Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed
Page 38
“And where do you see yourself in five years’ time?” he asks.
With Christian Grey, the thought comes involuntarily into my head. My errant mind makes me frown.
“Copyediting, perhaps? Maybe a literary agent, I’m not sure. I am open to opportunities.”
He grins. “Very good, Ana. I don’t have any further questions. Do you?” he directs his question at me.
“When would you like someone to start?” I ask.
“As soon as possible,” Elizabeth pipes up. “When could you start?”
“I’m available from next week.”
“That’s good to know,” Jack says.
“If that’s all everyone has to say”—Elizabeth glances at the two of us—“I think that concludes the interview.” She smiles kindly.
“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ana,” Jack says softly as he takes my hand. He squeezes it gently, so that I blink up at him as I say good-bye.
I feel unsettled as I make my way to my car, though I’m not sure why. I think the interview went well, but it’s so hard to say. Interviews seem such artificial situations; everyone on their best behavior trying desperately to hide behind a professional façade. Did my face fit? I shall have to wait and see.
I climb into my Audi A3 and head back to the apartment, though I take my time. I’m on the red-eye with a stopover in Atlanta, but my flight doesn’t leave until 10:25 this evening, so I have plenty of time.
Kate is unpacking boxes in the kitchen when I return.
“How did they go?” she asks, excited. Only Kate can look gorgeous in an oversized shirt, tattered jeans, and a dark blue bandana.
“Good, thanks, Kate. Not sure this outfit was cool enough for the second interview.”
“Oh?”
“Boho chic might have done it.”
Kate raises an eyebrow.
“You and boho chic.” She cocks her head to one side—gah! Why is everyone reminding me of my favorite Fifty Shades? “Actually, Ana, you’re one of the few people who could really pull that look off.”
I grin. “I really liked the second place. I think I could fit in there. The guy who interviewed me was unnerving, though …” I trail off—shit, I’m talking to Megaphone Kavanagh here. Shut up, Ana!
“Oh?” The Katherine Kavanagh radar for an interesting tidbit of information swoops into action—a tidbit that will only resurface at some inopportune and embarrassing moment, which reminds me.
“Incidentally, will you please stop winding Christian up? Your comment about José at dinner yesterday was out of line. He’s a jealous guy. It doesn’t do any good, you know.”
“Look, if he wasn’t Elliot’s brother I’d have said a lot worse. He’s a real control freak. I don’t know how you stand it. I was trying to make him jealous—give him a little help with his commitment issues.” She holds her hands up defensively. “But if you don’t want me to interfere, I won’t,” she says hastily at my scowl.
“Good. Life with Christian is complicated enough, trust me.”
Jeez, I sound like him.
“Ana.” She pauses, staring at me. “You’re okay, aren’t you? You’re not running to your mother’s to escape?”
I flush. “No, Kate. It was you who said I needed a break.”
She closes the distance between us and takes my hands—a most un-Kate thing to do. Oh no … tears threaten.
“You’re just, I don’t know … different. I hope you’re okay, and whatever issues you’re having with Mr. Moneybags, you can talk to me. And I will try not to wind him up, though frankly it’s like shooting fish in a barrel with him. Look, Ana, if something’s wrong, tell me, I won’t judge. I’ll try to understand.”
I blink back tears. “Oh, Kate.” I hug her. “I think I’ve really fallen for him.”
“Ana, anyone can see that. And he’s fallen for you. He’s mad about you. Won’t take his eyes off you.”
I laugh uncertainly. “Do you think so?”
“Hasn’t he told you?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Have you told him?”
“Not in so many words.” I shrug apologetically.
“Ana! Someone has to make the first move, otherwise you’ll never get anywhere.”
What … tell him how I feel?
“I’m just afraid I’ll frighten him away.”
“And how do you know he’s not feeling the same?”
“Christian, afraid? I can’t imagine him being frightened of anything.” But as I say the words, I imagine him as a small child. Maybe fear was all he knew then. Sorrow grips and squeezes my heart at the thought.
Kate gazes at me with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, rather like my subconscious—all she needs are the half-moon specs.
“You two need to sit down and talk to each other.”
“We haven’t been doing much talking lately.” I blush. Other stuff. Nonverbal communication and that’s okay. Well, much more than okay.
She grins. “That’ll be the sexing! If that’s going well, then that’s half the battle, Ana. I’ll grab some Chinese takeout. Are you ready to go?”
“I will be. We don’t have to leave for a couple of hours or so.”
“No—I’ll see you in twenty.” She grabs her jacket and leaves, forgetting to close the door. I shut it behind her and head off to my bedroom, mulling over her words.
Is Christian afraid of his feelings for me? Does he even have feelings for me? He seems very keen, says I’m his—but that’s just part of his I-must-own-and-have-everything-now control freak Dominant self, surely. I realize that while I’m away, I will have to run through all our conversations again and see if I can pick out telltale signs.
I’ll miss you, too … more than you know …
You’ve completely beguiled me …
I shake my head. I don’t want to think about it now. I am charging the BlackBerry, so I haven’t had it with me all afternoon. I approach it with caution, and I’m disappointed that there are no messages. I switch on the mean machine, and there are no messages there, either. Same e-mail address, Ana—my subconscious rolls her eyes at me, and for the first time I understand why Christian wants to spank me when I do that.
Okay. Well, I’ll write him an e-mail.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Interviews
Date: May 30 2011 18:49
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
My interviews went well today.
Thought you might be interested.
How was your day?
Ana
I sit and glare at the screen. Christian’s responses are usually instantaneous. I wait … and wait, and finally I hear the welcome ping from my inbox.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: My Day
Date: May 30 2011 19:03
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
Everything you do interests me. You are the most fascinating woman I know.
I’m glad your interviews went well.
My morning was beyond all expectations.
My afternoon was very dull in comparison.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Fine Morning
Date: May 30 2011 19:05
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
The morning was exemplary for me, too, in spite of you weirding out on me after the impeccable desk sex. Don’t think I didn’t notice.
Thank you for breakfast. Or thank Mrs. Jones.
I’d like to ask you questions about her—without you weirding out on me again.
Ana
My finger hovers over the “send” button, and I am reassured that I’ll be on the other side of the continent this time tomorrow.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Publishing and You?
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Date: May 30 2011 19:10
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia,
“Weirding” is not a verb and should not be used by anyone who wants to go into publishing. Impeccable? Compared to what, pray tell? And what do you need to ask about Mrs. Jones? I’m intrigued.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: You and Mrs. Jones
Date: May 30 2011 19:17
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
Language evolves and moves on. It is an organic thing. It is not stuck in an ivory tower, hung with expensive works of art and overlooking most of Seattle with a helipad stuck on its roof.
Impeccable—compared to the other times we have … what’s your word … oh yes … fucked. Actually the fucking has been pretty impeccable, period, in my humble opinion—but then, as you know, I have very limited experience.
Is Mrs. Jones an ex-sub of yours?
Ana
My finger hovers once more over the “send” button, and I press it.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Language. Watch Your Mouth!
Date: May 30 2011 19:22
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia,
Mrs. Jones is a valued employee. I have never had any relationship with her beyond our professional one. I do not employ anyone I’ve had any sexual relations with. I am shocked that you would think so. The only person I would make an exception to this rule is you—because you are a bright young woman with remarkable negotiating skills. Though, if you continue to use such language, I may have to reconsider taking you on here. I am glad you have limited experience. Your experience will continue to be limited—just to me. I shall take impeccable as a compliment—though with you, I’m never sure if that’s what you mean or if your sense of irony is getting the better of you—as usual.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc., from His Ivory Tower
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Not for All the Tea in China
Date: May 30 2011 19:27
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
I think I have already expressed my reservations about working for your company. My views on this have not changed, are not changing, and will not change, ever. I must leave you now, as Kate has returned with food. My sense of irony and I bid you good night.
I will contact you once I’m in Georgia.
Ana
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Even Twinings English Breakfast Tea?
Date: May 30 2011 19:29
To: Anastasia Steele
Good night, Anastasia.
I hope you and your sense of irony have a safe flight.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Kate and I pull up outside the drop-off area at Sea-Tac Airport departure terminal. Leaning across, she hugs me.
“Enjoy Barbados, Kate. Have a wonderful vacation.”
“I’ll see you when I get back. Don’t let old moneybags grind you down.”
“I won’t.”
We hug again—and then I’m on my own. I head over to check-in and stand in line, waiting with my carry-on luggage. I haven’t bothered with a suitcase, just a smart rucksack that Ray gave me for my last birthday.
“Ticket, please?” The bored young man behind the desk holds up his hand without looking at me.
Mirroring his boredom, I hand over my ticket and my driver’s license as ID. I am hoping for a window seat if at all possible.
“Okay, Miss Steele. You’ve been upgraded to first class.”
“What?”
“Ma’am, if you’d like to go through to the first class lounge and wait for your flight there …” He seems to have woken up and is beaming at me like I’m Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny rolled into one.
“Surely there’s some mistake.”
“No, no.” He checks his computer screen again. “Anastasia Steele—upgrade.” He simpers.
Ugh. I narrow my eyes. He hands me my boarding pass, and I head toward the first class lounge muttering under my breath. Damn Christian Grey, interfering control freak—he just can’t leave well enough alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
* * *
I am manicured, massaged, and I’ve had two glasses of champagne. The first class lounge has many redeeming features. With each sip of Moet, I feel slightly more inclined to forgive Christian and his intervention. I open up my MacBook, hoping to test the theory that it works anywhere on the planet.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Over-Extravagant Gestures
Date: May 30 2011 21:53
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
What really alarms me is how you knew which flight I was on.
Your stalking knows no bounds. Let’s hope that Dr. Flynn is back from vacation.
I have had a manicure, a back massage, and two glasses of champagne—a very nice start to my vacation.
Thank you.
Ana
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: You’re Most Welcome
Date: May 30 2011 21:59
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
Dr. Flynn is back, and I have an appointment this week.
Who was massaging your back?
Christian Grey
CEO with friends in the right places,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Aha! Payback time. Our flight has been called, so I shall e-mail him from the plane. It will be safer. I almost hug myself with mischievous glee.
THERE IS SO MUCH room in first class. Champagne cocktail in hand, I settle myself into the sumptuous leather window seat as the cabin slowly fills. I call Ray to tell him where I am—a mercifully brief call, as it’s so late for him. “Love you, Dad,” I murmur.
“You, too, Annie. Say hi to your mom. Good night.”
“Good night.” I hang up.
Ray is in good form. I stare at my Mac, and with the same childish glee building, I open my laptop and open up my e-mail.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Strong Able Hands
Date: May 30 2011 22:22
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
A very pleasant young man massaged my back. Yes. Very pleasant indeed. I wouldn’t have encountered Jean-Paul in the ordinary departure lounge—so thank you again for that treat. I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed to e-mail once we take off, and I need my beauty sleep since I’ve not been sleeping so well recently.
Pleasant dreams, Mr. Grey … thinking of you.
Ana
Oh, he’s going to flip out—and I shall be airborne and out of reach. Serves him right. If I’d been in the ordinary departure lounge, then Jean-Paul wouldn’t have gotten his hands on me. He was a very nice young man, in a blond, perma-tanned way—honestly, who has a tan in Seattle? It’s just so wrong. I think he was gay—but I’ll just keep that detail to myself. I stare at my e-mail. Kate is right. It is like shooting fish in a barrel with him. My subconscious stares at me with an ugly twist to her mouth; Do you really want to wind him up? What he’s done is sweet, you know! He cares about you and wants you to travel in style. Yes, but he could have asked me or told me. Not made me look like a complete klutz at check-in. I press “send” and wait, feeling like a very naughty girl.
“Miss Steele, you’ll need to stow your laptop for takeoff,” the over-made-up flight attendant says politely. She makes me jump. My guilty conscience is at work.
“Oh, sorry.”
Crap. Now I’ll have to wait to know if he’s replied. She hands me a soft blanket and pillow, showing her perfect teeth. I drape the blanket over my
knees. It’s nice to feel pampered sometimes.
First class has filled up, except for the seat beside me, which is still unoccupied. Oh no … a disturbing thought crosses my mind. Perhaps the seat is Christian’s. Oh, shit … no … he wouldn’t do that. Would he? I told him I didn’t want him to come with me. I glance anxiously at my watch, and then the disembodied voice from the flight deck announces, “Cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check.”
What does that mean? Are they closing the doors? My scalp prickles as I sit in palpitating anticipation. The seat next to me is the only unoccupied one in the sixteen-seat cabin. The plane jolts as it pulls away from the gate, and I breathe a sigh of relief but feel a faint tingle of disappointment too … no Christian for four days. I take a sneak peek at my BlackBerry.