by James, E L
Together.
Us.
As one.
And when she falls apart in my arms, she takes me with her.
“Ana!”
She nuzzles my chest and I tense, waiting for the darkness, so she stops and raises her head. “As much as I liked your impromptu striptease and its aftermath, are you going to give me the weather report that you mentioned in your missives, and tell me what’s wrong?”
I trail my fingertips up and down her back. “Can we eat first?”
She smiles. “Yes. I’m hungry. And maybe I need another shower.”
I grin. “I like making you dirty.” I sit up and slap her backside. “Up! I told Gail we’d be half an hour.”
“You did?” Ana is scandalized.
“I did.” I grin.
Mrs. Jones’s Thai green curry is delicious, as is the glass of Chablis we’re enjoying with it. “So, the initial report came back from the FAA, and it will go public at some point.”
“Oh?” Ana looks up from her meal.
“It appears that Charlie Tango was tampered with.”
“Sabotage?”
“Exactly. I’ve upped our security arrangements until we nail who’s responsible. And I think it’s better if you stay here for now.”
She nods, her eyes round with alarm.
“We have to be vigilant.”
“Okay.”
I arch a brow.
“I can do that,” she adds hastily.
Good. That was easy.
But she looks stricken.
“Hey, don’t worry,” I murmur. “I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s you.”
“Taylor and his people are all over this. Don’t worry.”
She frowns and places her fork on her plate.
“And don’t stop eating.”
Ana toys with her bottom lip and I reach across to clutch her hand. “Ana. It’s going to be okay. Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to you.” I change the subject, hoping to move us to a safer topic. “How was Bastille?”
Her expression lightens, with her fond smile. “He was good. Thorough. I think I’m going to enjoy my sessions with him.”
“I look forward to sparring with you.”
“I thought we did that already, Christian.”
I laugh. Ah, touché, Anastasia…touché.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The morning sun is streaming through my office window as Ros enters, and we sit down at my small conference table. “How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Good, thanks, Christian. I think I’ve fully recovered from last week’s crash-landing helicopter escapade.”
“Your feet?”
She laughs. “Yes. Blisters are under control. You?”
“Yes, thanks. I think so. Though knowing it’s sabotage is a bitch.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Have you considered a disgruntled employee?”
“Welch’s team is scrutinizing all the employee and ex-employee files to see if they can turn up any likely suspects. We’ve only identified Jack Hyde, the guy I fired at SIP.”
“The book editor?” Ros’s disbelief is obvious from her high-pitched exclamation. Her shocked expression almost makes me laugh.
“Yes.”
“Seems unlikely.”
“It does. Welch is trying to track him down, as it appears he’s not been to his apartment since I fired him. He’s following up on that.”
“Woods?” she offers, as if suddenly inspired.
“He’s definitely a suspect. Again, Welch is investigating.”
“Whoever it is, I hope you catch the bastard.”
“I hope so, too.” Sooner rather than later. “What’s first on your agenda this morning?”
“Kavanagh Media. We need to crack on with this deal. Have you approved the costs?”
“I know. I know. I have a couple of queries, which I’ll discuss with Fred. But once I’ve done that, our final proposal can go. If their people approve the cost per foot, we can start on the fiber optic surveys.”
“Okay. I’ll hold off until you’ve checked with Fred.”
“I’m seeing him later. I’ll discuss it then. He’s showing me his latest iteration of the tablet. I think we’re ready for the next prototype.”
“That’s good news. Have you thought about the next step with Taiwan?”
“I read the reports. They’re interesting. It’s obvious their shipyard is thriving, and I understand why they want to expand. But what I can’t get a handle on is why they’re looking to the U.S. for investment.”
“Uncle Sam is on our side,” Ros asserts.
“True. I’m sure there will be tax advantages, but it’s a big step to move some of our construction effort out of Seattle. I need to know they’re solid, and that it works for GEH.”
“Christian, it’ll be cheaper in the long run. You know this.”
“Undoubtedly, and with the price of steel climbing as it is right now, it might be the only way to keep the GEH shipyard open long term and retain jobs here.”
“I think we should do a full impact assessment on what this will mean for our shipyard and the workforce.”
“Yes.” I respond. “That’s a smart idea.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Marco and get his team on it. But I don’t think we can stall for too long. They’ll go elsewhere.”
“I get it. What’s next?”
“The plant. Detroit. Bill has identified three potential brownfield sites and we’re waiting for you to make a decision.” She gives me a pointed look; she knows I’ve been procrastinating.
Why the fuck does it have to be Detroit?
I sigh. “Okay. I know Detroit is offering the best incentives. Let’s do a comparative cost analysis, then talk through the pros and cons of each site. Let’s try and get that done by next week.”
“Okay. Good.”
We move on to discuss Woods once more, and what legal recourse we’re going to take, if any, for his disregard of our NDA.
“I think he’s hung himself,” I mutter with disdain. “The press has not been kind to him.”
“I’ve drafted a letter and threatened legal action.”
“And expressed our disappointment?”
She laughs. “Yes.”
“Let’s see if that shuts him up. Asshole,” I mumble under my breath, but Ros frowns in disapproval at my epithet.
“He is an asshole,” I exclaim in my defense. “And he’s a suspect.”
Ever the professional, Ros ignores my rudeness. “On a personal note—we’re on track for your house purchase. You’ll need to put the money in escrow. I’ll send you the details and we can proceed with the surveys.”
“I told my contractor that we’ll start them next week, though I’m not sure I need them. I’ll be making changes to the house.”
“It can’t do any harm. It would be good for your contractor to know what they’re up against.”
I nod. “You’re right.”
Her brows knit together once more. “You know, I’ve been thinking.” She pauses.
“What?”
“Given the threat to your life, have you thought about installing a panic room in your apartment?”
I’m taken aback. “No, it’s never occurred to me. I live in a penthouse. But you’re right, maybe I should now.”
Her smile is grim. “My work here is done.”
“Not quite.” From under the table I grab the Nordstrom bag that Taylor delivered earlier this morning. “These are for you. As promised.”
“What?” Ros frowns, puzzled, as she takes the bag and peeks inside.
“Manolos,�
� I say. “Your size, hopefully.”
“Christian, you—” she protests.
I hold up my hands. “I gave you my word. I hope they fit.”
She inclines her head and regards me with what looks like affection. It’s unnerving. “Thank you,” she says. “And for the record, in spite of what happened, I would fly with you again, anytime.”
Wow. That is the greatest compliment.
After she’s left, I sit down at my desk and call Vanessa Conway in Procurement. I’ve been meaning to do this for a couple of days.
“Mr. Grey,” she answers.
“Hi, Vanessa, this is a tall order, but here goes: after my helicopter went down Ros and I were rescued by a guy named Seb, who drove a semi. He’s a one-man operation. I don’t know if we could use him—he drives a huge rig.”
“You want me to contact him?”
“I do. But you’ll need to find him first. I don’t have his details.”
“Hmm. I’ll see what I can do.”
“He travels mostly between Portland and Seattle. I think.”
“Okay. Leave it with me.”
“Thanks, Vanessa.” I hang up and wish once more that Seb had given me a card. At least he has mine, if he hasn’t thrown it away. I’d like to repay him somehow.
I turn to my computer to check my e-mails. There’s one from Ana.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Missing you
Date: June 23 2011 11:03
To: Christian Grey
That is all.
Axx
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing you more
Date: June 23 2011 11:33
To: Anastasia Steele
I wish you’d change your mind and move the rest of your things to Escala this weekend.
You’re with me every night as it is and what’s the point in paying rent for a place that you never stay in?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I’ve been subtly trying to persuade Ana to move in full-time. But as of yet, she refuses. Why is she hesitating over this? Since she arrived in Seattle, she’s hardly lived in her own apartment. She’s agreed to marry me…but not to this? I don’t get it. It’s irritating.
Move in with me, Ana.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Stay With Me
Date: June 23 2011 11:39
To: Christian Grey
Nice try, Grey.
I have some wonderful memories of you in my apartment.
I told you. I want more.
I always want more.
Stay with me there.
Axx
Oh, Ana, Ana, Ana. You always want more. And I would, if we were safe.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your Safety
Date: June 23 2011 11:42
To: Anastasia Steele
Means more to me right now than making memories.
I can keep you safe in my Ivory Tower.
Please reconsider.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
PS: I hope you like the wedding planner.
My mother is meeting us tonight at Escala with The Wedding Planner. This is not how I would like to spend the evening. Why couldn’t we just go to Vegas and get married? We’d be husband and wife by now. I might feel happier about it if Ana would stop procrastinating about moving in.
Why is she reluctant?
Does she need her apartment as a bolt hole, just in case she changes her mind?
Fuck.
Doubt is an ugly word, for an ugly feeling.
Why won’t she fully commit?
Enough, Grey.
She’s agreed to marry you!
To distract myself from these unsettling thoughts, I pick up the phone to call Welch for an update on the investigation into the crash, to ask if he’s located Jack Hyde, and to inquire about panic rooms.
Taylor will not let me walk to or from the mayor’s office, so after a long lunch with the mayor, I reluctantly climb into the back of the Audi for the short drive back to Grey House. I’m not sure I appreciate him flapping around me like a mother hen. It’s suffocating. I let out a long, slow breath, remembering Ana accusing me of doing precisely that.
Hell. I hope she’s tolerating Sawyer’s watchful eye.
On the plus side, Taylor has advised me to stop playing golf. Apparently there are too many trees surrounding the golf course where an assassin could find cover. I’m not a fan of the sport, so it’s no hardship to give it up, though I believe Taylor is being a tad dramatic.
Glancing up through the panoramic sunroof, I catch a glimpse of brilliant summer blue above the steel and glass of downtown Seattle. For a moment I wish I was up there.
The freedom of walking on air.
I need to get back up there with Ana. We’d be safe in a sailplane, soaring the skies. And no longer under the ever-present vigilance of our security. The idea is extremely appealing. Only thing is, if I want to take Ana, I need a new sailplane, a model made for two. I rub my hands with glee, as this presents my kind of shopping opportunity. I fish my phone out of my pocket and start scouring the Alexander Schleicher website for their latest aircraft designs.
“Thank you so much, Christian, Ana. It has been wonderful to meet you, and you’re going to have the most magical wedding.”
“Thank you, Alondra,” Grace coos. “I love your ideas.” My mother claps her hands in uncharacteristic enthusiasm while I make a supreme effort to keep my smile fixed and not roll my eyes. I am on my best behavior. Ms. Gutierrez’s ideas are great. I just want them done, and quickly, so we can get married.
“I’ll see you out,” Ana says, and leads her to the foyer.
“What do you think?” Grace asks.
“She’s fine.”
“Oh, Christian.” Mom sounds irritated. “She’s much more than fine.”
“Okay. She’s God’s gift to wedding planning.” My sarcasm bleeds into my words. Grace’s lips thin and I think she’s about to scold me, but Ana reenters the room.
“What did you think?” Ana asks, her gaze searching my face for answers.
“I thought she was fine. Did you like her?” That’s the important question.
“Of course. I thought she was full of imaginative ideas. Dr. Gre—”
“Ana, please. Call me Grace.”
“Grace,” Ana says with an embarrassed smile. “So, we need to do a save-the-date note to all our guests?” Ana blinks rapidly, suddenly looking shell-shocked. “We don’t even have a guest list,” she whispers.
“That’s easily done,” I reassure her. Apart from the family, I think I have two guests: Ros and Dr. Flynn and their respective partners. Maybe Bastille…and Mac.
“There is one more thing,” Grace says.
“What?”
“I know you don’t want a Catholic ceremony, but would you consider asking Reverend Michael Walsh to officiate?”
Reverend Walsh. The name rings a bell.
“He’s the chaplain at my hospital. He’s such a dear friend, and I know you never saw eye to eye with any of the priests we know.”
“Oh, yes. I remember him. He was always kind to me. I don’t want a religious ceremony, but I’m fine with him conducting it, if that’s okay with Ana.”
Ana nods, a little pale; she looks overwhelmed.
“That’s great. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll leave you two to get on with a list.” Grace raises her cheek to me and I give her a quick peck. “Good-bye, darling,” she says. “Ana, good-bye. I’ll call.”
“Great,” Ana replies, though I think she lacks conviction. Is she not happy with the wedding planner? Is she as bewildered
as I feel? I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, and together we walk my mother out to the foyer. Grace turns to me as we wait for the elevator.
“Please call your father, Christian.”
I sigh. “I’ll think about it.”
“Stop sulking,” she warns, quietly.
“Grace!” Back off.
Ana glances at the two of us, but wisely holds her tongue and says nothing. I’m saved by the ping of the elevator and its opening doors. I reach for Ana’s hand as Grace steps inside. “Good night,” she says, and the doors close.
“You’re not talking to your father?” Ana asks.
I shrug. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.”
“Is this from last weekend? Your fight with him?”
I return her curious gaze, but say nothing. This is between him and me.
“Christian, he’s your dad. He’s only looking out for you.”
I hold up my hand in the hope that she’ll stop. “I don’t want to discuss this.” She folds her arms and raises that stubborn Steele chin. “Anastasia. Drop it.”
Her eyes flash cobalt blue, but she sighs and lowers her arms, regarding me with what I think is a mixture of frustration and compassion.
Fifty Shades, baby.
“We have another issue,” she says. “My dad wants to pay for the wedding.”
“Does he, now?”
No way. It will cost a fortune, which he doesn’t have. I’m not bankrupting my father-in-law. “I think that’s out of the question.”
“What? Why?” Ana’s hackles are up.
“Baby, you know why.” I don’t want to debate this. “The answer’s no.”
“But—”
“No.”
Her mouth forms that mulish line I know so well.
“Ana, you have carte blanche on this wedding. Whatever you want. But not that. You know it’s not fair to your father. It’s 2011, not 1911.”
She sighs. “I don’t know what I’ll say to him.”
“Tell him my heart is set on providing everything for us. Tell him it’s a deep-seated need that I have.”
Because that’s the truth.
She sighs again, resigned, I think.
“Now, shall we work on the guest list?” I ask, in the hope that starting this process will relieve her anxiety and also distract her from Ray.