by E. L. James
“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 figured 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, deflowering, 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 fight.”
Kate purses her lips. “No wonder you’re overwhelmed. I did note that he stayed.”
“Yeah.” I smile wistfully.
“Shall we finish 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 finished packing. He can be such fun one minute, and then he can be so formal and stuffy the next. It’s difficult to keep up. Honestly, it’s like an e-mail to an employee. I roll my eyes at it defiantly 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 flashlight 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 floor between us. We watch crap TV, drink beer, and, as the evening wears on, we fondly and loudly reminisce as the beer takes effect. 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 fingers, 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 off 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, flushed 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 flush 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 finally 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 finds 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 finish 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 suffocating 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 off 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 fine.”
He pauses for a beat.
“Did you have a pleasant evening?” He is crisply polite.
“Yes. We finished 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 fill 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 flop onto the couch giggling, impressed by his prowess with a power drill. The flat 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 flush. He winks at me, and I go crimson as he follows Kate out of the apartment.
Elliot is adorable and so different from Christian. He’s warm, open, physical, very physical, too physical, with Kate. They can barely keep their hands off 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 floors 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 flows freely and unexpectedly through my veins. It’s not Christian.
“Second floor, 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 effect on m
en. 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 flew 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 floored—they are so rare. I take a brief and luxurious moment to enjoy it.
“Yep, he has a helicopter, which he flew 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.”
