Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as told by Christian: 0 (39 page)

Subject:
The Weekend

Date:
May 30 2011, 20:11

To:
Elena Lincoln

I think I’ll let the arrangement I have now run its course.

See you tomorrow.

C.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I sit down to read Fred’s draft proposal for Eamon Kavanagh, then move on to Marco’s summary of the publishing houses in Seattle.

JUST BEFORE 10:00 I’M
distracted by a ping from my computer. It’s late. I assume it’s a message from Ana.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Over-Extravagant Gestures

Date:
May 30 2011 21:53

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

What really alarms me is how you knew which flight I was on.

Your stalking knows no bounds. Let’s hope that Dr. Flynn is back from vacation.

I have had a manicure, a back massage, and two glasses of champagne—a very nice start to my vacation.

Thank you.

Ana

She’s been upgraded. Well done, Andrea.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
You’re Most Welcome

Date:
May 30 2011 21:59

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

Dr. Flynn is back, and I have an appointment next week.

Who was massaging your back?

Christian Grey

CEO with friends in the right places,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I check the time of her e-mail. She should be on board right now, if her plane is on time. I quickly open Google and check departures from Sea-Tac. Her flight is on schedule.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Strong Able Hands

Date:
May 30 2011 22:22

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Sir,

A very pleasant young man massaged my back. Yes. Very pleasant indeed. I wouldn’t have encountered Jean-Paul in the ordinary departure lounge—so thank you again for that treat.

What the hell?

I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed to e-mail once we take off, and I need my beauty sleep since I’ve not been sleeping so well recently.

Pleasant dreams, Mr. Grey…thinking of you.

Ana

Is she trying to make me jealous? Does she have any idea how mad I can get? She’s been gone for a few hours, and she’s deliberately making me angry. Why does she do this to me?

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Enjoy It While You Can

Date:
May 30 2011 22:25

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I know what you’re trying to do—and trust me, you’ve succeeded. Next time you’ll be in the cargo hold, bound and gagged in a crate. Believe me when I say that attending to you in that state will give me so much more pleasure than merely upgrading your ticket.

I look forward to your return.

Christian Grey

Palm-Twitching CEO,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Her response is almost immediate.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Joking?

Date:
May 30 2011 22:30

To:
Christian Grey

You see—I have no idea if you’re joking—and if you’re not, then I think I’ll stay in Georgia. Crates are a hard limit for me. Sorry I made you mad. Tell me you forgive me.

A

Of course I’m joking…sort of. At least she knows I’m mad. Her plane should be taking off. How is she e-mailing?

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Joking

Date:
May 30 2011 22:31

To:
Anastasia Steele

How can you be e-mailing? Are you risking the life of everyone on board, including yourself, by using your BlackBerry? I think that contravenes one of the rules.

Christian Grey

Two-Palms-Twitching CEO,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

And we know what happens if you contravene the rules, Miss Steele. I check the Sea-Tac website for flight departures; her plane has left. I won’t be hearing from her for a while. That thought, as well as her little e-mail stunt, has put me in a foul mood. Abandoning my work, I head into the kitchen and decide to pour myself a drink, tonight Armagnac.

Taylor pops his head around the entrance to the living room.

“Not now,” I bark.

“Very good, sir,” he says, and heads back to wherever he came from.

Don’t take your mood out on the staff, Grey.

Annoyed at myself, I walk toward the windows and stare out at the Seattle skyline. I wonder how she’s gotten under my skin, and why our relationship is not progressing in the direction I would like. I’m hoping that once she’s had a chance to reflect in Georgia, she’ll make the right decision. Won’t she?

Anxiety blooms in my chest. I take another slug of my drink and sit down at my piano to play.

TUESDAY, MAY 31, 2011

Mommy is gone. I don’t know where.

He’s here. I hear his boots. They are loud boots.

They have silver buckles. They stomp. Loud.

He stomps. And he shouts.

I am in Mommy’s closet.

Hiding.

He won’t hear me.

I can be quiet. Very quiet.

Quiet because I’m not here.

“You fucking bitch!” he shouts.

He shouts a lot.

“You fucking bitch!”

He shouts at Mommy.

He shouts at me.

He hits Mommy.

He hits me.

I hear the door close. He’s not here anymore.

And Mommy is gone, too.

I stay in the closet. In the dark. I’m very quiet.

I sit for a long time. A long, long, long time.

Where is Mommy?

There’s a whisper of dawn in the sky when I open my eyes. The radio alarm says 5:23. I’ve slept fitfully, plagued by unpleasant dreams, and I’m exhausted, but I decide to go for a run to wake myself up. Once I’m in sweats, I pick up my phone. There’s a text from Ana.

Arrived safely in Savannah. A :)

Good. She’s there, and safe. The thought pleases me and I quickly scan my e-mail. The subject of Ana’s latest message leaps out at me: “Do you like to scare me?”

No fucking way.

My scalp prickles and I sit down on the bed, scrolling through her words. She must have sent this during her layover in Atlanta, before she sent her text.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Do you like to scare me?

Date:
May 31 2011 06:52 EST

To:
Christian Grey

You know how much I dislike you spending money on me. Yes, you’re very rich, but still it makes me uncomfortable, like you’re paying me for sex. However, I like traveling first class, it’s so much more civilized than coach. So thank you. I mean it—and I did enjoy the massage from Jean-Paul. He was very gay. I omitted that bit in my e-mail to you to wind you up, because I was annoyed with you, and I’m sorry about that.

But as usual you overreact. You can’t write things like that to me—bound and gagged in a crate. (Were you serious or was it a joke?) That scares me…you scare me…I am completely caught up in your spell, considering a lifestyle with you that I didn’t even know existed until last week, and then you write something like that and I want to run screaming into the hills. I won’t, of course, because I’d miss you. Really miss you. I want us to work, but I am terrified of the depth of feeling I have for you and the dark path you’re leading me down. What you are offering is erotic and sexy, and I’m curious, but I’m also scared you’ll hurt me—
physically and emotionally. After three months you could say good-bye, and where will that leave me if you do? But then I suppose that risk is there in any relationship. This just isn’t the sort of relationship I ever envisaged having, especially as my first. It’s a huge leap of faith for me.

You were right when you said I didn’t have a submissive bone in my body…and I agree with you now. Having said that, I want to be with you, and if that’s what I have to do, I would like to try, but I think I’ll suck at it and end up black and blue—and I don’t relish that idea at all.

I am so happy that you have said that you will try more. I just need to think about what “more” means to me, and that’s one of the reasons why I wanted some distance. You dazzle me so much I find it very difficult to think clearly when we’re together.

They are calling my flight. I have to go.

More later.

Your Ana

She’s reprimanding me. Again. But she’s stunned me with her honesty. It’s illuminating. I read her e-mail again and again, and each time I pause at “Your Ana.”

My Ana.

She wants us to work.

She wants to be with me.

There’s hope, Grey.

I place my phone on my bedside, and decide I need that run, to clear my head so I can think about my response.

I take my usual route up Stewart to Westlake Avenue then around Denny Park a few times, Four Tet’s “She Just Likes to Fight” ringing in my ears.

Ana’s given me a great deal to process.

Paying her for sex?

Like a whore.

I’ve never thought of her that way. Just the idea makes me mad. Really fucking mad. I sprint once more around the park, my anger spurring me on. Why does she do this to herself? I’m rich, so what? She just needs to get used to that. I’m reminded of our conversation yesterday about the GEH jet. She wouldn’t take that offer.

At least she doesn’t want me for my money.

But does she want me at all?

She says I dazzle her. But boy, has she got that the wrong way around. She dazzles me in a way that I’ve never experienced, yet she’s flown across the country to get away from me.

How’s that supposed to make me feel?

She’s right. It is a dark path I’m leading her down, but one that is far more intimate than any vanilla relationship—or so I’ve seen. I only have to look at Elliot and his alarmingly casual approach to dating to see the difference.

And I’d never hurt her physically or emotionally—how can she think that? I just want to push her limits, see what she will and won’t do. Punish her when she colors outside the lines…yeah, it might hurt, but not beyond anything she can take. We can work up to what I’d like to do. We can take it slow.

And here’s the rub.

If she’s going to do what I want her to do, I’m going to have to reassure her and give her “more.” What that might be…I don’t yet know. I’ve taken her to meet my parents. That was more, surely. And that wasn’t so hard.

I take a slower jog around the park to think about what disturbs me most about her e-mail. It isn’t her fear, it’s that she’s terrified of the depth of feeling she has for me.

What does that mean?

That unfamiliar feeling surfaces in my chest as my lungs burn for air. It scares me. Scares me so much that I push myself harder, so that all I feel is the pain of exertion in my legs and in my chest and the cold sweat that trickles down my back.

Yeah. Don’t go there, Grey.

Stay in control.

BACK IN MY APARTMENT
I have a quick shower and shave, and then I dress. Gail is in the kitchen when I walk through on the way to my study.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey. Coffee?”

“Please,” I say, not stopping. I’m on a mission.

At my desk I fire up my iMac and compose my response to Ana.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Finally!

Date:
May 31 2011 07:30

To:
Anastasia Steele

Anastasia,

I am annoyed that as soon as you put some distance between us, you communicate openly and honestly with me. Why can’t you do that when we’re together?

Yes, I’m rich. Get used to it. Why shouldn’t I spend money on you? We’ve told your father I’m your boyfriend, for heaven’s sake. Isn’t that what boyfriends do? As your Dom, I would expect you to accept whatever I spend on you with no argument. Incidentally, tell your mother, too.

I don’t know how to answer your comment about feeling like a whore. I know that’s not what you’ve written, but it’s what you imply. I don’t know what I can say or do to eradicate these feelings. I’d like you to have the best of everything. I work exceptionally hard so I can spend my money as I see fit. I could buy you your heart’s desire, Anastasia, and I want to. Call it redistribution of wealth, if you will. Or simply know that I would not, could not
ever
think of you in the way you described, and I’m angry that’s how you perceive yourself.
For such a bright, witty, beautiful young woman, you have some real self-esteem issues, and I have half a mind to make an appointment for you with Dr. Flynn.

I apologize for frightening you. I find the thought of instilling fear in you abhorrent. Do you really think I’d let you travel in the hold? I offered you my private jet, for heaven’s sake. Yes, it was a joke, a poor one obviously. However, the fact is the thought of you bound and gagged turns me on (this is not a joke—it’s true). I can lose the crate—crates do nothing for me. I know you have issues with gagging—we’ve talked about that—and if/when I do gag you, we’ll discuss it. What I think you fail to realize is that in Dom/sub relationships it is the sub who has all the power. That’s you. I’ll repeat this—you are the one with all the power. Not I. In the boathouse you said no. I can’t touch you if you say no—that’s why we have an agreement—what you will and won’t do. If we try things and you don’t like them, we can revise the agreement. It’s up to you—not me. And if you don’t want to be bound and gagged in a crate, then it won’t happen.

I want to share my lifestyle with you. I have never wanted anything so much. Frankly, I’m in awe of you, that one so innocent would be willing to try. That says more to me than you could ever know. You fail to see I am caught in your spell, too, even though I have told you this countless times. I don’t want to lose you. I am nervous that you’ve flown three thousand miles to get away from me for a few days, because you can’t think clearly around me. It’s the same for me, Anastasia. My reason vanishes when we’re together—that’s the depth of my feeling for you.

I understand your trepidation. I did try to stay away from you; I knew you were inexperienced, though I would never have pursued you if I had known exactly how innocent you
were—and yet you still manage to disarm me completely in a way that nobody has before. Your e-mail, for example: I have read and reread it countless times trying to understand your point of view. Three months is an arbitrary amount of time. We could make it six months, a year? How long do you want it to be? What would make you comfortable? Tell me.

I understand that this is a huge leap of faith for you. I have to earn your trust, but by the same token, you have to communicate with me when I am failing to do this. You seem so strong and self-contained, and then I read what you’ve written here, and I see another side to you. We have to guide each other, Anastasia, and I can only take my cues from you. You have to be honest with me, and we have to both find a way to make this arrangement work.

You worry about not being submissive. Well, maybe that’s true. Having said that, the only time you do assume the correct demeanor for a sub is in the playroom. It seems that’s the one place where you let me exercise proper control over you and the only place you do as you’re told. “Exemplary” is the term that comes to mind. And I’d never beat you black and blue. I aim for pink. Outside the playroom, I like that you challenge me. It’s a very novel and refreshing experience, and I wouldn’t want to change that. So, yes, tell me what you want in terms of more. I will endeavor to keep an open mind, and I shall try to give you the space you need and stay away from you while you are in Georgia. I look forward to your next e-mail.

In the meantime, enjoy yourself. But not too much.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I press send and take a sip of my cold coffee.

Now you have to wait, Grey. See what she says.

I stomp into the kitchen to see what Gail has prepared for breakfast.

TAYLOR IS WAITING IN
the car to whisk me to work.

“What was it you wanted last night?” I ask him.

“It was nothing important, sir.”

“Good,” I respond, and gaze out the window, trying to put Ana and Georgia out of my mind. I fail miserably, but an idea starts to take shape.

I call Andrea. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Grey.”

“I’m on my way in, but can you put me through to Bill?”

“Yes, sir.”

A few moments later I have Bill on the line.

“Mr. Grey.”

“Did your people look at Georgia as an option to site the tech plant? Savannah, in particular?”

“I believe we did, sir. But I’ll need to check.”

“Check. Come back to me.”

“Will do. Is that all?”

“For now. Thanks.”

MY DAY IS FULL
of meetings. I look at my e-mail sporadically, but there’s nothing from Ana. I wonder if she’s daunted by the tone of my e-mail, or if she’s busy doing other things.

What other things?

It’s impossible to avoid thoughts of her. Throughout the day I exchange texts with Caroline Acton, approving and vetoing outfits she’s chosen for Ana. I hope she likes them: she’ll look stunning in all of them.

Bill has come back to me with a potential site near Savannah for our plant. Ruth is making inquiries.

At least it’s not Detroit.

Elena calls, and we decide to have dinner at Columbia Tower.

“Christian, you’re being so coy about this girl,” she chides.

“I’ll tell you everything this evening. Right now I’m busy.”

“You’re always busy.” She laughs. “See you at eight.”

“See you then.”

Why are the women in my life so nosy? Elena. My mother. Ana…I wonder for the hundredth time what she’s doing. And behold, there’s a response from her, at last.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Verbose?

Date:
May 31 2011 19:08 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Sir, you are quite the loquacious writer. I have to go to dinner at Bob’s golf club, and just so you know, I am rolling my eyes at the thought. But you and your twitchy palm are a long way from me so my behind is safe, for now. I loved your e-mail. Will respond when I can. I miss you already.

Enjoy your afternoon.

Your Ana

It’s not a “no,” and she misses me. I’m relieved and amused at her tone. I respond.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Your Behind

Date:
May 31 2011 16:10

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I am distracted by the title of this e-mail. Needless to say it
is
safe—for now.

Enjoy your dinner, and I miss you, too, especially your behind and your smart mouth.

My afternoon will be dull, brightened only by thoughts of you and your eye rolling. I think it was you who so judiciously pointed out to me that I, too, suffer from that nasty habit.