Grey (25 page)

Staring out the car window as we drive toward The Heathman, I watch the good people of Portland go about their afternoon. At a stoplight there's a young couple arguing on the sidewalk over a spilled bag of groceries. Another couple, even younger, walks hand in hand past them, eyes locked and giggling. The girl leans up and whispers something in the ear of her tattooed beau. He laughs, leans down, and kisses her quickly, then opens the door to a coffee shop and steps aside to let her enter.

Ana wants “more.” I sigh heavily and plow my fingers through my hair. They always want more. All of them. What can I do about that? The hand-in-hand couple strolling to the coffee shop—Ana and I did that. We've eaten together at two restaurants, and it was…fun. Perhaps I could try. After all, she's giving me so much. I loosen my tie.

Could I do more?

BACK IN MY ROOM,
I strip down, pull on my sweats, and head downstairs for a quick circuit in the gym. Enforced socializing has stretched the limits of my patience and I need to work off some excess energy.

And I need to think about
more.

ONCE I'M SHOWERED AND
dressed and back in front of my laptop, Ros calls via WebEx to check in and we talk for forty minutes. We cover all of the items on her agenda, including the Taiwan proposal and Darfur. The cost of the airdrop is staggering, but it's safer for all involved. I give her the go-ahead. Now we have to wait for the shipment to arrive in Rotterdam.

“I'm up to date on Kavanagh Media. I think Barney should be in on the meeting, too,” Ros says.

“If you think so. Let Andrea know.”

“Will do. How was the graduation ceremony?” she asks.

“Good. Unexpected.”

Ana agreed to be mine.

“Unexpected good?”

“Yes.”

From the screen Ros peers at me, intrigued, but I say nothing more.

“Andrea tells me you're back in Seattle tomorrow.”

“Yes. I have a function to attend in the evening.”

“Well, I hope your ‘merger' has been successful.”

“I would say affirmative at this point, Ros.”

She smirks. “Glad to hear it. I have another meeting, so if there's nothing else, I'll say good-bye for now.”

“Good-bye.” I log out of WebEx and into e-mail, turning my attention to this evening.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Soft Limits

Date:
May 26 2011 17:22

To:
Anastasia Steele

What can I say that I haven't already?

Happy to talk these through anytime.

You looked beautiful today.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

And to think this morning I was convinced it was all over between us.

Jesus, Grey. You need to get a grip.
Flynn would have a field day.

Of course, part of the reason was she didn't have her phone. Perhaps she needs a more reliable form of communication.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
BlackBerry

Date:
May 26 2011 17:36

To:
J B Taylor

Cc:
Andrea Ashton

Taylor

Please source a new BlackBerry for Anastasia Steele with her e-mail preinstalled. Andrea can get the account details from Barney and get them to you.

Please deliver it tomorrow either to her home or to Clayton's.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Once that's sent, I pick up the latest
Forbes
and start to read.

By 6:30 there's no response from Ana, so I assume she's still entertaining the quiet and unassuming Ray Steele. Given that they aren't related, they're remarkably similar.

I order the seafood risotto from room service and while I wait I read more of my book.

GRACE CALLS WHILE I'M
reading.

“Christian, darling.”

“Hello, Mother.”

“Did Mia get in touch?”

“Yes. I have her flight details. I'll pick her up.”

“Great. Now, I hope you'll stay for dinner on Saturday.”

“Sure.”

“And then on Sunday Elliot is bringing his friend Kate to dinner. Would you like to come? You could bring Anastasia.”

That's what Kavanagh was talking about today.

I play for time. “I'll have to see if she's free.”

“Let me know. It will be lovely to have all the family together again.”

I roll my eyes. “If you say so, Mother.”

“I do, darling. See you Saturday.”

She hangs up.

Take
Ana
to
meet
my
parents? How
the
hell
do
I
get
out
of
that?

As I contemplate this predicament, an e-mail arrives.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Soft Limits

Date:
May 26 2011 19:23

To:
Christian Grey

I can come over this evening to discuss if you'd like.

Ana

No, no baby. Not in that car.
And my plans fall into place.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Soft Limits

Date:
May 26 2011 19:27

To:
Anastasia Steele

I'll come to you. I meant it when I said I wasn't happy about you driving that car.

I'll be with you shortly.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I print out another copy of the “Soft Limits” from the contract and her “Issues” e-mail because I've left my first copy in my jacket, which she still has in her possession. Then I call Taylor in his room.

“I'm going to deliver the car to Anastasia. Can you pick me up from her place—say, nine thirty?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Before I leave I stuff two condoms into the back pocket of my jeans.

I might get lucky.

THE A3 IS FUN
to drive, though it's got less torque than I'm used to. I pull up outside a liquor store on the outskirts of Portland to buy some celebratory champagne. I forgo the Cristal and the Dom Pérignon for a Bollinger, mostly because it's the 1999 vintage, and chilled, but also because it's pink…symbolic, I think with a smirk, as I hand my AmEx to the cashier.

Ana is still wearing the stunning gray dress when she opens the door. I look forward to peeling it off her later.

“Hi,” she says, her eyes large and luminous in her pale face.

“Hi.”

“Come in.” She seems shy and awkward.
Why? What's happened?

“If I may.” I hold up the bottle of champagne. “I thought we'd celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger.”

“Interesting choice of words.” Her voice is sardonic.

“Oh, I like your ready wit, Anastasia.” There she is…my girl.

“We only have teacups. We've packed all the glasses.”

“Teacups? Sounds good to me.”

I watch her wander into the kitchen. She's nervous and skittish. Perhaps because she's had a big day, or because she's agreed to my terms, or because she's here alone—I know Kavanagh is with her own family this evening; her father told me. I hope the champagne will help Ana relax…and talk.

The room is empty, except for packing crates, the sofa, and the table. There's a brown parcel on the table with a handwritten note attached.

“I agree to the conditions, Angel; because you know best what my punishment ought to be; only—only—don't make it more than I can bear!”

“Do you want saucers as well?” she calls.

“Teacups will be fine, Anastasia,” I respond, distracted. She's wrapped up the books—the first editions I sent her. She's giving them back to me. She doesn't want them. This is why she's nervous.

How the hell will she react to the car?

Looking up, I see her standing there, watching me. And carefully she places the cups on the table.

“That's for you.” Her voice is small and strained.

“Hmm, I figured as much,” I mutter. “Very apt quote.” I trace her handwriting with my finger. The letters are small and neat, and I wonder what a graphologist would make of them. “I thought I was d'Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement.” Of
course it's the perfect quote. My smile is ironic. “Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately.”

“It's also a plea,” she whispers.

“A plea? For me to go easy on you?”

She nods.

To me these books were an investment, but for her I thought they'd mean something.

“I bought these for you.” It's a small white lie—as I've replaced them. “I'll go easier on you if you accept them.” I keep my voice calm and quiet, masking my disappointment.

“Christian, I can't accept them, they're just too much.”

Here we go, another battle of wills.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that's the end of the discussion. It's very simple. You don't have to think about this. As a submissive you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so.”

“I wasn't a submissive when you bought them for me,” she says quietly.

As ever, she has an answer for everything.

“No…but you've agreed, Anastasia.”

Is she reneging on our deal? God, this girl has me on a roller coaster.

“So they are mine to do with as I wish?”

“Yes.”
I thought you loved Hardy?

“In that case, I'd like to give them to a charity—one working in Darfur, since that seems to be close to your heart. They can auction them.”

“If that's what you want to do.” I'm not going to stop you.

You can burn them, for all I care…

Her pale face colors. “I'll think about it,” she mutters.

“Don't think, Anastasia. Not about this.”
Keep them, please. They're for you, because your passion is books. You've told me more than once. Enjoy them.

Placing the champagne on the table, I stand in front of her and cup her chin, tipping back her head so my eyes are on hers. “I will buy you lots of things, Anastasia. Get used to it. I can afford it. I'm a very wealthy man.” I kiss her quickly. “Please,” I add, and release her.

“It makes me feel cheap,” she says.

“It shouldn't. You're overthinking it. Don't place some vague moral judgment on yourself based on what others might think. Don't waste your energy. It's only because you have reservations about our arrangement; that's perfectly natural. You don't know what you're getting yourself into.”

Anxiety is etched all over her lovely face.

“Hey, stop this. There is nothing about you that is cheap, Anastasia. I won't have you thinking that. I just sent you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that's all.”

She blinks a couple of times and stares at the package, obviously conflicted.

Keep them, Ana
—
they're for you.

“Have some champagne,” I whisper, and she rewards me with a small smile.

“That's better.” I open the champagne and fill the dainty teacups she's placed in front of me.

“It's pink.” She's surprised, and I haven't the heart to tell her why I chose pink.

“Bollinger La Grande Année Rosé 1999—an excellent vintage.”

“In teacups.” She grins. It's infectious.

“In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Anastasia.”

We touch cups, and I drink. It tastes good, as I knew it would.

“Thank you.” She raises the cup to her lips and takes a quick sip. “Shall we go through the soft limits?”

“Always so eager.” Taking her hand, I lead her to the sofa—one of the only remaining pieces of furniture in the living room—and we sit, surrounded by boxes.

“Your stepfather's a very taciturn man.”

“You managed to get him eating out of your hand.”

I chuckle. “Only because I know how to fish.”

“How did you know he liked fishing?”

“You told me. When we went for coffee.”

“Oh, did I?” She takes another sip and closes her eyes, savoring the taste. Opening them again, she asks, “Did you try the wine at the reception?”

“Yes. It was foul.” I grimace.

“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”

“I'm not knowledgeable, Anastasia, I just know what I like.” And I like you. “Some more?” I nod toward the bottle on the table.

“Please.”

I fetch the champagne and refill her cup. She regards me suspiciously. She knows I'm plying her with alcohol.

“This place looks pretty bare. Are you ready for the move?” I ask, to distract her.

“More or less.”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes, my last day at Clayton's.”

“I'd help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport. Mia arrives from Paris early on Saturday. I'm heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Elliot is giving you two a hand.”

“Yes, Kate is very excited about that.”

I'm surprised Elliot is still interested in Ana's friend; it's not his usual MO. “Yes, Kate and Elliot, who would have thought?” Their liaison makes matters complicated. My mother's voice rings in my head:
“You could bring Anastasia.”

“So what are you doing about work in Seattle?” I ask.

“I have a couple of interviews for intern places.”