Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian (39 page)

Christian Grey

CEO & Eye Roller,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

A few minutes later her reply pings into my inbox.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Eye Rolling

Date:
May 31 2011 19:14 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

Stop e-mailing me. I am trying to get ready for dinner. You are very distracting, even when you are on the other side of the continent. And yes—who spanks you when you roll your eyes?

Your Ana

Oh, Ana, you do.

All the time.

I remember her telling me to keep still and tugging my pubic hair while she was sitting astride me, naked. The thought is arousing.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Your Behind

Date:
May 31 2011 16:18

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I still prefer my title to yours, in so many different ways. It is lucky that I am master of my own destiny and no one castigates me. Except my mother, occasionally, and Dr. Flynn, of course. And you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I find myself drumming my fingers, waiting for her reply.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Chastising…Me?

Date:
May 31 2011 19:22 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Sir,

When have I ever plucked up the nerve to chastise you, Mr. Grey? I think you are mixing me up with someone else…which is very worrying. I really do have to get ready.

Your Ana

You.
You chastise me via e-mail at every opportunity—and how could I ever mix you up with anyone else?

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Your Behind

Date:
May 31 2011 16:25

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

You do it all the time in print. Can I zip up your dress?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
NC-17

Date:
May 31 2011 19:28 EST

To:
Christian Grey

I would rather you unzipped it.

Her words travel directly to my dick, passing “Go” on the way.

Fuck.

This calls for—what did she call them? SHOUTY CAPITALS.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Careful what you wish for…

Date:
May 31 2011 16:31

To:
Anastasia Steele

SO WOULD I.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Panting

Date:
May 31 2011 19:33 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Slowly…

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Groaning

Date:
May 31 2011 16:35

To:
Anastasia Steele

Wish I were there.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Moaning

Date:
May 31 2011 19:37 EST

To:
Christian Grey

SO DO I.

Who else can turn me on via e-mail?

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Moaning

Date:
May 31 2011 19:39 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Gotta go.

Laters, baby.

I smirk at her words.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Plagiarism

Date:
May 31 2011 16:41

To:
Anastasia Steele

You stole my line.

And left me hanging.

Enjoy your dinner.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Andrea knocks on the door with new schematics from Barney for the solar-power tablet we’re developing. She’s startled that I’m pleased to see her. “Thanks, Andrea.”

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Grey.” She gives me a curious smile. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Please.”

“Milk?”

“No thanks.”

MY DAY HAS IMPROVED
immensely. I have knocked Bastille on his ass twice in our two rounds of kickboxing. That never happens. As I slip on my jacket after my shower, I feel ready to face Elena and all her questions.

Taylor appears. “Would you like me to drive, sir?”

“No. I’ll take the R8.”

“Very good, sir.”

Before I leave I check my e-mail.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Who are you to cry thief?

Date:
May 31 2011 22:18 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Sir, I think you’ll find it was Elliot’s line originally.

Hanging how?

Your Ana

Is she flirting with me? Again?

And she’s my Ana. Again.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Unfinished Business

Date:
May 31 2011 19:22

To:
Anastasia Steele

Miss Steele,

You’re back. You left so suddenly—just when things were getting interesting.

Elliot’s not very original. He must have stolen that line from someone.

How was dinner?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I press send.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Unfinished Business?

Date:
May 31 2011 22:26 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Dinner was filling—you’ll be very pleased to hear I ate far too much.

Getting interesting? How?

I’m glad she’s eating…

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Unfinished Business—Definitely

Date:
May 31 2011 19:30

To:
Anastasia Steele

Are you being deliberately obtuse? I think you’d just asked me to unzip your dress.

And I was looking forward to doing just that. I am also glad to hear you are eating.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Well…There’s Always the Weekend

Date:
May 31 2011 22:36 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Of course I eat…It’s only the uncertainty I feel around you that puts me off my food.

And I would never be unwittingly obtuse, Mr. Grey.

Surely you’ve worked that out by now. ;)

She loses appetite around me? That’s not good. And she’s making fun of me.
Again.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Can’t Wait

Date:
May 31 2011 19:40

To:
Anastasia Steele

I shall remember that, Miss Steele, and no doubt use the knowledge to my advantage.

I’m sorry to hear that I put you off your food. I thought I had a more concupiscent effect on you. That has been my experience, and most pleasurable it has been, too.

I very much look forward to the next time.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Gymnastic Linguistics

Date:
May 31 2011 22:36 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Have you been playing with the thesaurus again?

I hoot with laughter.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Rumbled

Date:
May 31 2011 19:40

To:
Anastasia Steele

You know me so well, Miss Steele.

I am having dinner with an old friend now so I will be driving.

Laters, baby©.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

As much as I’d like to keep up the banter with Ana, I don’t want to be late for dinner. If I were, Elena would be displeased. I power down my computer, collect my wallet and phone, and take the elevator to the garage.

THE MILE HIGH CLUB
is on the penthouse floor of Columbia Tower. The sun is sinking toward the peaks of Olympic National Park, coloring the sky with an impressive fusion of oranges, pinks, and opals. It’s stunning. Ana would love this view. I should bring her here.

Elena is seated at a corner table. She gives me a small wave and a big smile. The maître d’ escorts me to her table, and she rises, presenting her cheek to me.

“Hello, Christian,” she purrs.

“Good evening, Elena. You’re looking great, as usual.” I kiss her cheek. She tosses her sleek platinum hair to one side, which she does when she’s feeling playful.

“Sit,” she says. “What would you like to drink?” Her fingers and her trademark scarlet fingernails are wrapped around a champagne flute.

“I see you’ve started on the Cristal.”

“Well, I think we’ve got something to celebrate, don’t you?”

“We do?”

“Christian. This girl. Spill the beans.”

“I’ll have a glass of the Mendocino sauvignon blanc,” I tell the hovering waiter. He nods and hurries off.

“So, not a cause for celebration?” Elena takes a sip of her champagne, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal of this.”

“I’m not making a big deal. I’m curious. How old is she? What does she do?”

“She’s just graduated.”

“Oh. A little young for you?”

I arch a brow. “Really? You’re going to go there?”

Elena laughs.

“How is Isaac?” I ask with a smirk.

She laughs again. “Behaving.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“How boring for you.” My voice is dry.

She smiles, resigned. “He’s a good pet. Shall we order?”

HALFWAY THROUGH THE CRAB
chowder I put Elena out of her misery.

“Her name is Anastasia, she studied literature at WSU, and I met her when she came to interview me for the student newspaper. I gave the commencement address this year.”

“Is she in the lifestyle?”

“Not yet. But I’m hopeful.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. She’s escaped to Georgia to think it through.”

“That’s a long way to go.”

“I know.” I look down at my chowder, wondering how Ana is and what she’s doing; sleeping, I hope…alone. When I raise my head Elena is studying me. Intently.

“I haven’t seen you like this,” she says.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re distracted. That’s not like you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

She nods, her eyes softening. “Obvious to me. I think she’s turned your world upside down.”

I inhale sharply but hide the fact by raising my glass to my lips.

Perceptive, Mrs. Lincoln.

“You think?” I murmur after my sip.

“I think,” she says, her eyes searching mine.

“She’s very disarming.”

“I’m sure that’s novel. And I bet you’re worrying about what she’s doing in Georgia, what she’s thinking. I know how you are.”

“Yes. I want her to make the right decision.”

“You should go and see her.”

“What?”

“Get on a plane.”

“Really?”

“If she’s undecided. Go use your considerable charm.”

My snort is derisive.

“Christian,” she scolds, “when you want something badly enough, you go after it and you always win. You know that. You’re so negative about yourself. Drives me crazy.”

I sigh. “I’m not sure.”

“The poor girl is probably bored to tears down there. Go. You’ll get your answer. If it’s no, you can move on, if it’s yes, you can enjoy being yourself with her.”

“She’s back Friday.”

“Seize the day, my dear.”

“She did say she missed me.”

“There you go.” Her eyes flash with certainty.

“I’ll think about it. More champagne?”

“Please,” she says, and gives me a girlish grin.

DRIVING BACK TO ESCALA,
I contemplate Elena’s advice. I
could
go to see Ana. She said she’s missed me…the jet’s available.

Back home I read her latest e-mail.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Suitable Dinner Companions

Date:
May 31 2011 23:58 EST

To:
Christian Grey

I hope you and your friend had a very pleasant dinner.

Ana

P.S. Was it Mrs. Robinson?

Shit.

This is the perfect excuse. This is going to need an answer in person.

I buzz Taylor and tell him I’m going to need Stephan and the Gulfstream in the morning.

“Very good, Mr. Grey. Where are you going?”

“
We’re
going to Savannah.”

“Yes, sir.” And there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 1, 2011

It’s been an interesting morning. We left Boeing Field at 11:30 PST; Stephan is flying with his first officer, Jill Beighley, and we’re due to arrive in Georgia at 19:30 EST.

Bill has managed to arrange a meeting with the Savannah Brownfield Redevelopment Authority tomorrow, and I might be meeting them for a drink this evening. So if Anastasia is otherwise occupied, or doesn’t want to see me, the journey won’t be a complete waste of time.

Yeah, yeah. Tell yourself that, Grey.

Taylor has joined me for a light lunch and is now sorting through some paperwork, and I have a whole lot of reading to do.

The only part of the equation I’ve yet to solve is arranging to see Ana. I’ll see how that goes once I arrive in Savannah; I’m hoping some inspiration will come to me on the flight.

I run my hand through my hair, and for the first time in a long while I lie back and doze as the G550 cruises at thirty thousand feet, bound for Savannah/Hilton Head International. The drone of the engines is soothing, and I’m tired. So tired.

That would be the nightmares, Grey.

I don’t know why they are worse at the moment. I close my eyes.

“This is how you will be with me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She runs a scarlet fingernail across my chest.

I flinch and pull against the restraints as the darkness surfaces, burning my skin in the wake of her touch. But I don’t make a sound.

I don’t dare.

“If you behave, I’ll let you come. In my mouth.”

Fuck.

“But not yet. We’ve got a long way to go before then.”

Her fingernail blazes down my skin, from the top of my sternum to my navel.

I want to scream.

She grabs my face, squeezing open my mouth, and kisses me.

Her tongue demanding and wet.

She brandishes the leather flogger.

And I know this will be tough to endure.

But I have my eye on the prize. Her fucking mouth.

As the first lash falls and blisters across my skin, I welcome the pain and the endorphin rush.

“Mr. Grey, we’ll be landing in twenty minutes,” Taylor informs me, startling me awake. “Are you okay, sir?”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

“Would you like some water?”

“Please.” I take a deep breath to bring my heart rate down, and Taylor passes me a glass of cold Evian. I take a welcome sip, glad that it’s just Taylor on board. It’s not often I dream about my heady days with Mrs. Lincoln.

Out of the window the sky is blue, the sparse clouds pinking with the early-evening sun. The light up here is brilliant. Golden. Tranquil. The sinking sun reflecting off the cumulus clouds. For a moment I wish I were in my sailplane. I bet the thermals are fantastic up here.

Yes!

That’s what I should do: take Ana soaring. That would be
more,
wouldn’t it?

“Taylor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like to take Anastasia soaring in Georgia—at dawn tomorrow, if we can find somewhere to do that. But later would be fine, too.” If it’s later I’ll have to move my meeting.

“I’ll get on it.”

“Never mind the cost.”

“Okay, sir.”

“Thanks.”

Now I just have to tell Ana.

THERE ARE TWO CARS
waiting for us when the G550 comes to a halt on the tarmac near the Signature Flight Support terminal at the airport. Taylor and I step out of the plane and into the suffocating heat.

Hell,
it’s sticky, even at this time.

The rep hands the keys for both cars to Taylor. I raise a brow at him. “Ford Mustang?”

“It’s all I could find in Savannah at short notice.” Taylor looks sheepish.

“At least it’s a red convertible. Though in this heat I hope it has AC.”

“It should have everything, sir.”

“Good. Thanks.” I take the keys from him and, grabbing my messenger bag, leave him to unload the rest of the luggage from the plane into his Suburban.

I shake hands with Stephan and Beighley and thank them for a smooth flight. In the Mustang, I cruise out of the airport and onward to downtown Savannah, listening to Bruce on my iPod through the car sound system.

ANDREA HAS BOOKED ME
into a suite at the Bohemian Hotel, which looks out over the Savannah River. It’s dusk and the view from the balcony is impressive: the river is luminous, reflecting the graduated colors of the sky and the lights on the suspension bridge and the docks. The sky is incandescent, the colors shaded from deep purple to a rosy pink.

It’s almost as striking as twilight over the Sound.

But I don’t have time to stand here and admire the view. I set up my laptop, crank the air-conditioning to full blast, and call Ros for an update.

“Why the sudden interest in Georgia, Christian?”

“It’s personal.”

She huffs down the phone. “Since when have you let your personal life interfere with business?”

Since I met Anastasia Steele.

“I don’t like Detroit,” I snap.

“Okay.” She backs off.

“I might meet the Savannah Brownfield liaison for a drink later,” I add, attempting to placate her.

“Whatever, Christian. There are a few other things we need to talk about. The aid has arrived in Rotterdam. Do you still want to go ahead?”

“Yes. Let’s get it done. I made a commitment at the End Global Hunger launch. This needs to happen before I can face that committee again.”

“Okay. Any further thoughts on the publishing acquisition?”

“I’m still undecided.”

“I think SIP has some potential.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Let me think about it for a while longer.”

“I’m seeing Marco to discuss the Lucas Woods situation.”

“Okay, let me know how that goes. Call me later.”

“Will do. Bye for now.”

I’m avoiding the inevitable. I know this. But I decide it would be better to tackle Miss Steele—via e-mail or phone, I’ve yet to decide which—on a full stomach, so I order dinner. While I’m waiting there’s a text from Andrea letting me know my drinks appointment is off. I’m fine with that. I’ll see them tomorrow morning, provided I’m not soaring with Ana.

Before room service arrives, Taylor calls.

“Mr. Grey.”

“Taylor. Are you checked in?”

“Yes, sir. Your luggage will be on its way up in a moment.”

“Great.”

“The Brunswick Soaring Association has a glider free. I’ve asked Andrea to fax through your flying credentials to them. Once the paperwork’s signed, we’re good to go.”

“Great.”

“They’ll do anytime from six a.m.”

“Even better. Have them ready from then. Send me the address.”

“Will do.”

There’s a knock on the door—my luggage and room service have arrived simultaneously. The food smells delicious: fried green tomatoes and shrimp and grits. Well, I’m in the South.

While I eat I contemplate my strategy with Ana. I could pay a visit to her mom’s tomorrow at breakfast. Bring bagels. Then take her soaring. That’s probably the best plan. She hasn’t been in touch all day, so I guess she’s mad. I reread her last message once I’ve finished dinner.

What the hell has she got against Elena? She knows nothing about our relationship. What we had happened a long time ago and now we’re just friends. What right does Ana have to be mad?

And if it wasn’t for Elena, God knows what would have happened to me.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s Taylor.

“Good evening, sir. Happy with your room?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

“I have the paperwork for the Brunswick Soaring Association here.”

I scan the hire agreement. It looks fine. I sign it and give it back to him. “I’ll drive myself tomorrow. I’ll see you there?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be there from six.”

“I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

“Shall I unpack for you, sir?”

“Please. Thanks.”

He nods and takes my suitcase into the bedroom.

I’m restless, and I need to get what I’m going to say to Ana clear in my mind. I glance at my watch; it’s twenty past nine. I’ve left this really late. Perhaps I should have a quick drink first. I leave Taylor to unpack and decide to check out the hotel bar before I speak to Ros again and write to Ana.

The rooftop bar is crowded, but I find a seat at the end of the counter and order a beer. It’s a hip, contemporary place, with moody lighting and a relaxed vibe. I scan the bar, avoiding eye contact with the two women sitting next to me…and a movement captures my attention: a frustrated flip of glossy mahogany hair that catches and refracts the light.

It’s Ana. Fuck.

She’s facing away from me, seated opposite a woman who could only be her mother. The resemblance is striking.

What are the fucking odds?

In all the gin joints…
Jesus.

I watch them, transfixed. They’re drinking cocktails—Cosmopolitans, by the look of them. Her mother is stunning: like Ana, but older; she looks late thirties, with long, dark hair, and eyes that are Ana’s shade of blue. She has a bohemian vibe about her…not someone I’d automatically associate with the golf club set. Perhaps she’s dressed that way because she’s out with her young, beautiful daughter.

This is priceless.

Seize the day, Grey.

I fish my phone out of my jeans pocket. It’s time to e-mail Ana. This should be interesting. I’ll test her mood…and I get to watch.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Dinner Companions

Date:
June 1 2011 21:40 EST

To:
Anastasia Steele

Yes, I had dinner with Mrs. Robinson. She is just an old friend, Anastasia.

Looking forward to seeing you again. I miss you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Her mother looks earnest; maybe she’s concerned for her daughter, or maybe she’s trying to extract information from her.

Good luck, Mrs. Adams.

And for a moment I wonder if they’re discussing me. Her mother stands; it looks like she’s visiting the restroom. Ana checks her purse and pulls out her BlackBerry.

Here we go…

She begins to read, her shoulders hunched over, her fingers flexing and drumming on the table. She starts tapping furiously at the keys. I can’t see her face, which is frustrating, but I don’t think she’s impressed with what she’s just read. A moment later she abandons the phone on the table in what appears to be disgust.

That’s not good.

Her mother returns and signals one of the waiters for another round of drinks. I wonder how many they’ve had.

I check my phone, and sure enough, there’s a response.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
OLD Dinner Companions

Date:
June 1 2011 21:42 EST

To:
Christian Grey

She’s not just an old friend.

Has she found another adolescent boy to sink her teeth into?

Did you get too old for her?

Is that the reason your relationship finished?

What the hell?
My temper simmers as I read.

Isaac is in his late twenties.

Like me.

How dare she?

Is it the drink talking?

Time to declare yourself, Grey.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Careful…

Date:
June 1 2011 21:45 EST

To:
Anastasia Steele

This is not something I wish to discuss via e-mail.

How many Cosmopolitans are you going to drink?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

She studies her phone, sits up suddenly, and looks around the room.

Showtime, Grey.

I deposit ten bucks on the counter and saunter over to them.

Our eyes meet. She blanches—shocked, I think—and I don’t know how she’ll greet me, or how I’ll contain my temper if she says anything else about Elena.

She tucks her hair behind her ears with restless fingers. A sure sign that she’s nervous. “Hi,” she says, her voice strained and high-pitched.

“Hi.” I lean down and kiss her cheek. She smells amazing, even if she does tense as my lips brush her skin. She looks lovely; she’s caught some sun, and she’s not wearing a bra. Her breasts are straining against the silky material of her top, but hidden by her long hair.

For my eyes only, I hope.

And even though she’s mad, I’m glad to see her. I’ve missed her.

“Christian, this is my mother, Carla.” Ana gestures to her mom.

“Mrs. Adams, I am delighted to meet you.”

Her mom’s eyes are all over me.

Shit!
She’s checking me out
. Best ignore it, Grey.

After a longer-than-necessary pause, she reaches out to shake my hand. “Christian.”

“What are you doing here?” Ana asks, her tone accusatory.

“I came to see you, of course. I’m staying in this hotel.”

“You’re staying here?” she squeaks.

Yes. I can’t quite believe it, either.
“Well, yesterday you said you wished I was here.” I’m trying to gauge her reaction. So far there’s been: nervous fidgeting, tensing, an accusatory tone, and a strained voice. This is not going well. “We aim to please, Miss Steele,” I add, deadpan, hoping to put her in a good mood.

“Won’t you join us for a drink, Christian?” Mrs. Adams says graciously, and catches the eye of the waiter.

I need something stronger than beer. “I’ll have a gin and tonic,” I tell the waiter. “Hendrick’s, if you have it, or Bombay Sapphire. Cucumber with the Hendrick’s, lime with the Bombay.”

“And two more Cosmos, please,” Ana adds, with an anxious look at me.

She’s right to be anxious. I think she’s had enough to drink already.

“Please pull up a chair, Christian.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Adams.”

I do as she asks, and sit down beside Ana.

“So you just happen to be staying in the hotel where we’re drinking?” Ana’s tone is tense.

“Or you just happen to be drinking in the hotel where I’m staying. I just finished dinner, came in here, and saw you. I was distracted, thinking about your most recent e-mail”—I give her a pointed look—“and I glance up and there you are. Quite a coincidence, eh?”