by James, E L
“Mrs. Grey, you’re greedy.”
“When it comes to you, I am.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.” I plant a tender kiss on her lips, but as I pull away, Ana’s fingers curl around the nape of my neck, pulling my mouth to hers. Her tongue is insistent, demanding access, and she pushes me against the wall, pressing her body against mine. I kiss her back as desire flares like a comet inside me.
What I thought would be a courtly, respectful expression of affection becomes darker, needier, hotter.
More.
So much more.
Her tongue is relentless, mating with mine.
Fuck.
I want her. Here. In this elevator.
Again.
We kiss. Tongues. Lips. Hands. All playing a role.
My fingers tightening in her hair while her hands caress my face. “Ana,” I breathe, fighting my desire.
“I love you, Christian Grey.” She’s breathy and restless, her eyes full of promise. “Don’t forget that.” The elevator stops, the doors open, and she puts some space between us.
Hell.
My blood is running fast and thick through my body.
“Let’s go see your father before I decide to rent this today.” I kiss her quickly and, taking her hand, head out into the lobby. I’m grateful that I’m wearing my jacket.
The concierge sees us, and I give him a nod. Ana notices our exchange, but I give my girl my patented I-so-own-you-and-I’ve-got-a-surprise-for-you smile, and she frowns. “Where’s Taylor?” she asks.
“We’ll see him shortly.”
“Sawyer?”
“Running errands.”
We head outside and stop on the wide sidewalk. It’s a beautiful late-summer day; the trees on Broadway are in full leaf, but there’s a hint of the coming fall in the air. There’s no sign of Taylor. Ana looks up and down the street, following my lead. “What is it?” she asks. I lift my shoulders, trying for nonchalance, not wanting to give the game away.
Then I hear it: the growl of the R8’s throaty engine. Taylor steers the white, pristine vehicle that is Ana’s brand-new Audi to a stop in front of us.
Ana takes a step back, and in stunned disbelief looks from the car to me.
Okay, last time I tried to give her a car, it didn’t go so well.
This could go either way.
You said it, Ana. You can buy me one for my birthday. A white one.
“Happy birthday,” I murmur, and from my pocket I produce the key.
Her mouth drops open. “You are completely over the top.” Each word is a quiet staccato, then she turns to admire the marvel of engineering parked at the curb. Her consternation is short-lived; her face lights up and she jumps up and down on the spot. She turns and barrels into my waiting arms, and I swing her around, delighted at her reaction.
“You have more money than sense!” she cries. “I love it! Thank you.”
I dip her low, surprising her, so she gasps and grips my biceps. “Anything for you, Mrs. Grey.” I kiss her. “Come. Let’s go see your dad.”
“Yes!” she exclaims. “And I get to drive?”
Smiling down at her, and against my better judgment, I acquiesce. “Of course. It’s yours.” I pull her to her feet, and she dances to the driver’s door, which Taylor is holding open for her.
“Happy birthday, Mrs. Grey.” He beams.
“Thank you, Taylor.” She hugs him while I roll my eyes and climb into the passenger seat. Ana clambers in beside me and slides her hands around the steering wheel, grinning with glee, as Taylor closes her door.
“Drive safe, Mrs. Grey,” he says, his affection obvious despite the gruff tone. For some unfathomable reason it makes me smile.
“Will do,” Ana replies, buzzing with excitement. She puts the key in the ignition, and I tense beside her.
I hate being driven.
Except by Taylor.
But she knows this.
“Take it easy,” I caution. “Nobody chasing us now.” She turns the key, and the R8 roars to life. Ana quickly adjusts the side and rearview mirrors, puts the car in drive, and pulls out into the street at a harrowing speed.
“Whoa!” I cry out, clutching my seat.
“What?”
“I don’t want you in the ICU beside your father. Slow down,” I yell, wondering if the R8 was a good idea. She slows immediately.
“Better?” She gives me a dazzling smile.
“Much,” I mutter, grateful that we’re both still alive. “Take it easy, Ana.”
Seven minutes later we’re in the hospital parking lot, and I’ve aged at least ten years with each minute of the journey. My pulse must be at 180 bpm; being driven by my wife is not for the faint of heart. “Ana, you have to slow down. Don’t make me regret buying you this.” I glare at her as she turns off the ignition. “Your dad is upstairs because he was involved in a car accident.”
“You’re right,” she whispers, reaching over and clasping my hand. “I’ll behave.”
I want to say more, but I don’t. It’s her birthday and her dad’s in the ICU.
And you bought her the car, Grey.
“Okay. Good. Let’s go.”
While Ana is visiting with Ray, I hole up in the waiting room and make some calls. First, Andrea.
“Mr. Grey. Good morning.”
“Good morning. What news?”
“Everyone is lined up to come to Portland. I’m liaising with Stephan later this morning. I’m still waiting to hear from The Heathman, and if they can’t source a cake, I’ve found a bakery in Portland that can do it today.”
“Good work.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Adams will take off at ten thirty this morning Pacific time. They should be in Portland by four thirty.”
“Do they know why we’ve moved the surprise party to Portland?”
“I haven’t elaborated.”
Good. I don’t want Carla to spend the flight worrying about Ray.
Andrea continues, “Mrs. Adams said she’s deliberately not contacting Mrs. Grey, to add to the surprise.”
“Okay. Let me know when they’ve left Savannah.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks for organizing all this.”
“It’s a pleasure, sir. I hope Mr. Steele continues to improve.”
“We’ll talk later.” I hang up and open the e-mail that has caught my attention.
From: Grey, Carrick
Subject: Drunk Driver. Astoria PD.
Date: September 10 2011 09:37
To: Christian Grey
Your mother says that Raymond Steele is in good hands.
I’ll be joining her later for Ana’s birthday celebrations.
With regard to the driver, I have some information which I’d rather talk you through, either in person or over the phone.
See you this evening, son.
Dad.
Carrick Grey, Partner
Grey, Krueger, Davis, and Holt LLP
I call Carrick but get his voice mail. I leave a message, then sit down and peruse the notes Ros has sent me regarding our meeting yesterday with the Hwangs.
Half an hour later my dad calls.
“Christian.”
“Dad. Hello. You have news?” I stare out at the Portland skyline.
“I spoke with one of my contacts at the Astoria PD. The perpetrator’s name is Jeffrey Lance. He’s well known to the police, not only in Astoria but also in southeast Portland, where he’s from. He lives in a trailer park there.”
“He was a long way from home.”
“His blood alcohol level was 0.28 percent.”
“What does that mean?”
I turn around; unbeknownst to me, Ana has crept into the waiting room and is watching me warily.
“It means he was three and a half times over the legal limit,” Dad says, pulling me back into the conversation.
“How far above the limit?” I don’t believe it. Fucking drunks. I loathe them. From deep in that part of my brain that holds my most painful memories, the smell of stale Camel cigarette smoke, bourbon, and body odor seeps into my consciousness.
“There you are, you little prick.”
Fuck. The crack whore’s pimp.
“Three and half times,” Dad mutters, disgusted.
“I see.”
“And it isn’t his first offense. His driver’s license was suspended. He has no insurance. The police are assessing all the charges and his lawyer is trying to get a plea bargain, but—”
“All charges, everything,” I interrupt. My blood’s boiling. What an asshole. “Ana’s father is in the ICU. I want you to throw the fucking book at him, Dad.”
“Son—I can’t get involved, because of the family connection. But one of the women I work with specializes in this kind of law. With your permission, she can act on behalf of your father-in-law, and she’ll press for the heaviest penalties.”
I blow out a breath, trying to calm down. “Good,” I mutter.
“I have to go, son. There’s another call on the line. See you later.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Will do.”
“The other driver?” Ana asks, when I’ve hung up.
“Some drunken asshole from southeast Portland.”
Her eyes widen, probably at my tone, but Jeffrey Lance deserves it. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I amble over to her. “Finished with Ray? Do you want to go?”
“Um, no.” She looks anxious.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Ray’s being taken to radiology for a CT scan to check the swelling in his brain. I’d like to wait for the results.”
“Okay. We’ll wait.” Sitting down, I hold out my arms and she climbs into my lap. I stroke her back and inhale the scent of her hair. It’s soothing. “This is not how I envisaged spending today,” I murmur against her temple.
“Me neither, but I’m feeling more positive now. Your mom was very reassuring. It was kind of her to come last night.”
“My mom is an amazing woman.” I continue caressing her back and rest my chin on her head.
“She is. You’re very lucky to have her.”
I couldn’t agree more, Ana.
“I should call my mom. Tell her about Ray,” she says.
Uh-oh. At this moment her mom should be en route to Portland.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t called me.” She frowns, and I feel a little guilty about my subterfuge.
“Maybe she did,” I offer.
Ana fishes her phone out of her pocket but finds no missed calls. She looks through her texts, and from what I can see she’s received birthday wishes from her friends, but as I suspected, nothing from her mother. She shakes her head.
“Call her now,” I say, knowing she won’t get a reply. Ana does, but she soon hangs up.
“She’s not there. I’ll call later when I know the results of the brain scan.”
Drawing her closer, I kiss her hair. I long to tell her, but that would blow the surprise. My own phone buzzes. Without letting go of Ana, I tug it out of my pocket.
“Andrea.”
“Mr. Grey. Just to let you know that Mr. and Mrs. Adams took off from Savannah fifteen minutes ago.”
“Good.”
“Taylor is primed to pick them up from the airport.”
“ETA is what time?” I don’t want Ana and me to run into them at the hotel.
“At present, four thirty-five.”
“And the other, um”—I glance down at Ana, not wanting to give the game away—“packages?”
“They’re all set. Your father is driving down. Your brother, sister, Kate, and Ethan Kavanagh will be flying down with Stephan. They can’t leave until five thirty because of your sister’s new job, but they should be with you by six thirty.”
“Does The Heathman have all the details?”
“Rooms have been booked for all of them. Dinner is booked for twelve people at seven thirty. They are offering the full menu and a cake—chocolate, as requested.”
“Good.”
“Ros wanted to know if you got her notes on the shipyard deal. If you’re happy with them, she can send the Heads of Agreement for signing.”
“Yes. It can hold until Monday morning, but e-mail it just in case—I’ll print, sign, and scan it back to you.”
“Samir and Helena have an HR issue they want to discuss, and Marco needs two minutes.”
“They can wait. Go home, Andrea.”
I think I hear her smile on the end of the phone. “Is there anything else you need? I’m on my cell if you do.”
“No, we’re good, thank you.” I hang up.
“Everything okay?” Ana asks.
“Yes.”
“Is this your Taiwan thing?”
“Yes.”
“Am I too heavy?”
As if! “No, baby.”
She asks me if I’m worried about the Taiwan deal and I assure her I’m not.
“I thought it was important.”
“It is. The shipyard here depends on it. There are lots of jobs at stake. We just have to sell it to the unions. That’s Sam and Ros’s job. But the way the economy’s heading, none of us have a lot of choice.”
Ana yawns.
“Am I boring you, Mrs. Grey?” Amused, I kiss her hair once more.
“No! Never. I’m just very comfortable on your lap,” she murmurs. “I like hearing about your business.”
“You do?”
“Of course. I like hearing any bit of information you deign to share with me.” She smirks, and I know she’s teasing me.
“Always hungry for more information, Mrs. Grey.”
“Tell me.” She rests her head against my chest again.
“Tell you what?”
“Why you do it.”
“Do what?”
“Work the way you do.”
I snort, amused, because it’s obvious, isn’t it? “A guy’s got to earn a living.”
“Christian, you earn more than a living,” she says, her eyes as guileless as ever, demanding the truth.
“I don’t want to be poor. I’ve done that. I’m not going back there again.”
The hunger.
The insecurity.
The vulnerability.
…The fear.
Grey, lighten up. It’s her birthday.
“Besides, it’s a game. It’s about winning. A game I’ve always found very easy.”
“Unlike life,” she mutters, almost to herself.
“Yes, I suppose.” I’ve never thought of it that way. I smile at her. Perceptive, Mrs. Grey. “Though it’s easier with you.”
She hugs me. “It can’t all be a game. You’re very philanthropic.”
I shrug. “About some things, maybe.” Ana, don’t lionize me. I can afford to be generous.
“I love philanthropic Christian,” she whispers.
“Just him?”
“Oh, I love megalomaniac Christian, too, and control-freak Christian, sexpertise Christian, kinky Christian, romantic Christian, shy Christian—the list is endless.”
“That’s a whole lot of Christians.”
“I’d say at least fifty.”
I laugh. “Fifty Shades,” I whisper into her hair.
“My Fifty Shades.”
I sit back, tip her head up, and kiss her. “Well, Mrs. Shades, let’s see how your dad is doing.”
“Okay.”
Dr. Sluder has good news. The swelling in Ray’s brain has subsided, so she’s decided to wake him from
his coma tomorrow morning.
“I’m pleased with his progress. He’s come a long way in a short period of time. His recovery is proceeding well. It’s all good, Mrs. Grey.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Ana gushes, her eyes shining with gratitude.
I take Ana’s hand. “Let’s go get some lunch.”
“Can we go for a drive?” she asks as she starts the ignition.
“Sure. It’s your birthday—we can do anything you want.” For a moment I’m transported to a parking lot in Seattle, where an insatiable Ana took matters into her own hands.
She stares at me, her eyes darkening. “Anything?” Her voice is husky.
“Anything,” I offer.
“Well.” Her tone is seductive. “I want to drive.”
“Then drive, baby.” We grin at each other like the fools we are, and I resist the urge to pounce on her.
Behave, Grey.
Ana steers us out of the lot, and at a sedate speed that keeps my blood pressure normal she takes us to I-5. Once there, she puts her foot down, throwing us back into our seats. Damn! She was lulling me into a false sense of security. “Ana! Steady, baby,” I warn, and she slows down. We cruise over the bridge; luckily, the traffic is light. I stare down at the Willamette River and remember all the times I went running along its banks when I stayed in Portland during my pursuit of Miss Anastasia Steele.
And now here we are and she’s Mrs. Anastasia Grey.
“Have you planned lunch?” she asks.
“No. You’re hungry?” I hear the hope in my voice.
“Yes.”
“Where do you want to go? It’s your day, Ana.”
“I know just the place.”
She diverts off I-5, back across the river, and into downtown Portland. Eventually she pulls up outside the restaurant where we ate after José Rodriguez’s photography exhibition. The day I won her back.
“For one minute I thought you were going to take me to that dreadful bar you drunk-dialed me from,” I tease her.
“Why would I do that?”
“To check the azaleas are still alive.” I give her a sideways look, and she blushes.
Oh, yes, baby. You vomited at my feet.
“Don’t remind me! Besides, you still took me to your hotel room.” Smirking, she lifts her chin in that stubborn, triumphant way that she has.
“Best decision I ever made.”
