Grey (58 page)

Could I have a vanilla relationship with Anastasia?

My scalp prickles.

Fuck.
Possibly.

If I could, would she want me back?

“Christian, you have demonstrated that you are an extraordinarily capable person, in spite of your problems. You're a rare individual. Once you focus on a goal, you drive ahead and achieve it—usually surpassing all your own expectations. Listening to you
today, it's clear you were focused on getting Anastasia to where you wanted her to be, but you didn't take into account her inexperience or her feelings. It seems to me that you've been so focused on reaching your goal that you missed the journey that you were taking together.”

The last month flashes before me: her tripping into my office, her acute embarrassment at Clayton's, her witty, snarky e-mails, her smart mouth…her giggle…her quiet fortitude and defiance, her courage—and it occurs to me that I have enjoyed every single minute. Every infuriating, distracting, humorous, sensual, carnal second of her—yes, I have. We've been on an extraordinary journey, both of us—well, I certainly have.

My thoughts take a darker turn.

She doesn't know the depths of my depravity, the darkness in my soul, the monster beneath—maybe I should leave her alone.

I'm not worthy of her.
She can't love me.

But even as I think the words, I know that I don't have the strength to stay away from her…if she'll have me.

Flynn summons my attention. “Christian, think about it. Our time is up now. I want to see you in a few days and talk through some of the other issues you mentioned. I'll have Janet call Andrea and arrange an appointment.” He stands, and I know it's time to leave.

“You've given me a lot to think about,” I tell him.

“I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't. Just a few days, Christian. We have so much more to talk about.” He shakes my hand and gives me a reassuring smile, and I leave with a small blossom of hope.

STANDING ON THE BALCONY,
I survey Seattle at night. Up here I'm at one remove, away from it all. What did she call it?

My ivory tower.

Normally I find it peaceful—but lately my peace of mind has been shattered by a certain blue-eyed young woman.

“Have you thought about trying a relationship her way?”
Flynn's words taunt me, suggesting so many possibilities.

Could I win her back?
The thought terrifies me.

I take a sip of my cognac. Why would she want me back? Could I ever be what she wants me to be? I won't let go of my hope. I need to find a way.

I need her.

Something startles me—a movement, a shadow at the periphery of my vision. I frown. What the…? I turn toward the shadow, but find nothing. I'm seeing things now. I slug the cognac and head back into the living room.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 8, 2011

Mommy! Mommy! Mommy is asleep on the floor. She has been asleep for a long time. I shake her. She doesn't wake up. I call her. She doesn't wake up. He isn't here and still Mommy doesn't wake up.

I am thirsty. In the kitchen I pull a chair to the sink and I have a drink. The water splashes over my sweater. My sweater is dirty. Mommy is still asleep. Mommy, wake up! She lies still. She is cold. I fetch my blankie and I cover Mommy and I lie down on the sticky green rug beside her.

My tummy hurts. It is hungry, but Mommy is still asleep. I have two toy cars. One red. One yellow. My green car is gone. They race by the floor where Mommy is sleeping. I think Mommy is sick. I search for something to eat. In the icebox I find peas. They are cold. I eat them slowly. They make my tummy hurt. I sleep beside Mommy. The peas are gone. In the icebox is something. It smells funny. I lick it and my tongue sticks. I eat it slowly. It tastes nasty. I drink some water. I play with my cars and I sleep beside Mommy. Mommy is so cold and she won't wake up. The door crashes open. I cover Mommy with my blankie.
Fuck. What the fuck happened here? Oh, the crazy fucked-up bitch. Shit. Fuck
.
Get out of my way, you little shit.
He kicks me and I hit my head on the floor. My head hurts. He calls somebody and he goes. He locks the door. I lay down beside Mommy. My head hurts. The lady policeman is here. No. No. No. Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me. I stay by Mommy. No. Stay away from me. The lady policeman has my blankie and
she grabs me. I scream.
Mommy. Mommy.
The words are gone. I can't say the words. Mommy can't hear me. I have no words.

I wake breathing hard, taking huge gulps of air, checking my surroundings. Oh, thank God—I'm in my bed. Slowly the fear recedes. I'm twenty-seven, not four. This shit has to stop.

I used to have my nightmares under control. Maybe one every couple of weeks, but nothing like this—night after night.

Since she left.

I turn over and lie flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. When she slept beside me, I slept well. I need her in my life, in my bed. She was the day to my night. I'm going to get her back.

How?

“Have you thought about trying a relationship her way?”

She wants hearts and flowers. Can I give her that? I frown, trying to recall the romantic moments in my life…And there's nothing…except with Ana. The “more.” The gliding, and IHOP, and taking her up in
Charlie Tango.

Maybe I
can
do this. I drift back to sleep, the mantra in my head:
She's mine. She's mine…
and I smell her, feel her soft skin, taste her lips, and hear her moans. Exhausted, I fall into an erotic, Ana-filled dream.

I wake suddenly. My scalp tingles, and for a moment I think whatever's disturbed me is external rather than internal. I sit up and rub my head and slowly scan the room.

In spite of the carnal dream, my body has behaved. Elena would be pleased. She texted yesterday, but Elena's the last person I want to talk to—there's only one thing I want to do right now. I get up and pull on my running gear.

I'm going to check on Ana.

HER STREET IS QUIET
except for the rumble of a delivery truck and the out-of-tune whistling of a solitary dog walker. Her apartment is in darkness, the curtains to her room closed. I keep a silent
vigil from my stalker's hide, staring up at the windows and thinking. I need a plan—a plan to win her back.

As dawn's light brightens her window, I turn my iPod up loud, and with Moby blaring in my ears I run back to Escala.

“I'LL HAVE A CROISSANT,
Mrs. Jones.”

She stills in surprise and I raise a brow.

“Apricot preserves?” she asks, recovering.

“Please.”

“I'll heat up a couple for you, Mr. Grey. Here's your coffee.”

“Thank you, Gail.”

She smiles. Is it just because I'm having croissants? If it makes her that happy, I should have them more often.

IN THE BACK OF
the Audi, I plot. I need to get up close and personal with Ana Steele, to begin my campaign to win her back. I call Andrea, knowing that at 7:15 she won't be at her desk yet, and I leave a voice mail. “Andrea, as soon as you're in, I want to run through my schedule for the next few days.” There—step one in my offensive is to make time in my schedule for Ana. What the hell am I supposed to be doing this week? Currently, I don't have a clue. Normally I'm on this shit, but lately I've been all over the place. Now I have a mission to focus on.
You can do this, Grey.

But deep down I wish I had the courage of my convictions. Anxiety unfurls in my gut. Can I convince Ana to take me back? Will she listen? I hope so. This has to work. I miss her
.

“MR. GREY, I CANCELED
all your social events this week, apart from the one for tomorrow—I don't know what the occasion is. Your calendar says Portland, that's it.”

Yes! The fucking photographer!

I beam at Andrea, and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Thanks, Andrea. That's all for now. Send in Sam.”

“Sure, Mr. Grey. Would you like some more coffee?”

“Please.”

“With milk?”

“Yes. Latte. Thank you.”

She smiles politely and leaves.

This is it! My in! The photographer! Now…what to do?

MY MORNING HAS BEEN
back-to-back meetings, and my staff have been watching me nervously, waiting for me to explode. Okay, that's been my modus operandi for the last few days—but today I feel clearer, calmer, and present; able to deal with everything.

It's now lunchtime; my workout with Claude has gone well. The only fly in the ointment is that there's no more news about Leila. All we know is that she's split up with her husband and she could be anywhere. If she surfaces, Welch will find her.

I'm famished. Olivia sets a plate down on my desk.

“Your sandwich, Mr. Grey.”

“Chicken and mayonnaise?”

“Um…”

I stare at her. She just doesn't get it.

Olivia offers an inept apology.

“I said chicken
with
mayonnaise
, Olivia. It's not that hard.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Grey.”

“It's fine. Just go.” She looks relieved but scrambles to leave the room.

I buzz Andrea.

“Sir?”

“Come in here.”

Andrea appears at the doorway, looking calm and efficient.

“Get rid of that girl.”

Andrea pulls herself up straight.

“Sir, Olivia is Senator Blandino's daughter.”

“I don't care if she's the Queen of fucking England. Get her out of my office.”

“Yes, sir.” Andrea flushes.

“Get someone else to help you,” I offer in a gentler tone. I don't want to alienate Andrea.

“Yes, Mr. Grey.”

“Thank you. That's all.”

She smiles and I know she's back on board. She's a good PA; I don't want her to quit because I'm being an asshole. She exits, leaving me to my chicken sandwich—no mayo—and my campaign plan.

Portland.

I know the form of e-mail address for employees at SIP. I think Anastasia will respond better in writing; she always has. How to begin?

Dear Ana

No.

Dear Anastasia

No.

Dear Miss Steele

Shit!

HALF AN HOUR LATER
I'm still staring at a blank computer screen. What the hell do I say?

Come back…please?

Forgive me.

I miss you.

Let's try it your way.

I put my head in my hands. Why is this so difficult?

Keep it simple, Grey. Just cut the crap.

I take a deep breath and tap out an e-mail.
Yes…this will do.
Andrea buzzes me.

“Ms. Bailey is here to see you, sir.”

“Tell her to wait.”

I hang up and take a moment, and with my heart pounding, I press send.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Tomorrow

Date:
June 8 2011 14:05

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Anastasia

Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that it's going well. Did you get my flowers?

I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friend's show, and I'm sure you've not had time to purchase a car, and it's a long drive. I would be more than happy to take you—should you wish.

Let me know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I watch my inbox.

And watch.

And watch…my anxiety growing with every second that crawls by.

Getting up, I pace the office—but that takes me away from my computer. Back at my desk, I check my e-mail yet again.

Nothing.

To distract myself, I trace my finger along the wings of my glider.

For fuck's sake, Grey, get a grip.

Come on, Anastasia, answer me. She's always been so prompt. I check my watch…14:09.

Four minutes!

Still nothing.

Getting up, I pace around my office once more, peering at my watch every three seconds, or so it feels.

By 2:20 I'm in despair. She's not going to reply. She really does hate me…who could blame her?

Then I hear the ping of an e-mail. My heart leaps into my throat.

Hell!
It's from Ros, telling me she's gone back to her office.

And then it's there, in my inbox, the magical line:

From: Anastasia Steele.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Tomorrow

Date:
June 8 2011 14:25

To:
Christian Grey

Hi Christian

Thank you for the flowers; they are lovely.

Yes, I would appreciate a lift.

Thank you.

Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

Relief floods through me; I close my eyes, savoring the feeling.

YES!

I pore over her e-mail looking for clues, but as usual I have no idea what the thoughts are behind her words. The tone is friendly enough, but that's it. Just friendly.

Carpe Diem, Grey.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Tomorrow

Date:
June 8 2011 14:27

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Anastasia

What time shall I pick you up?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I don't have to wait quite so long.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Tomorrow

Date:
June 8 2011 14:32

To:
Christian Grey

José's show starts at 7:30. What time would you suggest?

Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

We can take
Charlie Tango.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Tomorrow

Date:
June 8 2011 14:34

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Anastasia

Portland is some distance away. I shall pick you up at 5:45.

I look forward to seeing you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Tomorrow

Date:
June 8 2011 14:38

To:
Christian Grey

See you then.

Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP

My campaign to win her back is under way. I feel elated; the small blossom of hope is now a Japanese flowering cherry.

I buzz Andrea.

“Miss Bailey went back to her office, Mr. Grey.”

“I know, she e-mailed me. I need Taylor here in an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hang up. Anastasia is working for a guy named Jack Hyde. I want to know more about him. I call Ros.

“Christian.” She sounds pissed.
Tough.

“Do we have access to the employee files from SIP?”

“Not yet. But I can get them.”

“Please. Today if you can. I want everything they have on Jack Hyde, and anyone who's worked for him.”

“Can I ask why?”

“No.”

She's silent for a moment.

“Christian, I don't know what's got into you recently.”

“Ros, just do it, okay?”

She sighs. “Okay. Now can we have our meeting about the Taiwan shipyard proposal?”

“Yes. I had an important call to make. It took longer than I thought.”

“I'll be right up.”

WHEN ROS LEAVES I
follow her out of the office.

“WSU next Friday,” I tell Andrea, who scribbles a reminder in her notebook.

“And I get to fly in the company chopper?” Ros bubbles with enthusiasm.

“Helicopter,” I correct her.

“Whatever, Christian.” She rolls her eyes as she enters the elevator, and it makes me smile.

Andrea watches Ros leave, then gives me an expectant look.

“Call Stephan—I'll be flying
Charlie Tango
to Portland tomorrow evening, and I'll need him to fly her back to Boeing Field,” I tell Andrea.

“Yes, Mr. Grey.”

I see no sign of Olivia. “Has she gone?”

“Olivia?” Andrea asks.

I nod.

“Yes.” She seems relieved.

“Where to?”

“Finance.”

“Good thinking. It'll keep Senator Blandino off my back.”

Andrea looks pleased at the compliment.

“You're getting someone else to help out here?” I ask.