“Caroline Acton.”
“Text me her number.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll see you later this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up.
So far it’s been one interesting morning. I can’t recall any exchange of e-mails being that fun, ever. I glance at the laptop, but there’s nothing new. Ana must be at work.
I run my hands through my hair.
Ros noticed how distracted I was during that conversation.
Shit, Grey. Get your act together.
I wolf down my breakfast, drink some cold coffee, and head into my bedroom to shower and change. Even when I’m washing my hair I can’t get that woman out of my head. Ana.
Amazing Ana.
The image of her bouncing up and down on top of me comes to mind; of her lying over my knee, ass pink; of her tethered to the bed, mouth open in ecstasy. Lord, that woman is hot. And this morning, waking up next to her, it wasn’t so bad, and I slept well…really well.
Shouty capitals. Her e-mails make me laugh. They’re entertaining. She’s funny. I never knew I liked that in a woman. I’ll need to think about what we’ll do on Sunday in my playroom…something fun, something new for her.
While shaving I have an idea, and as soon as I’m dressed I get back on my laptop to browse my favorite toy store. I need a riding crop—brown plaited leather. I smirk. I’m going to make Ana’s dreams come true.
Order placed, I turn to work e-mails, energized and productive, until Taylor interrupts me. “Good morning, Taylor.”
“Mr. Grey.” He nods, looking at me with a puzzled expression, and I realize I’m grinning because I’m thinking about her e-mails again.
Descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me.
“I’ve had a good morning,” I find myself explaining.
“I’m pleased to hear it, sir. I have Miss Steele’s laundry from last week.”
“Pack it with my things.”
“Will do.”
“Thank you.” I watch him walk into my bedroom. Even Taylor is noticing the Anastasia Steele effect. My phone buzzes: it’s a text from Elliot.
You still in Portland?
Yes. But I’m leaving soon.
I’ll be there later. I’m gonna help the girls move.
Shame you can’t stay.
Our first DOUBLE DATE since Ana popped your cherry.
Fuck off. I’m picking up Mia.
I need deets bro. Kate tells me nothing.
Good. Fuck off. Again.
“Mr. Grey?” Taylor interrupts once more, my luggage in hand. “The courier has been dispatched with the BlackBerry.”
“Thanks.”
He nods, and as he leaves I type up another e-mail to Miss Steele.
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.
And maybe you’ll answer this phone when I call.
At 11:30 I have another conference call, with our director of finance, to discuss GEH’s charitable giving for the next quarter. That takes the best part of an hour, and when it’s over I finish a light lunch and read the rest of my Forbes magazine.
As I swallow the last forkful of salad, I realize I have no other reason to stay at the hotel. It’s time to go, yet I’m reluctant. And deep down I have to acknowledge it’s because I won’t see Ana until Sunday, unless she changes her mind.
Fuck. I hope not.
Pushing that unpleasant thought aside, I start packing my papers into my messenger bag, and when I reach for my laptop to put it away, I see there’s an e-mail from Ana.
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
She’s scolding me! I respond immediately.
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.
She doesn’t answer straightaway, so I pack my laptop. Grabbing my bag, I head down to reception and check out. While I’m waiting for my car, Andrea calls to tell me that she’s found an ob-gyn to come to Escala on Sunday.
“Her name is Dr. Greene, and she comes highly recommended by your M.D., sir.”
“Good.”
“She runs her practice out of Northwest.”
“Okay.” Where is Andrea going with this?
“There’s one thing sir—she’s expensive.”
I dismiss her concern. “Andrea, whatever she wants is fine.”
“In that case, she can be at your apartment one thirty on Sunday.”
“Great. Go ahead.”
“Will do, Mr. Grey.”
I hang up, and I’m tempted to call my mother to check Dr. Greene’s credentials, as they work in the same hospital; but that might provoke too many questions from Grace.
Once in the car I send Ana an e-mail with details about Sunday.
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.
Right. All done. I ease the R8 onto the road and roar toward I-5. As I pass the exit for Vancouver I’m inspired. I call Andrea on the hands-free and ask her to organize a housewarming present for Ana and Kate.
“What would you like to send?”
“Bollinger La Grande Année Rosé, 1999 vintage.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“What do you mean, anything else?”
“Flowers? Chocolates? A balloon?”
“Balloon?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of balloons?”
“Well…they have everything.”
“Okay. Good idea—see if you can get a helicopter balloon.”
“Yes, sir. And a message for the card?”
“ ‘Ladies, good luck in your new home. Christian Grey.’ Got that?”
“I have. What’s the address?”
Shit. I don’t know. “I’ll text it to you either later today or tomorrow. Will that work?”
“Yes, sir. I can get it delivered tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Andrea.”
“You’re welcome.” She sounds surprised.
I hang up and floor my R8.
BY 6:30 I’M HOME and my earlier ebullient mood has soured—I still haven’t heard from Ana. I select a pair of cuff links from the drawers in my closet and as I knot my bow tie for the night’s event I wonder if she’s okay. She said she would contact me when she got home; I’ve called her twice, but I’ve heard nothing, and it’s pissing me off. I try her once more and this time I leave a message.
“I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I’m 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.”
If she doesn’t call soon I am going to explode.
I’M SEATED AT A table with Whelan, my banker. I’m his guest at a charity function for a nonprofit that aims to raise awareness of global poverty.