Grey (21 page)

I change from my suit to my sweats to get ready for the hotel gym. As I'm about to leave my room, I hear a ping. It's her.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
My Issues…What about Your Issues?

Date:
May 24 2011 18:29

To:
Christian Grey

Sir,

Please note the date of origin: 1580–90. I would respectfully remind Sir that the year is 2011. We have come a long way since then.

May I offer a definition for
you
to consider for our meeting:

compromise [kom-pr
uh
-mahyz]—
noun

1. a settlement of differences by mutual concessions; an agreement reached by adjustment of conflicting or opposing claims, principles, etc., by reciprocal modification of demands. 2. the result of such a settlement. 3. something intermediate between different things:
The split-level is a compromise between a ranch house and a multistoried house.
4. an endangering, esp. of reputation; exposure to danger, suspicion, etc.:
a compromise of one's integrity.

Ana

What a surprise, a provocative e-mail from Miss Steele, but our meeting is still happening.
Well, that's a relief.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
What about My Issues?

Date:
May 24 2011 18:32

To:
Anastasia Steele

Good point, well made, as ever, Miss Steele. I will collect you from your apartment at 7:00 tomorrow.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

My phone buzzes. It's Elliot.

“Hey, hotshot. Kate's asked me to hassle you about the move.”

“The move?”

“Kate and Ana, help moving, you dipshit.”

I give him an exaggerated sigh. He really is a crude asshole. “I can't help. I'm meeting Mia at the airport.”

“What? Can't Mom do that, or Dad?”

“No. Mom called me this morning.”

“Then I guess that settles it. You never told me how you got on with Ana? Did you f—”

“Good-bye, Elliot.” I hang up. It's none of his business and there's an e-mail waiting for me.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
2011—Women Can Drive

Date:
May 24 2011 18:40

To:
Christian Grey

Sir,

I have a car. I can drive.

I would prefer to meet you somewhere.

Where shall I meet you?

At your hotel at 7:00?

Ana

How irritating. I write back immediately.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Stubborn Young Women

Date:
May 24 2011 18:43

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I refer to my e-mail dated May 24, 2011, sent at 1:27, and the definition contained therein.

Do you ever think you'll be able to do what you're told?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Her response is slow, which does nothing for my mood.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Intractable Men

Date:
May 24 2011 18:49

To:
Christian Grey

Mr. Grey,

I would like to drive.

Please.

Ana

Intractable? Me? Fuck.
If our meeting goes as planned, her contrary behavior will be a thing of the past. With that in mind, I agree.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Exasperated Men

Date:
May 24 2011 18:52

To:
Anastasia Steele

Fine.

My hotel at 7:00.

I'll meet you in the Marble Bar.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Not So Intractable Men

Date:
May 24 2011 18:55

To:
Christian Grey

Thank you.

Ana x

And I'm rewarded with a kiss. Ignoring how that makes me feel, I let her know that she's welcome. My mood has lifted as I head to the hotel gym.

She sent me a kiss…

WEDNESDAY, MAY 25, 2011

I
order a glass of Sancerre and stand at the bar. I've been waiting for this moment all day and look repeatedly at my watch. This feels like a first date, and in a way it is. I've never taken a prospect out to dinner. I've sat through interminable meetings today, bought a business, and fired three people. Nothing I've done today, including running—twice—and a quick circuit in the gym, has dispelled the anxiety I've wrestled with all day. That power is in the hands of Anastasia Steele. I want her submission.

I hope she's not going to be late. I glance toward the entrance of the bar…and my mouth dries. She's standing on the threshold, and for a second I don't realize it's her. She looks exquisite: her hair falls in soft waves to her breast on one side, and on the other it's pinned back so it's easier to see her delicate jawline and the gentle curve of her slender neck. She's wearing high heels and a tight dark purple dress that accentuates her lithe, alluring figure.

Wow.

I step forward to meet her. “You look stunning,” I whisper, and kiss her cheek. Closing my eyes, I savor her scent; she smells heavenly. “A dress, Miss Steele. I approve.” Diamonds in her ears would complete the ensemble; I must buy her a pair.

Taking her hand, I lead her to a booth. “What would you like to drink?”

I'm rewarded with a knowing smile as she sits down. “I'll have what you're having, please.”

Ah, she's learning.
“Another glass of the Sancerre,” I tell the waiter, and I slide into the booth, opposite her. “They have an excellent wine cellar here,” I add, and take a moment to look at her. She's wearing a little makeup. Not too much. And I remember
when she first fell into my office how ordinary I thought she looked. She is anything but ordinary. With a little makeup and the right clothes, she's a goddess.

She shifts in her seat and her eyelashes flutter.

“Are you nervous?” I ask.

“Yes.”

This is it, Grey.

Leaning forward, in a candid whisper, I tell her that I'm nervous, too. She looks at me as if I've grown three heads.

Yeah, I'm human, too, baby…just.

The waiter places Ana's wine and two small plates of mixed nuts and olives between us.

Ana squares her shoulders, an indication that she means business, like she did when she first interviewed me. “So, how are we going to do this? Run through my points one by one?” she asks.

“Impatient as ever, Miss Steele.”

“Well, I could ask you what you thought of the weather today,” she retorts.

Oh, that smart mouth.

Let her stew for a moment, Grey.

Keeping my eyes on hers, I pop an olive into my mouth and lick my index finger. Her eyes grow wider and darker.

“I thought the weather was particularly unexceptional today.” I try for nonchalance.

“Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?”

“I am, Miss Steele.”

She purses her lips to stifle her smile. “You know this contract is legally unenforceable.”

“I am fully aware of that, Miss Steele.”

“Were you going to tell me that at any point?”

What? I didn't think I'd have to…and you've worked it out for yourself.
“You'd think I'd coerce you into something you don't want to do, and then pretend that I have a legal hold over you?”

“Well, yes.”

Whoa.
“You don't think very highly of me, do you?”

“You haven't answered my question.”

“Anastasia, it doesn't matter if it's legal or not. It represents an arrangement that I would like to make with you—what I would like from you and what you can expect from me. If you don't like it, then don't sign. If you do sign and then decide you don't like it, there are enough get-out clauses so you can walk away. Even if it were legally binding, do you think I'd drag you through the courts if you did decide to run?”

What does she take me for?

She considers me with her unfathomable blue eyes.

What I need her to understand is that this contract isn't about the law, it's about trust.

I want you to trust me, Ana.

As she takes a sip of her wine I rush on, endeavoring to explain. “Relationships like this are built on honesty and trust. If you don't trust me—trust me to know how I'm affecting you, how far I can go with you, how far I can take you—if you can't be honest with me, then we really can't do this.”

She rubs her chin as she considers what I've said.

“So it's quite simple, Anastasia. Do you trust me or not?”

And if she thinks so little of me, then we shouldn't do this at all.

My gut is knotting with tension.

“Did you have similar discussions with, um…the fifteen?”

“No.”
Why is she going off on this tangent?

“Why not?” she asks.

“Because they were all established submissives. They knew what they wanted out of a relationship with me and generally what I expected. With them, it was just a question of fine-tuning the soft limits, details like that.”

“Is there a store you go to? Submissives 'R' Us?” She arches an eyebrow and I laugh out loud. And like a magician's rabbit the tension in my body disappears. “Not exactly.” My tone is wry.

“Then how?” She's ever-curious, but I don't want to talk about Elena again. Last time I mentioned her Ana turned frosty. “Is that what you want to discuss? Or shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Your issues, as you say.”

She frowns.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

She looks suspiciously at the olives. “No.”

“Have you eaten today?”

She hesitates.

Shit.

“No,” she says. I try not to let her admission anger me.

“You have to eat, Anastasia. We can eat down here or in my suite. Which would you prefer?”

She'll never go for this.

“I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground.”

As predicted—sensible, Miss Steele.

“Do you think that would stop me?” My voice is husky.

She swallows. “I hope so.”

Put the girl out of her misery, Grey.

“Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public.” Rising, I hold out my hand to her.

Will she take it?

She looks from my face to my hand.

“Bring your wine,” I order. And she picks up her glass and places her hand in mine.

As we leave the bar, I notice admiring glances from other guests, and in the case of one handsome, athletic guy, overt appreciation of my date. It's not something I've dealt with before…and I don't think I like it.

Upstairs on the mezzanine, the liveried young host dispatched by the maître d' leads us to the room I've booked. He only has eyes for Miss Steele, and I give him a withering look that sends him in retreat from the opulent dining room. An older waiter seats Ana and drapes a napkin on her lap.

“I've ordered already. I hope you don't mind.”

“No, that's fine,” she says with a gracious nod.

“It's good to know that you can be amenable.” I smirk. “Now, where were we?”

“The nitty-gritty,” she says, focused on the task at hand, but then she takes a large gulp of wine and her cheeks color. She must
be looking for courage. I'll have to watch how much she's drinking, because she's driving.

She could always spend the night here…then I could peel her out of that enticing dress.

Regaining my focus, I return to business—Ana's issues. From the inside pocket of my jacket I retrieve her e-mail. She squares her shoulders once more and gives me an expectant look, and I have to hide my amusement. “Clause two. Agreed. This is for the benefit of us both. I shall redraft.”

She takes another sip.

“My sexual health? Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months for all the health risks you mention. All my recent tests are clear. I have never taken drugs. In fact, I'm vehemently antidrug. I have a strict no-tolerance policy with regards to drugs for all my employees, and I insist on random drug testing.”

In fact, one of the people I fired today failed his drug test.

She's shocked, but I plow on. “I've never had any blood transfusions. Does that answer your question?”

She nods.

“Your next point I mentioned earlier. You can walk away anytime, Anastasia. I won't stop you. If you go, however—that's it. Just so you know.”

No. Second. Chances. Ever.

“Okay,” she replies, though she doesn't sound certain.

We both fall silent as the waiter enters with our appetizers. For a moment I wonder if I should have held this meeting at my office, then dismiss the thought as ridiculous. Only fools mix business with pleasure. I've kept my work and private life separate; it's one of my golden rules, and the only exception to that is my relationship with Elena…but then she helped me start my business.

“I hope you like oysters,” I remark to Ana as the waiter leaves.

“I've never had one.”

“Really? Well. All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that.” I stare pointedly at her mouth, remembering how
well she can swallow. On cue she blushes and I squeeze lemon juice on the shellfish and tip it into my mouth. “Hmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea.” I grin as she watches me, fascinated. “Go on,” I encourage her, knowing that she's not one to back down from a challenge.

“So, I don't chew it?”

“No, Anastasia, you don't.” And I try not to think about her teeth toying with my favorite part of my anatomy.

She presses them into her bottom lip, leaving little indentation marks.

Damn.
The sight stirs my body and I shift in my chair. She reaches for an oyster, squeezes the lemon, holds back her head, and opens wide. As she tips the oyster into her mouth my body hardens.

“Well?” I ask, and I sound a little hoarse.

“I'll have another,” she says with wry humor.

“Good girl.”

She asks me if I've chosen oysters deliberately, knowing their reputed aphrodisiac qualities. I surprise her when I tell her they were simply at the top of the menu. “I don't need an aphrodisiac near you.”

Yeah, I could fuck you right now.

Behave, Grey. Get this negotiation back on track.

“So where were we?” I return to her e-mail and concentrate on her outstanding issues. Clause nine. “Obey me in all things. Yes, I want you to do that.” This is important to me. I need to know she's safe and will do
anything
for me. “I need you to do that. Think of it as role-play, Anastasia.”

“But I'm worried you'll hurt me.”

“Hurt you how?”

“Physically.”

“Do you really think I would do that? Go beyond any limit you can't take?”

“You've said you've hurt someone before.”

“Yes, I have. It was a long time ago.”

“How did you hurt her?”

“I suspended her from my playroom ceiling. In fact, that's one of your questions. Suspension—that's what the karabiners are for in the playroom. Rope play. One of the ropes was tied too tightly.”

Appalled, she holds up her hand in a plea for me to stop.

Too much information.

“I don't need to know any more. So you won't suspend me, then?” she asks.

“Not if you really don't want to. You can make that a hard limit.”

“Okay.” She exhales, relieved.

Move on, Grey.
“So, obeying, do you think you can manage that?”

She stares at me with those eyes that see through to my dark soul, and I don't know what she's going to say.

Shit. This could be the end.

“I could try,” she says, her voice low.

It's my turn to exhale.
I'm still in the game.
“Good.”

“Now term.” Clause eleven. “One month instead of three is no time at all, especially if you want a weekend away from me each month.” We'll get nowhere in that time. She needs training and I can't stay away from her for any length of time. I tell her as much. Maybe we can compromise, as she suggested. “How about one day over one weekend per month you get to yourself—but I get a midweek night that week?”

I watch her weighing the possibility. “Okay,” she says eventually, her expression serious.

Good.

“And please, let's try it for three months. If it's not for you, then you can walk away anytime.”

“Three months,” she says. Is she agreeing? I'll take it as a “yes.”

Right. Here goes.

“The ownership thing, that's just terminology and goes back to the principle of obeying. It's to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I'm coming from. And I want you to
know that as soon as you cross my threshold as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that, and willingly. That's why you have to trust me. I will fuck you, anytime, any way I want—anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me.

“But I know you've not done this before. Initially, we'll take it slowly, and I will help you. We'll build up to various scenarios. I want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn your trust, and I will. The ‘or otherwise'—again, it's to help you get into the mind-set; it means anything goes.”

Some speech, Grey.

She sits back—overwhelmed, I think.

“Still with me?” I ask, gently. The waiter sneaks into the room, and with a nod I give him permission to clear our table.

“Would you like some more wine?” I ask her.