Training her will be fun.
TAYLOR WAKES ME FROM my doze. “We’re here, Mr. Grey.”
“Thank you,” I mumble. “I have a meeting in the morning.”
“At the hotel?”
“Yes. Videoconference. I won’t need to be driven anywhere. But I’d like to leave before lunch.”
“What time would you like me to pack?”
“Ten thirty.”
“Very good, sir. The BlackBerry you asked for will be delivered to Miss Steele tomorrow.”
“Good. That reminds me. Can you collect her old Beetle tomorrow and dispose of it? I don’t want her driving it.”
“Of course. I have a friend who restores vintage cars. He might be interested. I’ll deal with it. Will there be anything else?”
“No thank you. Good night.”
“Good night.”
I leave Taylor to park the SUV and make my way up to my suite.
Opening a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, I sit down at the desk and switch on my laptop.
No urgent e-mails.
But my real purpose is to say good night to Ana.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: You
Date: May 26 2011 23:14
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
You are quite simply exquisite. The most beautiful, intelligent, witty, and brave woman I have ever met. Take some Advil—this is not a request. And don’t drive your Beetle again. I will know.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
She’ll probably be asleep, but I keep my laptop open just in case and check e-mail. A few minutes later her response arrives.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Flattery
Date: May 26 2011 23:20
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
Flattery will get you nowhere, but since you’ve been everywhere, the point is moot.
I will need to drive my Beetle to a garage so I can sell it—so will not graciously accept any of your nonsense over that. Red wine is always more preferable to Advil.
Ana
P.S.: Caning is a HARD limit for me.
Her opening line makes me laugh out loud. Oh, baby, I have not been everywhere I want to go with you. Red wine on top of champagne? Not a clever mix, and caning is off the list. I wonder what else she’ll object to as I compose my reply.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Frustrating Women Who Can’t Take Compliments
Date: May 26 2011 23:26
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I am not flattering you. You should go to bed.
I accept your addition to the hard limits.
Don’t drink too much.
Taylor will dispose of your car and get a good price for it, too.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I hope she’s in bed now.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Taylor—Is He the Right Man for the Job?
Date: May 26 2011 23:40
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
I am intrigued that you are happy to risk letting your right-hand man drive my car but not some woman you fuck occasionally. How can I be sure that Taylor is the man to get me the best deal for said car? I have, in the past, probably before I met you, been known to drive a hard bargain.
Ana
What the hell? Some woman I fuck occasionally?
I have to take a deep breath. Her response irks me…no, infuriates me. How dare she talk about herself like that? As my submissive she’ll be so much more than that. I’ll be devoted to her. Does she not realize this?
And she has driven a hard bargain with me. Good God! Look at all the concessions I’ve made with regard to the contract.
I count to ten, and to calm down, I visualize myself aboard The Grace, my catamaran, sailing on the Sound.
Flynn would be proud.
I respond.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful!
Date: May 26 2011 23:44
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I am assuming it is the RED WINE talking, and that you’ve had a very long day.
Though I am tempted to drive back over there to ensure that you don’t sit down for a week, rather than an evening.
Taylor is ex-army and capable of driving anything from a motorcycle to a Sherman tank. Your car does not present a hazard to him.
Now please do not refer to yourself as “some woman I fuck occasionally” because, quite frankly, it makes me MAD, and you really wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I exhale slowly, steadying my heart rate. Who else on earth has the ability to get under my skin like this?
She doesn’t write back immediately. Perhaps she’s intimidated by my response. I pick up my book, but soon find that I’ve read the same paragraph three times while awaiting her reply. I look up for the umpteenth time.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Careful Yourself
Date: May 26 2011 23:57
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
I’m not sure I like you anyway, especially at the moment.
Miss Steele
I stare at her reply, and all my anger withers and dies, to be replaced by a surge of anxiety.
Shit.
Is she saying that’s it?
FRIDAY, MAY 27, 2011
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful Yourself
Date: May 27 2011 00:03
To: Anastasia Steele
Why don’t you like me?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I get up and open another bottle of sparkling water.
And wait.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Careful Yourself
Date: May 27 2011 00:09
To: Christian Grey
Because you never stay with me.
Six words.
Six little words that make my scalp tingle.
I told her that I didn’t sleep with anyone.
But today was a big day.
She graduated from college.
She said yes.
We went through all those soft limits that she knew nothing about. We fucked. I spanked her. We fucked again.
Shit.
And before I can stop myself, I grab the garage ticket for my car, pick up a jacket, and I’m out the door.
THE ROADS ARE EMPTY and I’m at her place twenty-three minutes later.
I knock quietly, and Kavanagh opens the door.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” she shouts, her eyes blazing with anger.
Whoa. Not the reception I was expecting.
“I’ve come to see Ana.”
“Well, you can’t!” Kavanagh stands with arms folded and legs braced in the doorway, like a gargoyle.
I try reasoning with her. “But I need to see her. She sent me an e-mail.” Get out of my way!
“What the fuck have you done to her now?”
“That’s what I need to find out.” I grit my teeth.
“Ever since she met you she cries all the time.”
“What?” I can’t deal with her shit anymore, and I barge past her.
“You can’t come in here!” Kavanagh follows me, shrieking like a harpy, as I storm through the apartment to Ana’s bedroom.
I open Ana’s door and switch on the main light. She’s huddled in her bed, wrapped in her comforter. Her eyes are red and puffy, and squinting in the overhead light. Her nose is swollen and blotchy.