Fifty Shades of Grey — Chapter no 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The candle ame is too hot. It ickers and dances in the over- warm breeze, a breeze that brings no respite from the heat. Soft gossamer wings utter to and fro in the dark, sprinkling dusty scales in the circle of light. I’m struggling to resist, but I’m drawn. And then it’s so bright, and I am ying too close to the sun, dazzled by the light, fried and melting from the heat, weary in my endeavors to stay airborne. I am so warm. The heat … it’s stiing, overpowering.

It wakes me.

I open my eyes, and I’m draped in Christian Grey. He’s wrapped around me like a victory ag. He’s fast asleep with his head on my chest, his arm over me, holding me close, one of his legs thrown over and hooked around both of mine. He’s suocating me with his body heat, and he’s heavy. I take a moment to absorb that he’s still in my bed and fast asleep, and it’s light outside—morning. He has spent the whole night with me.

My right arm is stretched, no doubt in search of a cool spot, and as I process the fact that he’s still with me, the thought occurs that I can touch him. He’s asleep. Tentatively, I lift my hand and run the tips of my ngers down his back. Deep in his throat, I hear a faint, distressed groan, and he stirs. He nuzzles my chest, inhaling deeply as he wakes. Sleepy, blinking gray eyes meet mine beneath his tousled mop of hair.

“Good morning,” he mumbles, and frowns. “Jesus, even in my sleep I’m drawn to you.” He moves slowly, unpeeling his limbs from me as he gets his bearings. I become aware of his erection against my hip. He notices my wide-eyed reaction, and he smiles a slow, sexy smile.

“Hmm … this has possibilities, but I think we should wait until Sunday.” He leans down and nuzzles my ear with his nose.

I ush, but then I feel seven shades of scarlet from his heat.

“You’re very hot,” I murmur.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he murmurs, and presses himself against me, suggestively.

I ush some more. That’s not what I meant. He props himself up on his elbow, gazing down at me, amused. He bends and, to my surprise, plants a gentle kiss on my lips.

“Sleep well?” he asks.

I nod, staring up at him, and I realize that I’ve slept very well except maybe for the last half hour when I was too hot.

“So did I.” He frowns. “Yes, really well.” He raises his eyebrows in

confused surprise. “What’s the time?”

I glance at my alarm.

“It’s seven thirty.”

“Seven thirty … shit.” He scrambles out of bed and drags on his jeans.

It is my turn to look amused as I sit up. Christian Grey is late and ustered. This is something I have never seen before. I belatedly realize that my behind is no longer sore.

“You are such a bad inuence on me. I have a meeting. I have to go—I have to be in Portland at eight. Are you smirking at me?”

“Yes.”

He grins. “I’m late. I don’t do late. Another rst, Miss Steele.” He pulls on his jacket and then bends down and grasps my head, his hands on either side.

“Sunday,” he says, and the word is pregnant with an unspoken promise. Everything deep in my body uncurls and then clenches in delicious anticipation. The feeling is exquisite.

Holy hell, if my mind could just keep up with my body. He leans forward and kisses me quickly. He grabs his stu from my side table and his shoes—which he doesn’t put on.

“Taylor will come and sort your Beetle. I was serious. Don’t drive it. I’ll see you at my place on Sunday. I’ll e-mail you a time.” And like a whirlwind, he’s gone.

Christian Grey spent the night with me, and I feel rested. And there was no sex, only cuddling. He told me he never slept with anyone—but he’s slept three times with me. I grin and slowly climb out of my bed. I feel more optimistic than I have for the last day or so. I head for the kitchen, needing a cup of tea.

After breakfast, I shower and dress quickly for my last day at Clayton’s. It is the end of an era—good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Clayton, WSU, Vancouver, the apartment, my Beetle. I glance at the mean machine—it’s only 7:52. I have time.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Assault and Battery: The After-Eects

Date: May 27 2011 08:05

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

You wanted to know why I felt confused after you—which euphemism should we apply—spanked, punished, beat, assaulted me. Well, during the whole alarming

process, I felt demeaned, debased, and abused. And much to my mortication, you’re right, I was aroused, and that was unexpected. As you are well aware, all things sexual are new to me—I only wish I was more experienced and therefore more prepared. I was shocked to feel aroused.

What really worried me was how I felt afterward. And that’s more dicult to articulate. I was happy that you were happy. I felt relieved that it wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. And when I was lying in your arms, I felt … sated. But I feel very

uncomfortable, guilty even, feeling that way. It doesn’t sit well with me, and I’m confused as a result. Does that answer your question?

I hope the world of Mergers and Acquisitions is as stimulating as ever … and that you weren’t too late.

Thank you for staying with me.

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Free Your Mind

Date: May 27 2011 08:24

To: Anastasia Steele

Interesting … if slightly overstated title heading, Miss Steele.

To answer your points:

• I’ll go with spanking—as that’s what it was.

• So you felt demeaned, debased, abused, and assaulted—how very Tess Durbeyeld of

you. I believe it was you who decided on the debasement, if I remember correctly.

Do you really feel like this or do you think you ought to feel like this? Two very

dierent things. If that is how you feel, do you think you could just try to embrace these feelings, deal with them, for me? That’s what a submissive would do.

• I am grateful for your inexperience. I value it, and I’m only beginning to understand

what it means. Simply put … it means that you are mine in every way.

• Yes, you were aroused, which in turn was very arousing, there’s nothing wrong with that.

• Happy does not even begin to cover how I felt. Ecstatic joy comes close.

• Punishment spanking hurts far more than sensual spanking—so that’s about as hard as it gets, unless, of course, you commit some major transgression, in which case I’ll use

some implement to punish you with. My hand was very sore. But I like that.

• I felt sated, too—more so than you could ever know.

• Don’t waste your energy on guilt, feelings of wrongdoing, etc. We are consenting adults and what we do behind closed doors is between ourselves. You need to free your

mind and listen to your body.

• The world of M&A is not nearly as stimulating as you are, Miss Steele.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Holy crap … mine in every way. My breath hitches.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Consenting Adults!

Date: May 27 2011 08:26

To: Christian Grey

Aren’t you in a meeting?

I’m very glad your hand was sore.

And if I listened to my body, I’d be in Alaska by now.

Ana

P.S.: I will think about embracing these feelings.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: You Didn’t Call the Cops

Date: May 27 2011 08:35

To: Anastasia Steele

Miss Steele,

I am in a meeting discussing the futures market, if you’re really interested.

For the record, you stood beside me knowing what I was going to do.

You didn’t at any time ask me to stop—you didn’t use either safeword.

You are an adult—you have choices.

Quite frankly, I’m looking forward to the next time my palm is ringing with pain.

You’re obviously not listening to the right part of your body.

Alaska is very cold and no place to run. I would nd you.

I can track your cell phone—remember?

Go to work.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I scowl at the screen. He’s right, of course. It’s my choice. Hmm. Is

he serious about coming to nd me? Should I decide to escape for a while? My mind its briey to my mother’s oer. I hit “reply.”

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Stalker

Date: May 27 2011 08:36

To: Christian Grey

Have you sought therapy for your stalker tendencies?

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Stalker? Me?

Date: May 27 2011 08:38

To: Anastasia Steele

I pay the eminent Dr. Flynn a small fortune with regard to my stalker and other tendencies.

Go to work.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Expensive Charlatans

Date: May 27 2011 08:40

To: Christian Grey

May I humbly suggest you seek a second opinion? I am not sure that Dr. Flynn is very

eective.

Miss Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Second Opinions

Date: May 27 2011 08:43

To: Anastasia Steele

Not that it’s any of your business, humble or otherwise, but Dr. Flynn is the second opinion.

You will have to speed, in your new car, putting yourself at unnecessary risk—I think that’s against the rules.

GO TO WORK.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: SHOUTY CAPITALS

Date: May 27 2011 08:47

To: Christian Grey

As the object of your stalker tendencies, I think it is my business, actually.

I haven’t signed yet. So rules, schmules. And I don’t start until 9:30.

Miss Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Descriptive Linguistics

Date: May 27 2011 08:49

To: Anastasia Steele

“Schmules”? Not sure where that appears in Webster’s Dictionary.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Descriptive Linguistics

Date: May 27 2011 08:52

To: Christian Grey

It’s between control freak and stalker.

And descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me.

Will you stop bothering me now?

I’d like to go to work in my new car.

Ana

From: Christian Grey Subject: Challenging but Amusing Young Women

Date: May 27 2011 08:56 To: Anastasia Steele

My palm is twitching.

Drive safely, Miss Steele.

Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

The Audi is a joy to drive. It has power steering. Wanda, my Beetle, has no power in it at all—anywhere—so my daily workout, which was driving my Beetle, will cease. Oh, but I will have a personal trainer to contend with, according to Christian’s rules. I frown. I hate exercising.

While I am driving, I try to analyze our e-mail exchange. He’s a patronizing son of a bitch sometimes. And then I think of Grace and I feel guilty. But of course, she wasn’t his birth mother. Hmm, that’s a whole world of unknown pain. Well, patronizing son of a bitch works well, then. Yes. I’m an adult, thank you for reminding me, Christian Grey, and it is my choice. The problem is, I just want Christian, not all his … baggage—and right now he has a 747 cargo hold’s worth of baggage. Could I just lie back and embrace it? Like a submissive? I’ve said I’d try. It’s an awfully big ask.

I pull into the parking lot at Clayton’s. As I make my way in, I can hardly believe it’s my last day. Fortunately, the store is busy and

time passes quickly. At lunchtime, Mr. Clayton summons me from the stockroom. He’s standing beside a motorcycle courier.

“Miss Steele?” the courier asks. I frown questioningly at Mr.

Clayton, who shrugs, as puzzled as me. My heart sinks. What has Christian sent me now? I sign for the small package and open it immediately. It’s a BlackBerry. My heart sinks further. I switch it on.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: BlackBerry ON LOAN

Date: May 27 2011 11:15

To: Anastasia Steele

I need to be able to contact you at all times, and since this is your most honest form of communication, I gured you needed a BlackBerry.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Consumerism Gone Mad

Date: May 27 2011 13:22

To: Christian Grey

I think you need to call Dr. Flynn right now.

Your stalker tendencies are running wild.

I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home.

Thank you for yet another gadget.

I wasn’t wrong when I said you were the ultimate consumer.

Why do you do this?

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Sagacity from One So Young

Date: May 27 2011 13:24 To: Anastasia Steele

Fair point well made, as ever, Miss Steele.

Dr. Flynn is on vacation.

And I do this because I can.

Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I put the thing in my back pocket, hating it already. E-mailing Christian is addictive, but I am supposed to be working. It buzzes once against my behind … How apt, I think ironically, but summoning all my willpower, I ignore it.

At four, Mr. and Mrs. Clayton gather all the other employees in the shop and, during a hair-curlingly embarrassing speech, present me with a check for three hundred dollars. In that moment, all the events from the past three weeks well up inside of me: exams, graduation, an intense, fucked-up billionaire, deowering, hard and soft limits, playrooms with no consoles, helicopter rides, and the fact that I will move tomorrow. Amazingly, I hold myself together.

My subconscious is in awe. I hug the Claytons hard.

They have been kind and generous employers, and I will miss them.

KATE IS CLIMBING OUT of her car when I arrive home.

“What’s that?” she says accusingly, pointing at the Audi. I can’t resist.

“It’s a car,” I quip. She narrows her eyes, and for a brief moment, I wonder if she’s going to put me across her knee, too. “My graduation present.” I try to act nonchalant. Yes, I get expensive cars given to me every day. Her mouth drops open.

“Generous, over-the-top bastard, isn’t he?”

I nod. “I did try not to accept it, but frankly, it’s just not worth the ght.”

Kate purses her lips. “No wonder you’re overwhelmed. I did note

that he stayed.”

“Yeah.” I smile wistfully.

“Shall we nish packing?”

I nod and follow her inside. I check the e-mail from Christian.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Sunday

Date: May 27 2011 13:40 To: Anastasia Steele

Shall I see you at 1 p.m. Sunday?

The doctor will be at Escala to see you at 1:30.

I’m leaving for Seattle now.

I hope your move goes well, and I look forward to Sunday.

Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Jeez, he could be discussing the weather. I decide to e-mail him once we’ve nished packing. He can be such fun one minute, and

then he can be so formal and stuy the next. It’s dicult to keep up.

Honestly, it’s like an e-mail to an employee. I roll my eyes at it deantly and join Kate to pack.

KATE AND I ARE in the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door.

Taylor stands on the porch, looking immaculate in his suit. I notice the trace of ex-army in his buzz cut, his trim physique, and his cool stare.

“Miss Steele,” he says, “I’ve come for your car.”

“Oh yes, of course. Come in, I’ll get the keys.”

Surely this is above and beyond the call of duty. I wonder again at Taylor’s job description. I hand him the keys, and we walk in an uncomfortable silence—for me—toward the light blue Beetle. I open the door and remove the ashlight from the glove box. That’s it. I have nothing else that’s personal in Wanda. Good-bye, Wanda. Thank you. I caress her roof as I close the passenger door.

“How long have you worked for Mr. Grey?” I ask.

“Four years, Miss Steele.”

Suddenly, I have an overwhelming urge to bombard him with questions. What this man must know about Christian, all his secrets.

But then he’s probably signed an NDA. I look nervously at him. He has the same taciturn expression as Ray, and I warm to him.

“He’s a good man, Miss Steele,” he says with a smile. Then he gives me a little nod, climbs into my car, and drives away.

Apartment, Beetle, Clayton’s—it’s all change now. I shake my head as I wander back inside. And the biggest change of all is Christian Grey. Taylor thinks he’s a good man. Can I believe him?

JOSÉ JOINS US WITH Chinese takeout at eight. We’re done. We’re packed and ready to go. He brings several bottles of beer, and Kate and I sit on the couch while he’s cross-legged on the oor between us. We watch crap TV, drink beer, and, as the evening wears on, we fondly and loudly reminisce as the beer takes eect. It’s been a good four years.

The atmosphere between José and me has returned to normal, the attempted kiss forgotten. Well, it’s been swept under the rug that

my inner goddess is lying on, eating grapes and tapping her ngers, waiting not so patiently for Sunday. There’s a knock on the door, and my heart leaps into my throat. Is it …?

Kate answers the door and is nearly knocked o her feet by Elliot.

He seizes her in a Hollywood-style clinch that moves quickly into a European art house embrace. Honestly … get a room. José and I stare at each other. I’m appalled at their lack of modesty.

“Shall we walk down to the bar?” I ask José, who nods frantically.

We are too uncomfortable with the unrestrained sexing unfolding in front of us. Kate looks up at me, ushed and bright-eyed.

“José and I are going for a quick drink.” I roll my eyes at her. Ha!

I can still roll my eyes in my own time.

“Okay.” She grins.

“Hi, Elliot. Bye, Elliot.”

He winks a big blue eye at me, and José and I are out the door, giggling like teenagers.

As we stroll down to the bar, I put my arm through José’s. God, he’s so uncomplicated—I hadn’t really appreciated that before.

“You’ll still come to the opening of my show, won’t you?”

“Of course, José, when is it?”

“June ninth.”

“What day is that?” I suddenly panic.

“It’s a Thursday.”

“Yeah, I should make that … and you will visit us in Seattle?”

“Try to stop me.” He grins.

IT’S LATE WHEN I arrive back from the bar. Kate and Elliot are nowhere to be seen, but boy, can they be heard. Holy shit. I hope I’m not that loud. I know Christian isn’t. I ush at the thought and escape to my room. After a brief not-at-all-awkward-thank-goodness hug, José has gone. I don’t know when I’ll see him again, probably his photography show, and once again, I’m blown away that he nally has an exhibition. I shall miss him and his boyish charm. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about the Beetle. I know he’ll freak when he nds out, and I can only deal with one man at a time freaking out at

me. Once in my room, I check the mean machine, and of course, there’s an e-mail from Christian.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Where Are You?

Date: May 27 2011 22:14 To: Anastasia Steele

“I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home.”

Are you still at work or have you packed your phone, BlackBerry, and MacBook?

Call me, or I may be forced to call Elliot.

Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Crap … José … shit.

I grab my phone. Five missed calls and one voice message.

Tentatively, I listen to the message. It’s Christian.

“I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I am not a patient man. If you say you are going to contact me when you nish work, then you should have the decency to do so. Otherwise, I worry, and it’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, and I don’t tolerate it very well. Call me.”

Double crap. Will he ever give me a break? I scowl at the phone.

He is suocating me. With a deep dread uncurling in my stomach, I scroll down to his number and press “call.” My heart is in my mouth as I wait for him to answer. He’d probably like to beat seven shades of shit out of me. The thought is depressing.

“Hi,” he says softly, and his response knocks me o balance because I am expecting his anger, but if anything, he sounds

relieved.

“Hi,” I murmur.

“I was worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reply, but I’m ne.”

He pauses for a beat.

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” He is crisply polite.

“Yes. We nished packing and Kate and I had Chinese takeout with José.” I close my eyes tightly as I say José’s name. Christian says nothing.

“How about you?” I ask to ll the sudden deafening chasm of silence. I will not let him make me feel guilty about José.

Eventually, he sighs.

“I went to a fund-raising dinner. It was deathly dull. I left as soon as I could.”

He sounds so sad and resigned. My heart clenches. I picture him all those nights ago sitting at the piano in his huge living room and the unbearable bittersweet melancholy of the music he was playing.

“I wish you were here,” I whisper, because I have an urge to hold him. Soothe him. Even though he won’t let me. I want his proximity.

“Do you?” he murmurs blandly. Holy shit. This doesn’t sound like him, and my scalp prickles with dawning apprehension.

“Yes,” I breathe. After an eternity, he sighs.

“I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Yes, Sunday,” I murmur, and a thrill courses through my body.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Sir.”

My address catches him unawares, I can tell by his sharp intake of breath.

“Good luck with your move tomorrow, Anastasia.” His voice is soft. And we’re both hanging on the phone like teenagers, neither wanting to hang up.

“You hang up,” I whisper. Finally, I sense his smile.

“No, you hang up.” And I know he’s grinning.

“I don’t want to.”

“Neither do I.”

“Were you very angry with me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still?”

“No.”

“So you’re not going to punish me?”

“No. I’m an in-the-moment kind of guy.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You can hang up now, Miss Steele.”

“Do you really want me to, Sir?”

“Go to bed, Anastasia.”

“Yes, Sir.”

We both stay on the line.

“Do you ever think you’ll be able to do what you’re told?” He’s amused and exasperated at once.

“Maybe. We’ll see after Sunday.” And I press “end” on the phone.

Elliot stands and admires his handiwork. He has replugged our TV into the satellite system in our Pike Place Market apartment. Kate and I op onto the couch giggling, impressed by his prowess with a power drill. The at screen looks odd against the brickwork of the converted warehouse, but no doubt I will get used to it.

“See, baby, easy.” He grins a wide, white-toothed smile at Kate, and she almost literally dissolves into the couch.

I roll my eyes at the pair of them.

“I’d love to stay, baby, but my sister is back from Paris. It’s a compulsory family dinner tonight.”

“Can you come by after?” Kate asks tentatively, all soft and un- Kate-like.

I stand and make my way over to the kitchen area on the pretense of unpacking one of the crates. They are going to get icky.

“I’ll see if I can escape,” he promises.

“I’ll come down with you.” Kate smiles.

“Laters, Ana.” Elliot grins.

“Bye, Elliot. Say hi to Christian from me.”

“Just hi?” His eyebrows shoot up suggestively.

“Yes.” I ush. He winks at me, and I go crimson as he follows Kate out of the apartment.

Elliot is adorable and so dierent from Christian. He’s warm, open, physical, very physical, too physical, with Kate. They can barely keep their hands o each other—to be honest it’s embarrassing—and I am pea green with envy.

Kate returns about twenty minutes later with pizza, and we sit, surrounded by crates, in our new open space, eating straight from the box. Kate’s dad has done us proud. The apartment is not large, but it’s big enough, three bedrooms and a large living space that looks out onto Pike Place Market itself. It’s all solid wood oors and red brick, and the kitchen tops are smooth concrete, very utilitarian, very now. We both love that we will be in the heart of the city.

At eight, the entry-phone buzzes. Kate leaps up—and my heart leaps into my mouth.

“Delivery, Miss Steele, Miss Kavanagh.” Disappointment ows freely and unexpectedly through my veins. It’s not Christian.

“Second oor, apartment two.”

Kate buzzes the delivery boy in. His mouth falls open when he sees Kate, all tight jeans, T-shirt, and hair piled high with escaping tendrils. She has that eect on men. He holds a bottle of champagne with a helicopter-shaped balloon attached. She gives him a dazzling smile to send him on his way and proceeds to read the card out to me.

Ladies,

Good luck in your new home.

Christian Grey

Kate shakes her head in disapproval.

“Why can’t he just write ‘from Christian’? And what’s with the

weird helicopter balloon?”

“Charlie Tango.”

“What?”

“Christian ew me to Seattle in his helicopter.” I shrug.

Kate stares at me openmouthed. I have to say I love these occasions—Katherine Kavanagh, silent and oored—they are so rare. I take a brief and luxurious moment to enjoy it.

“Yep, he has a helicopter, which he ew himself,” I state proudly.

“Of course the obscenely rich bastard has a helicopter. Why didn’t you tell me?” Kate looks accusingly at me, but she’s smiling, shaking

her head in disbelief.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

She frowns.

“Are you going to be okay while I’m away?”

“Of course,” I answer reassuringly. New city, no job … nut-job

boyfriend.

“Did you give him our address?

“No, but stalking is one of his specialties,” I muse matter-of-factly.

Kate’s brow knits further.

“Somehow I’m not surprised. He worries me, Ana. At least it’s a good champagne and it’s chilled.”

Of course. Only Christian would send chilled champagne, or get his secretary to do it … or maybe Taylor. We open it there and then and nd our teacups—they were the last items to be packed.

“Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999, an excellent vintage.” I grin at Kate, and we clink teacups.

I WAKE EARLY TO a gray Sunday morning after a surprisingly refreshing night’s sleep and lie awake staring at my crates. You should really be unpacking these, my subconscious nags, pursing her harpy lips together. No … today’s the day. My inner goddess is beside herself, hopping from foot to foot. Anticipation hangs heavy and portentous over my head like a dark tropical storm cloud.

Butteries ood my belly—as well as a darker, carnal, captivating ache as I try to imagine what he will do to me … and of course, I have to sign that damned contract, or do I? I hear the ping of incoming mail from the mean machine on the oor beside my bed.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: My Life in Numbers Date: May 29 2011 08:04

To: Anastasia Steele

If you drive you’ll need this access code for the underground garage at Escala: 146963.

Park in bay ve—it’s one of mine.

Code for the elevator: 1880.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: An Excellent Vintage

Date: May 29 2011 08:08

To: Christian Grey

Yes, Sir. Understood.

Thank you for the champagne and the blow-up Charlie Tango, which is now tied to my bed.

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Envy

Date: May 29 2011 08:11

To: Anastasia Steele

You’re welcome.

Don’t be late.

Lucky Charlie Tango.

Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I roll my eyes at his bossiness, but his last line makes me smile. I head for the bathroom, wondering if Elliot made it back last night and trying hard to rein in my nerves.

I CAN DRIVE THE Audi in high heels! At 12:55 p.m. precisely, I pull into the garage at Escala and park in bay ve. How many bays does he own? The Audi SUV and R8 are there, along with two smaller Audi SUVs … hmm. I check my seldom-worn mascara in the light-up vanity mirror on my visor. Didn’t have one of these in the Beetle.

Go girl! My inner goddess has her pom-poms in hand—she’s in cheerleading mode. In the innity mirrors of the elevator, I check out my plum dress—well, Kate’s plum dress. The last time I wore this, he wanted to peel it o me. My body clenches at the thought.

The feeling is just exquisite, and I catch my breath. I’m wearing the underwear that Taylor bought for me. I ush at the thought of his buzz cut roaming the aisles of Agent Provocateur or wherever he bought it. The doors open, and I’m facing the foyer of apartment number one.

Taylor stands at the double doors as I step out of the elevator.

“Good afternoon, Miss Steele,” he says.

“Oh, please, call me Ana.”

“Ana.” He smiles. “Mr. Grey is expecting you.”

I bet he is.

Christian is seated on his living room couch reading the Sunday papers. He glances up as Taylor directs me into the living area. The room is exactly as I remember it—it’s been a whole week since I’ve been here, but it feels so much longer. Christian looks cool and calm —actually, he looks heavenly. He’s in a loose white linen shirt and jeans, no shoes or socks. His hair is tousled and unkempt, and his eyes twinkle wickedly. He rises and strolls toward me, an amused appraising smile on his beautiful sculptured lips.

I stand immobilized at the entrance of the room, paralyzed by his beauty and the sweet anticipation of what’s to come. The familiar

charge between us is there, sparking slowly in my belly, drawing me to him.

“Hmm … that dress,” he murmurs approvingly as he gazes down at me. “Welcome back, Miss Steele,” he whispers and, clasping my chin, he leans down and proers a gentle, light kiss on my lips. The touch of his lips to mine reverberates throughout my body. My

breath hitches.

“Hi,” I whisper as I ush.

“You’re on time. I like punctual. Come.” He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. “I wanted to show you something,” he says as we sit. He hands me the Seattle Times. On page eight, there’s a photograph of the two of us together at the graduation ceremony.

Holy crap. I’m in the paper. I check the caption.

Christian Grey and friend at the graduation ceremony at WSU Vancouver.

I laugh. “So I’m your ‘friend’ now.”

“So it would appear. And it’s in the newspaper, so it must be true.” He smirks.

Sitting beside me, his whole body is turned toward me, one of his legs tucked under the other. Reaching over, he tucks my hair behind my ear with his long index nger. My body comes alive at his touch, waiting and needful.

“So, Anastasia, you have a much better idea of what I’m about

since you were last here.”

“Yes.” Where’s he going with this?

“And yet you’ve returned.”

I nod shyly, and his eyes blaze. He shakes his head as if he’s struggling with the idea.

“Have you eaten?” he asks out of the blue.

Shit.

“No.”

“Are you hungry?” He’s really trying not to look annoyed.

“Not for food,” I whisper, and his nostrils are in reaction.

He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “You are as eager as ever, Miss Steele, and just to let you in on a little secret, so am I. But Dr. Greene is due here shortly.” He sits up. “I wish you’d eat,” he scolds me mildly. My heated blood cools. Holy cow—the doctor. I’d forgotten.

“What can you tell me about Dr. Greene?” I ask to distract us both.

“She’s the best ob-gyn in Seattle. What more can I say?” He shrugs.

“I thought I was seeing your doctor, and don’t tell me you’re really a woman, because I won’t believe you.”

He gives me a don’t-be-ridiculous look.

“I think it’s more appropriate that you see a specialist. Don’t you?” he says mildly.

I nod. Holy Moses, if she’s the best ob-gyn, he’s scheduled her to see me on a Sunday—at lunchtime! I cannot begin to imagine how much that costs. Christian frowns suddenly as if recalling something unpleasant.

“Anastasia, my mother would like you to come to dinner this evening. I believe Elliot is asking Kate, too. I don’t know how you feel about that. It will be odd for me to introduce you to my family.”

Odd? Why?

“Are you ashamed of me?” I can’t keep the wounded hurt out of

my voice.

“Of course not.” He rolls his eyes.

“Why is it odd?”

“Because I’ve never done it before.”

“Why are you allowed to roll your eyes, and I’m not?”

He blinks at me. “I wasn’t aware that I was.”

“Neither am I, usually,” I snap.

Christian glares at me, speechless. Taylor appears at the doorway.

“Dr. Greene is here, sir.”

“Show her up to Miss Steele’s room.”

Miss Steele’s room!

“Ready for some contraception?” he asks as he stands and holds out his hand to me.

“You’re not going to come as well, are you?” I gasp, shocked.

He laughs. “I’d pay very good money to watch, believe me, Anastasia, but I don’t think the good doctor would approve.”

I take his hand, and he pulls me up into his arms and kisses me deeply. I clutch his arms, taken by surprise. His hand is in my hair, holding my head, and he pulls me against him, his forehead against mine.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to get you naked.”