by E. L. James
IN THE BACK OF the Audi, I plot. I need to get up close and personal with Ana Steele, to begin my campaign to win her back. I call Andrea, knowing that at 7:15 she won’t be at her desk yet, and I leave a voice mail. “Andrea, as soon as you’re in, I want to run through my schedule for the next few days.” There—step one in my offensive is to make time in my schedule for Ana. What the hell am I supposed to be doing this week? Currently, I don’t have a clue. Normally I’m on this shit, but lately I’ve been all over the place. Now I have a mission to focus on. You can do this, Grey.
But deep down I wish I had the courage of my convictions. Anxiety unfurls in my gut. Can I convince Ana to take me back? Will she listen? I hope so. This has to work. I miss her.
“MR. GREY, I CANCELED all your social events this week, apart from the one for tomorrow—I don’t know what the occasion is. Your calendar says Portland, that’s it.”
Yes! The fucking photographer!
I beam at Andrea, and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Thanks, Andrea. That’s all for now. Send in Sam.”
“Sure, Mr. Grey. Would you like some more coffee?”
“Please.”
“With milk?”
“Yes. Latte. Thank you.”
She smiles politely and leaves.
This is it! My in! The photographer! Now…what to do?
MY MORNING HAS BEEN back-to-back meetings, and my staff have been watching me nervously, waiting for me to explode. Okay, that’s been my modus operandi for the last few days—but today I feel clearer, calmer, and present; able to deal with everything.
It’s now lunchtime; my workout with Claude has gone well. The only fly in the ointment is that there’s no more news about Leila. All we know is that she’s split up with her husband and she could be anywhere. If she surfaces, Welch will find her.
I’m famished. Olivia sets a plate down on my desk.
“Your sandwich, Mr. Grey.”
“Chicken and mayonnaise?”
“Um…”
I stare at her. She just doesn’t get it.
Olivia offers an inept apology.
“I said chicken with mayonnaise, Olivia. It’s not that hard.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Grey.”
“It’s fine. Just go.” She looks relieved but scrambles to leave the room.
I buzz Andrea.
“Sir?”
“Come in here.”
Andrea appears at the doorway, looking calm and efficient.
“Get rid of that girl.”
Andrea pulls herself up straight.
“Sir, Olivia is Senator Blandino’s daughter.”
“I don’t care if she’s the Queen of fucking England. Get her out of my office.”
“Yes, sir.” Andrea flushes.
“Get someone else to help you,” I offer in a gentler tone. I don’t want to alienate Andrea.
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
“Thank you. That’s all.”
She smiles and I know she’s back on board. She’s a good PA; I don’t want her to quit because I’m being an asshole. She exits, leaving me to my chicken sandwich—no mayo—and my campaign plan.
Portland.
I know the form of e-mail address for employees at SIP. I think Anastasia will respond better in writing; she always has. How to begin?
Dear Ana
No.
Dear Anastasia
No.
Dear Miss Steele
Shit!
HALF AN HOUR LATER I’m still staring at a blank computer screen. What the hell do I say?
Come back…please?
Forgive me.
I miss you.
Let’s try it your way.
I put my head in my hands. Why is this so difficult?
Keep it simple, Grey. Just cut the crap.
I take a deep breath and tap out an e-mail. Yes…this will do. Andrea buzzes me.
“Ms. Bailey is here to see you, sir.”
“Tell her to wait.”
I hang up and take a moment, and with my heart pounding, I press send.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:05
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Anastasia
Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that it’s going well. Did you get my flowers?
I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friend’s show, and I’m sure you’ve not had time to purchase a car, and it’s a long drive. I would be more than happy to take you—should you wish.
Let me know.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I watch my inbox.
And watch.
And watch…my anxiety growing with every second that crawls by.
Getting up, I pace the office—but that takes me away from my computer. Back at my desk, I check my e-mail yet again.
Nothing.
To distract myself, I trace my finger along the wings of my glider.
For fuck’s sake, Grey, get a grip.
Come on, Anastasia, answer me. She’s always been so prompt. I check my watch…14:09.
Four minutes!
Still nothing.
Getting up, I pace around my office once more, peering at my watch every three seconds, or so it feels.
By 2:20 I’m in despair. She’s not going to reply. She really does hate me…who could blame her?
Then I hear the ping of an e-mail. My heart leaps into my throat.
Hell! It’s from Ros, telling me she’s gone back to her office.
And then it’s there, in my inbox, the magical line:
From: Anastasia Steele.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:25
To: Christian Grey
Hi Christian
Thank you for the flowers; they are lovely.
Yes, I would appreciate a lift.
Thank you.
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
Relief floods through me; I close my eyes, savoring the feeling.
YES!
I pore over her e-mail looking for clues, but as usual I have no idea what the thoughts are behind her words. The tone is friendly enough, but that’s it. Just friendly.
Carpe Diem, Grey.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:27
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Anastasia
What time shall I pick you up?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I don’t have to wait quite so long.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:32
To: Christian Grey
José’s show starts at 7:30. What time would you suggest?
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
We can take Charlie Tango.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:34
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Anastasia
Portland is some distance away. I shall pick you up at 5:45.
I look forward to seeing you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:38
To: Christian Grey
> See you then.
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
My campaign to win her back is under way. I feel elated; the small blossom of hope is now a Japanese flowering cherry.
I buzz Andrea.
“Miss Bailey went back to her office, Mr. Grey.”
“I know, she e-mailed me. I need Taylor here in an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up. Anastasia is working for a guy named Jack Hyde. I want to know more about him. I call Ros.
“Christian.” She sounds pissed. Tough.
“Do we have access to the employee files from SIP?”
“Not yet. But I can get them.”
“Please. Today if you can. I want everything they have on Jack Hyde, and anyone who’s worked for him.”
“Can I ask why?”
“No.”
She’s silent for a moment.
“Christian, I don’t know what’s got into you recently.”
“Ros, just do it, okay?”
She sighs. “Okay. Now can we have our meeting about the Taiwan shipyard proposal?”
“Yes. I had an important call to make. It took longer than I thought.”
“I’ll be right up.”
WHEN ROS LEAVES I follow her out of the office.
“WSU next Friday,” I tell Andrea, who scribbles a reminder in her notebook.
“And I get to fly in the company chopper?” Ros bubbles with enthusiasm.
“Helicopter,” I correct her.
“Whatever, Christian.” She rolls her eyes as she enters the elevator, and it makes me smile.
Andrea watches Ros leave, then gives me an expectant look.
“Call Stephan—I’ll be flying Charlie Tango to Portland tomorrow evening, and I’ll need him to fly her back to Boeing Field,” I tell Andrea.
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
I see no sign of Olivia. “Has she gone?”
“Olivia?” Andrea asks.
I nod.
“Yes.” She seems relieved.
“Where to?”
“Finance.”
“Good thinking. It’ll keep Senator Blandino off my back.”
Andrea looks pleased at the compliment.
“You’re getting someone else to help out here?” I ask.
“Yes, sir. I’m seeing three candidates tomorrow morning.”
“Good. Is Taylor here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Cancel the rest of my meetings today. I’m going out.”
“Out?” she squeaks in surprise.
“Yes.” I grin. “Out.”
“WHERE TO, SIR?” TAYLOR asks, as I stretch out in the back of the SUV.
“The Mac store.”
“On Northeast Forty-Fifth?”
“Yes.” I’m going to buy Ana an iPad. Leaning back in my seat, I close my eyes and contemplate which apps and songs I’m going to download and install for her. I could choose “Toxic.” I smirk at the thought. No, I don’t think that would be popular with her. She’d be mad as hell—and for the first time in a while the thought of her mad makes me smile. Mad like she was in Georgia, not like last Saturday. I shift in my seat; I don’t want to be reminded of that. I turn my thoughts back to potential song choices, feeling more buoyant than I have in days. My phone buzzes, and my heart rate spikes.
Dare I hope?
Hey. Asshole. Beer?
Hell. A text from my brother.
No. Busy.
You’re always busy.
Going to Barbados tomorrow.
To, you know, RELAX.
See you when I get back.
And we will have that beer!!!
Laters, Lelliot. Safe Travels.
IT’S BEEN A DIVERTING evening, filled with music—a nostalgic journey through my iTunes, making a playlist for Anastasia. I remember her dancing in my kitchen; I wish I knew what she’d been listening to. She looked totally ridiculous, and utterly adorable. That was after I fucked her for the first time.
No. After I made love to her the first time?
Neither term feels right.
I recall her impassioned plea the night I introduced her to my parents. “I want you to make love to me.” How shocked I was by her simple statement—and yet all she wanted was to touch me. I shudder at the thought. I have to make her understand that this is a hard limit for me—I cannot tolerate being touched.
I shake my head. You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Grey—you have to close this deal first. I check the inscription on the iPad.
Anastasia—this is for you.
I know what you want to hear.
This music on here says it for me.
Christian
Perhaps this will do it. She wants hearts and flowers; perhaps this will come close. But I shake my head, because I have no idea. There’s so much I want to say to her, if she’ll listen. And if she won’t, the songs will say it for me. I just hope she allows me the opportunity to give them to her.
But if she doesn’t like my proposition, if she doesn’t like the thought of being with me—what will I do? I might just be a convenient ride to Portland. The thought depresses me, as I head toward my bedroom for some much-needed sleep.
Do I dare to hope?
Damn it. Yes, I do.
THURSDAY, JUNE 9, 2011
* * *
The doctor holds up her hands. I’m not going to hurt you. I need to check your tummy. Here. She gives me a cold, round sucky thing and she lets me play with it. You put it on your tummy, and I won’t touch you and I can hear your tummy. The doctor is good…the doctor is Mommy.
My new mommy is pretty. She’s like an angel. A doctor angel. She strokes my hair. I like it when she strokes my hair. She lets me eat ice cream and cake. She doesn’t shout when she finds the bread and apples hidden in my shoes. Or under my bed. Or under my pillow. Darling, the food is in the kitchen. Just find me or Daddy when you’re hungry. Point with your finger. Can you do that? There is another boy. Lelliot. He is mean. So I punch him. But my new mommy doesn’t like the fighting. There is a piano. I like the noise. I stand at the piano and press the white and the black. The noise from the black is strange. Miss Kathie sits at the piano with me. She teaches the black and the white notes. She has long brown hair and she looks like someone I know. She smells of flowers and apple pie baking. She smells of good. She makes the piano sound pretty. She is kind to me. She smiles and I play. She smiles and I am happy. She smiles and she’s Ana. Beautiful Ana, sitting with me as I play a fugue, a prelude, an adagio, a sonata. She sighs, resting her head on my shoulder, and she smiles. I love listening to you play, Christian. I love you, Christian.
Ana. Stay with me. You’re mine. I love you, too.
I wake, with a start.
Today, I win her back.
E L James
Grey
* * *
After twenty-five years working in TV, E L James decided to pursue her childhood dream, and set out to write stories that readers would fall in love with. The result was the sensuous romance Fifty Shades of Grey and its two sequels, Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed, a trilogy that went on to sell more than 125 million copies worldwide in 52 languages.
In 2012 E L James was named one of Barbara Walters’s “Ten Most Fascinating People of the Year,” one of Time magazine’s “Most Influential People in the World,” and Publishers Weekly’s “Person of the Year.” Fifty Shades of Grey stayed on the New York Times Best Seller List for 133 consecutive weeks, and in 2015 the film adaptation—on which James worked as producer—broke box-office records all over the world for Universal Pictures.
E L James lives in West London with her husband, the novelist and screenwriter Niall Leonard, and their two sons. She continues to write novels while acting
as producer on the upcoming movie versions of Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed.
The Fifty Shades Trilogy is available in paperback, eBook, Spanish-language, and audio formats, and in deluxe hardcover editions featuring elegant silver-embossed jackets and bindings, red silk ribbon markers, and decorative endpapers.
Available wherever books are sold.
www.VintageBooks.com • www.eljamesauthor.com