by James, E L
Ana gasps when she sees her.
Without a doubt this is still one of the most beautiful shrines I’ve ever seen. The Virgin, eyes cast down at the floor in modesty, holds her child aloft. Her gold-and-blue robes shimmer in the light from the burning candles.
It’s stunning.
“My mother used to bring us here sometimes for Mass. This was my favorite place. The Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary,” I whisper.
Ana stands and soaks up the scene, the statue, the walls, the dark ceiling covered in gold stars. “Is this what inspired your collection? Your Madonnas?” she asks, and there’s wonder in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Motherhood,” she murmurs, and she peeks up at me.
I shrug. “I’ve seen it done well and done badly.”
“Your birth mom?” she asks.
I nod, and her eyes grow impossibly large, revealing some deep emotion that I don’t want to acknowledge.
I look away. It’s too raw.
I place a fifty-dollar bill in the offertory box and hand her a candle. Ana clasps my hand briefly in gratitude, then lights the wick from one of the tapers and places her candle in an iron sconce on the wall. It flickers brightly among its companions. “Thank you,” she says quietly to Mary, and wraps an arm around my middle, placing her head on my shoulder. Together we stand in quiet contemplation in this most exquisite of sanctuaries in the heart of the city.
The peace, the beauty, and being with Ana restores my good humor. To hell with work this afternoon. It’s Sunday. I want some fun with my girl. “Shall we go to the game?” I ask.
“Game?”
“The Phillies are playing the M’s at Safeco Field. GEH has a suite there.”
“Sure. Sounds like fun. Let’s go.” Ana beams.
Hand in hand, we head back to the R8.
Monday, June 20, 2011
This morning has been extremely aggravating, and I’m ready to rip someone limb from limb. There were hordes of reporters, including a couple of TV crews, camped outside Escala and Seattle Independent Publishing.
Have they nothing better to do?
It was easy to avoid them at home because we arrived and left through the underground garage. At SIP it’s another issue. I’m confounded and appalled that these vultures have managed to track Ana down so quickly.
How?
We dodged them by skirting the SIP building and going to the rear loading doors. But now Ana’s trapped inside her office and I’m ambivalent about that. At least she’s safe there, but I’m sure she’s not going to tolerate confinement for long.
My heart sinks. Of course the Seattle media are curious about my fiancée. It’s part of the Christian Grey bonus. I just hope to God this attention doesn’t drive her away.
Sawyer pulls up outside Grey House, where another couple of hacks are lurking, but with Taylor beside me I storm past them, ignoring their shouted questions.
What a fucking start to the morning!
Still aggravated, I wait for the elevator. I have a to-do list longer than my dick and I have to deal with the fallout from the weekend: missed calls from my dad, my mom, and Elena Lincoln.
Why the hell she’s calling me I don’t know. We’re done. I made that clear on Saturday night.
I’d rather be at home with my girl.
In the elevator I check my phone. There’s an e-mail from Ana.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Showing A Fiancée A Good Time
Date: June 20 2011 09:25
To: Christian Grey
My dearest husband-to-be
I feel it would be remiss of me not to thank you for
a) surviving a helicopter crash
b) an exemplary hearts-and-flowers proposal
c) a wonderful weekend
d) a return to the Red Room
e) a very pretty rock, which everyone has noticed!
f) my wake-up call this morning (especially this! ;))
Ax
Anastasia Steele
Acting-Editor, Fiction, SIP
PS: Do you have a strategy for dealing with the press?
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Showing a man a good time
Date: June 20 2011 09:36
To: Anastasia Steele
My darling Ana
You are entirely welcome.
Thank you for a wonderful weekend.
I love you.
I’ll come back to you about a strategy for the f****** press.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
PS: I think wake-up calls are underrated.
PPS: F****** BLACKBERRY!!!!!!!!!!!
How many times do I have to tell you, woman!
Amused and mollified by our e-mail exchange, I charge out of the elevator. Andrea is at her desk in my outer office. “Good morning, Mr. Grey,” she says. “I…um…I’m glad you’re still with us.”
“Thank you, Andrea. I appreciate that. And thank you for all your help on Friday night. It was invaluable.”
She flushes, embarrassed, I think, by my gratitude. “Where’s the new girl?” I ask.
“Sarah? She’s on an errand. Coffee?”
“Please. Black. Strong. I have a great deal to do.”
She gets to her feet.
“If my father, mother, or Mrs. Lincoln call, take a message. Refer all press inquiries to Sam. But if the FAA, Eurocopter, or Welch call, put them through.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, of course, Anastasia Steele.”
Andrea’s face softens with one of her rare smiles. “Congratulations, Mr. Grey.”
“You know?”
“Everyone knows, sir.”
I laugh. “Thank you, Andrea.”
“I’ll get your coffee.”
“Great, thanks.”
At my desk, I wake my iMac. There’s another e-mail from Ana.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: The Limitations of Language
Date: June 20 2011 09:38
To: Christian Grey
**. ****, **** *******!
*** ***** ** **********.
* **** ***, ***.
Ax
I laugh out loud even though I have no idea what she’s written. Andrea enters with my coffee and sits down so we can run through the day’s schedule ahead of my first call.
I’ve been on the phone for what feels like three solid hours. When I finally hang up, stand, and stretch, it’s 1:15. Charlie Tango is being recovered today and should be back at Boeing Field tonight. The Federal Aviation Administration has handed the inquiry into the emergency landing over to the National Transportation Safety Board. The Eurocopter engineer who was one of the first on-site says it’s incredibly fortunate that I put the fire out with the extinguishers. It will help to speed up theirs and the NTSB’s investigation. I’m hoping to have their initial report tomorrow.
Welch has informed me that as a precaution, he’s secured all of last week’s CCTV footage from the helipad in Portland, and from in and around Charlie Tango’s private hangar at Boeing Field. A shiver skates up my spine. Welch thinks it might be sabotage, and I have to admit the possibility has been at the back of my mind since both engines caught fire.
Sabotage.
But why?
I’ve asked him to have his team comb through all the recordings and see if they find anything suspicious.
After much wheedling from Sam, my VP for publicity, I’ve agreed to a brief press conference later this afternoon. Sam’s nagging voice rings in my head. “You need to get in front of this, Christian. Your miraculous escape is still all over the news cycle. They have aerial footage of the recovery operation.”
Frankly, I think Sam
just loves the drama. I hope that a press briefing will stop them from hounding Ana and me.
Andrea buzzes my phone.
“What?”
“Dr. Grey is on the line again.”
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath. I guess I can’t avoid her forever. “Okay, put her through.” Leaning against my desk, I wait for her dulcet tones.
“Christian. I know you’re busy, but two things.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I’ve found a wedding planner I want to use. Her name is Alondra Gutierrez. She organized this year’s Coping Together Ball. I think you and Ana should meet her.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure.”
“Good. I’ll arrange a meeting later this week. Secondly, your father really wants to talk to you.”
“I spoke to my father at length on the night I announced my engagement. We were also celebrating my twenty-eighth year in the world and, as you know, I’m always reluctant to mark these milestones.” I’m on a roll. “And I’d just survived a hair-raising crash-landing.” My voice is rising. “Dad really rained on my parade. I think he said enough then. I don’t want to talk to him now.”
He’s a pompous prick.
“Christian. Stop sulking. Talk to your dad.”
Sulking! I’m fucking pissed, Grace.
My mother’s silence stretches between us, laced with her censure.
I sigh. “Okay, I’ll think about it.” The other line on my phone flashes. “I’ve got to go.”
“Very well, darling. I’ll let you know about the meeting with Alondra.”
“Good-bye, Mom.”
My phone buzzes again. “Mr. Grey, I have Anastasia Steele for you.”
My rancor disappears. “Great. Thanks, Andrea.”
“Christian?” Her voice is small, and uneven. She sounds scared.
My breath catches in my throat. “Ana, is everything all right?”
“Um…I went out for some fresh air. I thought they’d be gone. And, well…”
“The reporters and photographers?”
“Yes.”
Fuckers.
“I didn’t comment on anything. I just turned around and ran back into the building.”
Damn. I should have sent Sawyer to watch over her, and I’m grateful once more that Taylor persuaded me to keep him on after the Leila Williams incident. “Ana, it’s going to be fine. I was going to call you. I’ve just agreed to give a press conference later this afternoon about Charlie Tango. They’ll ask about our engagement. I’ll give them the barest of details. Hopefully that will be enough to satisfy them.”
“Good.”
I chance my luck. “Would you like me to send Sawyer to watch over you?”
“Yes,” she says immediately.
Whoa. That was easy. She must be more shaken than I thought. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not normally so amenable.”
“I have my moments, Mr. Grey. They usually occur after I’ve been pursued by the media through the streets of Seattle. It was quite the workout. I was breathless when I got back to the office.” She’s making light of the situation.
“Really, Miss Steele? You have such great stamina, normally.”
“Why, Mr. Grey, what on earth are you referring to?” I hear the smile in her voice.
“I think you know,” I whisper.
Her breath hitches and the sound travels straight to my groin.
“Are you flirting with me?” she asks.
“I hope so.”
“Will you test my stamina later?” Her voice is low and sultry.
Oh, Ana. Desire streaks through my body like lightning.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
“I’m so glad to hear that, Christian Grey.”
She’s far too good at this game. “I’m so happy you called me,” I say. “Made my day.”
“I aim to please.” She giggles. “I must call your personal trainer, so I can keep up with you!”
I laugh. “Bastille will be delighted.”
She’s silent for a moment. “Thank you for making me feel better.”
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
“It is. And you do it well.”
I bask in her loving words. Ana, you make me feel whole.
There’s a knock on my door, and I know it’s either Andrea or Sarah with my lunch.
“I’ve got to go.”
“Thank you, Christian,” she says.
“For what?”
“Being you. Oh, one more thing. The news of you buying SIP is still embargoed, isn’t it?”
“Yes, for another three weeks.”
“Okay. I’ll try and remember that.”
“Do. Laters, baby.”
“Okay. Laters, Christian.”
Andrea and Sarah have gone all out today. I have my favorite sandwich—turkey club with a pickle on the side—a sprinkling of salad, and some potato chips, all served on a tray with GEH linen, a cut crystal highball glass with sparkling water, and a matching vase sporting a perky pink rose.
“Thanks,” I mutter, bemused, as they both fuss setting up the tray.
“Pleasure, Mr. Grey,” Andrea says with a smile that is becoming less rare. They both seem strangely distracted and a little skittish today. What are they up to?
While I tuck into lunch I check my messages. There’s another one from Elena.
Shit.
Elena
Call me. Please.
Elena
Call me. I’m going crazy.
Elena
I don’t know what to say.
I’ve been thinking about what happened all weekend.
And I don’t know why things got so out of control.
I’m sorry. Call me.
Elena
Please answer my calls.
I have to deal with her. My parents want me to cut ties with Mrs. Lincoln, and frankly I don’t know how we come back from all that we spewed at each other on Saturday evening.
I said some pretty awful things.
So did she.
It’s time to end it.
I told Ana I would gift Elena the company.
I scroll through my contacts and find the number of my personal lawyer. Ironically, it was Elena who first put us in touch. Debra Kingston is a commercial lawyer who also happens to enjoy the same lifestyle that I do. She’s drafted all my D/s contracts and NDAs, and handled my dealings with Mrs. Lincoln and our joint business.
I press call.
“Christian, good afternoon. Long time no speak. I understand congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks, Debra.”
Jesus! She knows, too.
“What can I do for you?”
“I want to gift the salon business to Elena Lincoln.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice rings with disbelief.
“You heard me right. I want to gift the business to Elena. I’d like you to draw up a contract. Everything. Loans. Property. Assets. All of it. It’s all hers.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’re cutting ties?”
“I am. I want nothing to do with it. No liabilities.”
“Christian, as your lawyer I have to ask, are you sure you want to do this? This is an incredibly generous gift. You stand to lose hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“Debra, I’m well aware of that.”
She huffs into the phone. “Okay, if you insist. I’ll send over a draft in the next couple of days.”
“Thank you. And I want to conduct all correspondence with her through you.”
“You two have really fallen out.”
I am not going to discuss my private life with Debra. Well, not this aspect of
my private life.
“I get it,” she adds. “Keeping the ball and chain happy?”
What. The. Hell?
“Debra, just do the fucking contract.”
Her response is tight-lipped. “Very well, Christian. And I’ll let Mrs. Lincoln know.”
“Good. Thank you.”
That should get Elena off my back.
I hang up.
Whoa. I’ve done it.
And it feels good. A relief. I’ve just kissed good-bye to a small fortune by GEH standards, but I owe her that much. Without her there would be no GEH.
“I’ve been thinking about our recent conversation, Christian.”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“You, leaving Harvard. I’ll lend you $100,000 to start your business.”
“You’d do that?”
“Christian, I have every faith in you. You are destined to be a master of the universe. It will be a loan and you can pay me back.”
“Elena… I…”
“You can thank me by showing me what you learned earlier today. You top. I’ll bottom. Don’t mark me.”
I shake my head; so began my training as a Dominant. My success as a businessman is tied to my lifestyle choice. I smirk at the pun and then frown. I can’t believe I’ve never consciously made the connection before.
Shit. I can’t cower behind my desk. I owe her a call.
Showtime, Grey.
Reluctantly, I press her contact on my phone.
She answers on the first ring. “Christian, why haven’t you called me?”
“I’m calling you now.”
“What the hell is wrong with your mother and your…fiancée?” she sneers over that final word.
“Elena, this is a courtesy call. I’m gifting you the business. I’ve been in touch with Debra Kingston; she’s drawing up the paperwork. It’s over. We can’t do this anymore.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I mean it. I no longer have the energy for your bullshit. I asked you to leave Ana alone and you ignored my request. We reap what we sow, Mrs. Lincoln. It’s over. Don’t call me.”
“Chris—” I hear the alarm in her voice as I hang up.
My phone buzzes immediately, her name flashing on my screen. I switch it off and look over my to-do list.
I have about an hour before the press conference, so to take my mind off Elena, I pick up my office phone and call my brother.