by E. L. James
“Kate, how could you out me to Ray?” I hiss at the first opportunity we won’t be overheard.
“Because I knew you never would, and I want to help with Christian’s commitment issues.” Kate smiles at me sweetly.
I scowl. It’s me that won’t commit to him, silly!
“He seems très cool about it, Ana. Don’t sweat it. Look at him now—Christian cannot take his eyes off you.” I glance up, and both Ray and Christian are looking at me. “He’s been watching you like a hawk.”
“I’d better go rescue Ray, or Christian. I don’t know which. You haven’t heard the last of this, Katherine Kavanagh!” I glare at her.
“Ana, I did you a favor,” she calls after me.
“Hi.” I smile at both of them on my return.
They seem okay. Christian is enjoying some private joke, and my dad looks unbelievably relaxed given he’s in a social situation. What have they been discussing apart from fish?
“Ana, where are the restrooms?”
“Back out front of the marquee and to the left.”
“See you in a moment. You kids enjoy yourselves.”
Ray heads out. I glance nervously up at Christian. We pause briefly as a photographer takes a picture of both of us.
“Thank you, Mr. Grey.” The photographer scurries off. I blink from the flash.
“So you’ve charmed my father as well?”
“As well?” Christian’s eyes burn and he raises a questioning eyebrow. I flush. He lifts his hand and traces my cheek with his fingers.
“Oh, I wish I knew what you were thinking, Anastasia,” he whispers darkly, cupping my chin and raising my head so that we gaze intently into each other’s eyes.
My breath hitches. How can he have this effect on me, even in this crowded tent?
“Right now, I’m thinking, Nice tie,” I breathe.
He chuckles. “It’s recently become my favorite.”
I blush scarlet.
“You look lovely, Anastasia. This halter-neck dress suits you, and I get to stroke your back, feel your beautiful skin.”
Suddenly, it’s like we’re on our own in the room. Just the two of us. My whole body has come alive, every nerve ending singing softly, that electricity pulling me to him, charging between us.
“You know it’s going to be good, don’t you, baby?” he whispers. I close my eyes as my insides uncoil and melt.
“But I want more,” I whisper.
“More?” he looks down at me puzzled, his eyes darkening. I nod and swallow. Now he knows.
“More,” he says again softly. Testing the word—a small, simple word, but so full of promise. His thumb traces my lower lip. “You want hearts and flowers.”
I nod again. He blinks down at me, and I watch his internal struggle played out in his eyes.
“Anastasia.” His voice is soft. “It’s not something I know.”
“Me, either.”
He smiles slightly.
“You don’t know much,” he murmurs.
“You know all the wrong things.”
“Wrong? Not to me.” He shakes his head. He looks so sincere. “Try it,” he whispers. A challenge, daring me, and he cocks his head to one side and smiles his crooked, dazzling smile.
I gasp, and I’m Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he’s the serpent, and I cannot resist.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“What?” I have his full, undivided attention. I swallow.
“Okay. I’ll try.”
“You’re agreeing?” His disbelief is evident.
“Subject to the soft limits, yes. I’ll try.” My voice is so small. Christian closes his eyes and pulls me into an embrace.
“Jesus, Ana, you’re so unexpected. You take my breath away.”
He steps back, and suddenly Ray’s returned, and the volume in the marquee gradually rises and fills my ears. We are not alone. Holy shit, I’ve just agreed to be his sub. Christian smiles at Ray and his eyes are dancing with joy.
“Annie, should we get some lunch?”
“Okay.” I blink up at Ray, trying to find my equilibrium. What have you done? my subconscious screams at me. My inner goddess is doing backflips in a routine worthy of a Russian Olympic gymnast.
“Would you like to join us, Christian?” Ray asks.
Christian! I stare up at him, imploring him to refuse. I need space to think … what the fuck have I done?
“Thank you, Mr. Steele, but I have plans. It’s been great to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise,” Ray responds. “Look after my baby girl.”
“Oh, I fully intend to.”
They shake hands. I feel sick. Ray has no idea how Christian intends to look after me. Christian takes my hand and brings it to his lips and kisses my knuckles tenderly, his scorching eyes intent on mine.
“Later, Miss Steele,” he breathes, his voice full of promise.
My belly curls at the thought. Hang on … later?
Ray takes my elbow and leads me toward the entrance to the tent.
“Seems a solid young man. Well off, too. You could do a lot worse, Annie. Though why I had to hear about him from Katherine …” he scolds.
I shrug apologetically.
“Well, any man who likes and knows his fly-fishing is okay with me.”
Holy cow—Ray approves. If only he knew.
RAY DROPS ME BACK at the house at dusk.
“Call your mom,” he says.
“I will. Thanks for coming, Dad.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Annie. You make me so proud.”
Oh no. I’m not going to get emotional. A huge lump forms in my throat, and I hug him, hard. He puts his arms around me, bemused, and I can’t help it—tears pool in my eyes.
“Hey, Annie, sweetheart,” Ray croons. “Big old day … eh? Want me to come in and make you some tea?”
I laugh, in spite of my tears. Tea is always the answer, according to Ray. I remember my mother complaining about him, saying that when it came to tea and sympathy, he was always good at the tea, not so hot on the sympathy.
“No, Dad, I’m good. It’s been so great to see you. I’ll visit real soon once I’m settled in Seattle.”
“Good luck with the interviews. Let me know how they go.”
“Sure thing, Dad.”
“Love you, Annie.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
He smiles, his brown eyes warm, glowing, and he climbs back into his car. I wave him off as he drives into the dusk, and I wander listlessly back into the apartment.
First thing I do is check my cell phone. It needs recharging, so I have to hunt down the charger and plug it in before I can collect my messages. Four missed calls, one voice message, and two texts. Three missed calls from Christian … no messages. One missed call from José and a voice mail from him wishing me all the best for graduation.
I open the texts.
*Are you home safe?*
*Call me*
They are both from Christian. Why didn’t he call the house? I head into my bedroom and fire up the mean machine.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tonight
Date: May 25 2011 23:58
To: Anastasia Steele
I hope you made it home in that car of yours.
Let me know if you’re okay.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Jeez … why is he so worried about my Beetle? It has given me three years of loyal service, and José has always been on hand to maintain it for me. Christian’s next e-mail is from today.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Soft Limits
Date: May 26 2011 17:22
To: Anastasia Steele
What can I say that I haven’t already?
Happy to talk these through anytime.
You looked beautiful today.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc
.
I want to see him. I hit “reply.”
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Soft Limits
Date: May 26 2011 19:23
To: Christian Grey
I can come over this evening to discuss if you’d like.
Ana
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Soft Limits
Date: May 26 2011 19:27
To: Anastasia Steele
I’ll come to you. I meant it when I said I wasn’t happy about you driving that car.
I’ll be with you shortly.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Holy crap … he’s coming over now. I have to get one thing ready for him—the first edition Thomas Hardy books are still on the shelves in the living room. I cannot keep them. I wrap them in brown paper, and I scrawl on the wrapping a direct quote from Tess from the book:
“I agree to the conditions, Angel; because you know best what my punishment ought to be; only—only—don’t make it more than I can bear!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
* * *
Hi.” I feel unbearably shy when I open the door. Christian is standing on the porch in his jeans and leather jacket. “Hi,” he says, and his face lights up with his radiant smile. I take a moment to admire the pretty. Oh my, he’s hot in leather.
“Come in.”
“If I may,” he says, amused. He holds up a bottle of champagne as he walks in. “I thought we’d celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger.”
“Interesting choice of words,” I comment dryly.
He grins. “Oh, I like your ready wit, Anastasia.”
“We only have teacups. We’ve packed all the glasses.”
“Teacups? Sounds good to me.”
I head into the kitchen. Nervous, butterflies flooding my stomach, it’s like having a panther or mountain lion all unpredictable and predatory in my living room.
“Do you want saucers as well?”
“Teacups will be fine, Anastasia,” Christian calls distractedly from the living room.
When I return, he’s staring at the brown parcel of books. I place the cups on the table.
“That’s for you,” I murmur anxiously.
Crap … this is probably going to be a fight.
“Hmm, I figured as much. Very apt quote.” His long index finger absently traces the writing. “I thought I was d’Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement.” He gives me a brief wolfish smile. “Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately.”
“It’s also a plea,” I whisper. Why am I so nervous? My mouth is dry.
“A plea? For me to go easy on you?”
I nod.
“I bought these for you,” he says quietly, his gaze impassive. “I’ll go easier on you if you accept them.”
I swallow convulsively.
“Christian, I can’t accept them, they’re just too much.”
“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that’s the end of the discussion. It’s very simple. You don’t have to think about this. As a submissive you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so.”
“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” I whisper.
“No … but you’ve agreed, Anastasia.” His eyes turn wary.
I sigh. I am not going to win this, so over to plan B.
“So they are mine to do with as I wish?”
He eyes me suspiciously but concedes.
“Yes.”
“In that case, I’d like to give them to a charity, one working in Darfur since that seems to be close to your heart. They can auction them.”
“If that’s what you want to do.” His mouth sets into a hard line. He’s disappointed.
I flush.
“I’ll think about it,” I murmur. I don’t want to disappoint him, and his words come back to me. I want you to want to please me.
“Don’t think, Anastasia. Not about this.” His tone is quiet and serious.
How can I not think? You can pretend to be a car, like his other possessions. My subconscious makes an unwelcome vitriolic return. I ignore her. Oh, can’t we rewind? The atmosphere between us is now tense. I don’t know what to do. I stare down at my fingers. How do I retrieve this situation?
He puts the champagne bottle on the table and stands in front of me. Putting his hand under my chin, he tilts my head up. He gazes down at me, his expression grave.
“I will buy you lots of things, Anastasia. Get used to it. I can afford it. I’m a very wealthy man.” He leans down and plants a swift, chaste kiss on my lips. “Please.” He releases me.
Ho, my subconscious mouths at me.
“It makes me feel cheap,” I murmur.
Christian runs his hand through his hair, exasperated.
“It shouldn’t. You’re overthinking it, Anastasia. Don’t place some vague moral judgment on yourself based on what others might think. Don’t waste your energy. It’s only because you have reservations about our arrangement; that’s perfectly natural. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
I frown, trying to process his words.
“Hey, stop this,” he commands softly, cupping my chin again and pulling at it gently so I release my lower lip from my teeth. “There is nothing about you that is cheap, Anastasia. I won’t have you thinking that. I just bought you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that’s all. Have some champagne.” His eyes warm and soften, and I smile tentatively up at him. “That’s better,” he murmurs. He picks up the champagne, takes off the foil top and cage, twists the bottle rather than the cork, and opens it with a small pop and a practiced flourish that doesn’t spill a drop. He half fills the cups.
“It’s pink,” I murmur, surprised.
“Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999, an excellent vintage,” he says with relish.
“In teacups.”
He grins.
“In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Anastasia.” We clink cups, and he takes a drink, but I can’t help thinking this is really about my capitulation.
“Thank you,” I murmur, and take a sip. Of course it’s delicious. “Shall we go through the soft limits?”
He smiles, and I blush.
“Always so eager.” Christian takes my hand and leads me to the couch, where he sits and tugs me down beside him.
“Your stepfather’s a very taciturn man.”
Oh … not soft limits, then. I just want to get this out of the way; the anxiety is gnawing at me.
“You managed to get him eating out of your hand.” I pout.
Christian laughs softly.
“Only because I know how to fish.”
“How did you know he liked fishing?”
“You told me. When we went for coffee.”
“Oh … did I?” I take another sip. Wow, he has a memory for detail. Hmm … this champagne really is very good. “Did you try the wine at the reception?”
Christian makes a face.
“Yes. It was foul.”
“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”
“I’m not knowledgeable, Anastasia, I just know what I like.” His eyes shine, almost silver, and it makes me flush. “Some more?” he asks, referring to the champagne.
“Please.”
Christian rises gracefully and collects the bottle. He fills my cup. Is he getting me tipsy? I eye him suspiciously.
“This place looks pretty bare. Are you ready for the move?”
“More or less.”
“Are you working tomorrow?”
“Yes, my last day at Clayton’s.”
“I’d help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport.”
Oh … this is news.
“Mia arrives from Paris v
ery early Saturday morning. I’m heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Elliot is giving you two a hand.”
“Yes, Kate is very excited about that.”
Christian frowns. “Yes, Kate and Elliot, who would have thought?” he murmurs, and for some reason he doesn’t look pleased. “So what are you doing about work in Seattle?”
When are we going to talk about the limits? What’s his game?
“I have a couple of interviews for intern places.”
“You were going tell me this when?” He arches a brow.
“Er … I’m telling you now.”
He narrows his eyes.
“Where?”
For some reason, possibly because he might use his influence, I don’t want to tell him.
“A couple of publishing houses.”
“Is that what you want to do, something in publishing?” I nod warily.
“Well?” He looks at me patiently wanting more information.
“Well what?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Anastasia, which publishing houses?” he scolds.
“Just small ones,” I murmur.
“Why don’t you want me to know?”
“Undue influence.”
He frowns.
“Oh, now you’re being obtuse.”
He laughs. “Obtuse? Me? God, you’re challenging. Drink up, let’s talk about these limits.” He fishes out another copy of my e-mail and the list. Does he wander about with these lists in his pockets? I think there’s one in his jacket that I have. Shit, I’d better not forget that. I drain my cup.
He glances quickly at me.
“More?”
“Please.”
He smiles that oh-so-smug private smile of his, holds the champagne bottle up, and pauses.
“Have you eaten anything?”
Oh no … not this old chestnut.
