“Your mind, no, Anastasia, but your body—that I’ve gotten to know quite well since yesterday.” I give her a wolfish grin and ask for the check.
When we leave, her hand is firmly in mine. She’s quiet—deep in thought, it seems—and remains so all the way to Vancouver. I’ve given her a great deal to think about.
But she’s also given me a great deal to think about.
Will she want to do this with me?
Damn, I hope so.
It’s still light when we arrive at her home, but the sun is sinking to the horizon and shining pink and pearl light on Mount St. Helens. Ana and Kate live in a scenic spot with an amazing view.
“Do you want to come in?” she asks, after I’ve switched off the engine.
“No. I have work to do.” I know that if I accept her invitation I’ll be crossing a line I’m not prepared to cross. I’m not boyfriend material—and I don’t want to give her any false expectations of the kind of relationship she’ll have with me.
Her face falls and, deflated, she looks away.
She doesn’t want me to go.
It’s humbling. Reaching across, I grasp her hand and kiss her knuckles, hoping to take the sting out of my rejection.
“Thank you for this weekend, Anastasia. It’s been…the best.” She turns shining eyes to me. “Wednesday?” I continue. “I’ll pick you up from work, from wherever?”
“Wednesday,” she says, and the hope in her voice is disconcerting.
Shit. It’s not a date.
I kiss her hand again and climb out of the car to open her door. I have to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.
When she gets out of the car, she brightens, at odds with how she looked a moment ago. She marches up to her front door but before reaching the steps she turns suddenly. “Oh, by the way, I’m wearing your underwear,” she says in triumph, and she yanks the waistband up so I can see the words “Polo” and “Ralph” peeking over her jeans.
She’s stolen my underwear!
I’m stunned. And in that instant I want nothing more than to see her in my boxer briefs…and only them.
She tosses back her hair and swaggers into her apartment, leaving me standing on the curb, staring like a fool.
Shaking my head, I climb back into the car, and as I start the engine I cannot help my shit-eating grin.
I hope she says yes.
I FINISH MY WORK and take a sip of the fine Sancerre, delivered from room service by the woman with dark, dark eyes. Trawling through my e-mails and answering where required has been a welcome distraction from thoughts of Anastasia. And now I’m pleasantly tired. Is it the five hours of work? Or all the sexual activity last night and this morning? Memories of the delectable Miss Steele invade my mind: in Charlie Tango, in my bed, in my bath, dancing around my kitchen. And to think it all started here on Friday…and now she’s considering my proposal.
Has she read the contract? Is she doing her homework?
I check my phone once again for a text or a missed call but, of course, there’s nothing.
Will she agree?
I hope so…
Andrea has sent me Ana’s new e-mail address and assured me the laptop will be delivered tomorrow morning. With that in mind, I type out an e-mail.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your New Computer
Date: May 22 2011 23:15
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I trust you slept well. I hope that you put this laptop to good use, as discussed.
I look forward to dinner Wednesday.
Happy to answer any questions before then, via e-mail, should you so desire.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
The e-mail doesn’t bounce, so the address is live. I wonder how Ana will react in the morning when she reads it. I hope she likes the laptop. Guess I’ll know tomorrow. Picking up my latest read, I settle onto the sofa. It’s a book by two renowned economists who examine why the poor think and behave the way they do. An image of a young woman brushing out her long, dark hair comes to mind; her hair shines in the light from the cracked, yellowed window, and the air is filled with dancing dust motes. She’s singing softly, like a child.
I shudder.
Don’t go there, Grey.
I open the book and start to read.
MONDAY, MAY 23, 2011
It’s after one in the morning when I go to bed. Staring at the ceiling, I’m tired, relaxed, but also excited, anticipating what the week will bring. I hope to have a new project: Miss Anastasia Steele.
MY FEET POUND THE sidewalk on Main Street as I run toward the river. It’s 6:35 in the morning and the sun’s rays are shimmering through the high-rise buildings. The sidewalk trees are newly green with spring leaves; the air is clean, the traffic quiet. I’ve slept well. “O Fortuna” from Orff’s Carmina Burana is blaring in my ears. Today the streets are paved with possibility.
Will she respond to my e-mail?
It’s too early, far too early for any response, but feeling lighter than I have for weeks, I run past the statue of the elk and toward the Willamette.
BY 7:45 I’M IN front of my laptop, having showered and ordered breakfast. I e-mail Andrea to let her know I’ll be working from Portland for the week and to ask her to reschedule any meetings so that they can take place by phone or videoconference. I e-mail Gail to let her know I won’t be home until Thursday evening at the earliest. Then I work through my inbox and find among other things a proposal for a joint venture with a shipyard in Taiwan. I forward it to Ros to add to the agenda of items we need to discuss.
Then I turn to my other outstanding matter: Elena. She’s texted me a couple of times over the weekend and I’ve not replied.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: The Weekend
Date: May 23 2011 08:15
To: Elena Lincoln
Good morning, Elena.
Sorry not to get back to you. I’ve been busy all weekend, and I’ll be in Portland all this week. I don’t know about next weekend, either, but if I’m free, I’ll let you know.
Latest results for the beauty business look promising.
Good going, Ma’am…
Best
C
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I press send, wondering again what Elena would make of Ana…and vice versa. There’s a ping from my laptop as a new e-mail arrives.
When we leave, her hand is firmly in mine. She’s quiet—deep in thought, it seems—and remains so all the way to Vancouver. I’ve given her a great deal to think about.
But she’s also given me a great deal to think about.
Will she want to do this with me?
Damn, I hope so.
It’s still light when we arrive at her home, but the sun is sinking to the horizon and shining pink and pearl light on Mount St. Helens. Ana and Kate live in a scenic spot with an amazing view.
“Do you want to come in?” she asks, after I’ve switched off the engine.
“No. I have work to do.” I know that if I accept her invitation I’ll be crossing a line I’m not prepared to cross. I’m not boyfriend material—and I don’t want to give her any false expectations of the kind of relationship she’ll have with me.
Her face falls and, deflated, she looks away.
She doesn’t want me to go.
It’s humbling. Reaching across, I grasp her hand and kiss her knuckles, hoping to take the sting out of my rejection.
“Thank you for this weekend, Anastasia. It’s been…the best.” She turns shining eyes to me. “Wednesday?” I continue. “I’ll pick you up from work, from wherever?”
“Wednesday,” she says, and the hope in her voice is disconcerting.
Shit. It’s not a date.
I kiss her hand again and climb out of the car to open her door. I have to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.
When she gets out of the car, she brightens, at odds with how she looked a moment ago. She marches up to her front door but before reaching the steps she turns suddenly. “Oh, by the way, I’m wearing your underwear,” she says in triumph, and she yanks the waistband up so I can see the words “Polo” and “Ralph” peeking over her jeans.
She’s stolen my underwear!
I’m stunned. And in that instant I want nothing more than to see her in my boxer briefs…and only them.
She tosses back her hair and swaggers into her apartment, leaving me standing on the curb, staring like a fool.
Shaking my head, I climb back into the car, and as I start the engine I cannot help my shit-eating grin.
I hope she says yes.
I FINISH MY WORK and take a sip of the fine Sancerre, delivered from room service by the woman with dark, dark eyes. Trawling through my e-mails and answering where required has been a welcome distraction from thoughts of Anastasia. And now I’m pleasantly tired. Is it the five hours of work? Or all the sexual activity last night and this morning? Memories of the delectable Miss Steele invade my mind: in Charlie Tango, in my bed, in my bath, dancing around my kitchen. And to think it all started here on Friday…and now she’s considering my proposal.
Has she read the contract? Is she doing her homework?
I check my phone once again for a text or a missed call but, of course, there’s nothing.
Will she agree?
I hope so…
Andrea has sent me Ana’s new e-mail address and assured me the laptop will be delivered tomorrow morning. With that in mind, I type out an e-mail.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your New Computer
Date: May 22 2011 23:15
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I trust you slept well. I hope that you put this laptop to good use, as discussed.
I look forward to dinner Wednesday.
Happy to answer any questions before then, via e-mail, should you so desire.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
The e-mail doesn’t bounce, so the address is live. I wonder how Ana will react in the morning when she reads it. I hope she likes the laptop. Guess I’ll know tomorrow. Picking up my latest read, I settle onto the sofa. It’s a book by two renowned economists who examine why the poor think and behave the way they do. An image of a young woman brushing out her long, dark hair comes to mind; her hair shines in the light from the cracked, yellowed window, and the air is filled with dancing dust motes. She’s singing softly, like a child.
I shudder.
Don’t go there, Grey.
I open the book and start to read.
MONDAY, MAY 23, 2011
It’s after one in the morning when I go to bed. Staring at the ceiling, I’m tired, relaxed, but also excited, anticipating what the week will bring. I hope to have a new project: Miss Anastasia Steele.
MY FEET POUND THE sidewalk on Main Street as I run toward the river. It’s 6:35 in the morning and the sun’s rays are shimmering through the high-rise buildings. The sidewalk trees are newly green with spring leaves; the air is clean, the traffic quiet. I’ve slept well. “O Fortuna” from Orff’s Carmina Burana is blaring in my ears. Today the streets are paved with possibility.
Will she respond to my e-mail?
It’s too early, far too early for any response, but feeling lighter than I have for weeks, I run past the statue of the elk and toward the Willamette.
BY 7:45 I’M IN front of my laptop, having showered and ordered breakfast. I e-mail Andrea to let her know I’ll be working from Portland for the week and to ask her to reschedule any meetings so that they can take place by phone or videoconference. I e-mail Gail to let her know I won’t be home until Thursday evening at the earliest. Then I work through my inbox and find among other things a proposal for a joint venture with a shipyard in Taiwan. I forward it to Ros to add to the agenda of items we need to discuss.
Then I turn to my other outstanding matter: Elena. She’s texted me a couple of times over the weekend and I’ve not replied.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: The Weekend
Date: May 23 2011 08:15
To: Elena Lincoln
Good morning, Elena.
Sorry not to get back to you. I’ve been busy all weekend, and I’ll be in Portland all this week. I don’t know about next weekend, either, but if I’m free, I’ll let you know.
Latest results for the beauty business look promising.
Good going, Ma’am…
Best
C
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I press send, wondering again what Elena would make of Ana…and vice versa. There’s a ping from my laptop as a new e-mail arrives.
