand the strain of another e-mail like that, or my pants for that matter.
Behave.
x
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Trying
Date: June 15 2011 16:42
To: Christian Grey
Christian
I am trying to work for my very trying boss.
Please stop bothering me and being trying yourself.
Your last e-mail nearly made me combust.
x
PS: Can you pick me up at 6:30?
* * *