Exercise—We agreed on three hours, this still says four.
Soft Limits:
Can we go through all of these? No fisting of any kind. What is suspension? Genital clamps—you have got to be kidding me.
Can you please let me know the arrangements for Wednesday? I am working until five p.m. that day.
Good night.
Ana
Her response is a relief. Miss Steele has put some thought into this, more so than anyone else I’ve dealt with over this contract. She’s really engaged. She seems to be taking it seriously and we’ll have much to discuss on Wednesday. The uncertainty that I felt when leaving her apartment this evening recedes. There’s hope for our relationship, but first—she needs to sleep.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Issues
Date: May 24 2011 00:07
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele,
That’s a long list. Why are you still up?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
A few minutes later her answer is in my inbox.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Burning the Midnight Oil
Date: May 24 2011 00:10
To: Christian Grey
Sir,
If you recall, I was going through this list when I was distracted and bedded by a passing control freak.
Good night.
Ana
Her e-mail makes me laugh out loud but it irritates me in equal measure. She’s much more sassy in print and she has a great sense of humor, but the woman needs sleep.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Stop Burning the Midnight Oil
Date: May 24 2011 00:12
To: Anastasia Steele
GO TO BED, ANASTASIA.
Christian Grey
CEO & Control Freak, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
A few minutes pass and once I’m convinced she’s gone to bed, persuaded by my capital letters, I head into my bedroom. I take my laptop just in case she replies again.
Once in bed, I grab my book and read. After half an hour I give up. I can’t concentrate; my mind keeps straying to Ana, how she was this evening, and her e-mail.
I need to remind her of what I expect from our relationship. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. I’ve strayed too far from my goal.
“Are you going to come and help Ana with the move?” Kavanagh’s words remind me that unrealistic expectations have been set.
Perhaps I could help them move?
No. Stop now, Grey.
Opening my laptop, I read through her “Issues” e-mail again. I need to manage her expectations and try to find the right words to express how I feel.
Finally, I’m inspired.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your Issues
Date: May 24 2011 01:27
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
Following my more thorough examination of your issues, may I bring to your attention the definition of submissive.
submissive [suhb-mis-iv]—adjective
1. inclined or ready to submit; unresistingly or humbly obedient: submissive servants.
2. marked by or indicating submission: a submissive reply.
Origin: 1580–90; submiss + -ive
Synonyms: 1. tractable, compliant, pliant, amenable. 2. passive, resigned, patient, docile, tame, subdued. Antonyms: 1. rebellious, disobedient.
Please bear this in mind for our meeting on Wednesday.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
That’s it. I hope she’ll find it amusing, but it gets my point across.
With that thought, I switch off my bedside light and fall asleep and dream.
His name is Lelliot. He’s bigger than me. He laughs. And smiles. And shouts. And talks all the time. He talks all the time to Mommy and Daddy. He is my brother. Why don’t you talk? Lelliot says again and again and again. Are you stupid? Lelliot says again and again and again. I jump on him and smack his face again and again and again. He cries. He cries a lot. I don’t cry. I never cry. Mommy is angry with me. I have to sit on the bottom stair. I have to sit for the longest time. But Lelliot never asks me why I don’t talk ever again. If I make my hand into a fist he runs away. Lelliot is scared of me. He knows I’m a monster.
WHEN I RETURN FROM my run the next morning, I check my e-mail before having a shower. Nothing from Miss Steele, but then it’s only 7:30. Maybe it’s a little early.
Grey, snap out of this. Get a grip.
I glare at the gray-eyed prick who stares back at me from the mirror as I shave. No more. Forget about her for today.
I have a job to do and a breakfast meeting to attend.
“FREDDIE WAS SAYING BARNEY may have a prototype of the tablet for you in a couple of days,” Ros tells me during our videoconference.
“I was studying the schematics yesterday. They were impressive, but I’m not sure we’re there yet. If we get this right there’s no telling where the technology could go, and what it could do in developing countries.”
“Don’t forget the home market,” she interjects.
“As if.”
“Christian, just how long are you going to be in Portland?” Ros sounds exasperated. “What’s going on down there?” Eyeing the webcam, she then peers hard at her screen, looking for clues in my expression.
“A merger.” I try to hide my smile.
“Does Marco know?”
I snort. Marco Inglis is the head of my mergers and acquisitions division. “No. It’s not that kind of merger.”
“Oh.” Ros is silenced momentarily and, from her look, surprised.
Yeah. It’s private.
“Well, I hope you’re successful,” she says, smirking.
“Me, too,” I acknowledge with a smirk of my own. “Now, can we talk about Woods?”
Over the past year, we’ve acquired three tech companies. Two are booming, surpassing all targets, and one is struggling despite Marco’s initial optimism. Lucas Woods heads it up; he’s turned out to be an idiot—all show, no substance. The money has gone to his head and he’s lost focus and squandered the lead his company once had in fiber optics. My gut says asset-strip the company, fire Woods, and merge their technology division into GEH.
But Ros thinks Lucas needs more time—and that we need time to plan if we’re going to liquidate and rebrand his company. If we do, it will involve expensive redundancies.
“I think Woods has had enough time to turn this around. He just won’t accept reality,” I say emphatically. “We need him gone, and I’d like Marco to estimate the costs of liquidating.”
Soft Limits:
Can we go through all of these? No fisting of any kind. What is suspension? Genital clamps—you have got to be kidding me.
Can you please let me know the arrangements for Wednesday? I am working until five p.m. that day.
Good night.
Ana
Her response is a relief. Miss Steele has put some thought into this, more so than anyone else I’ve dealt with over this contract. She’s really engaged. She seems to be taking it seriously and we’ll have much to discuss on Wednesday. The uncertainty that I felt when leaving her apartment this evening recedes. There’s hope for our relationship, but first—she needs to sleep.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Issues
Date: May 24 2011 00:07
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele,
That’s a long list. Why are you still up?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
A few minutes later her answer is in my inbox.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Burning the Midnight Oil
Date: May 24 2011 00:10
To: Christian Grey
Sir,
If you recall, I was going through this list when I was distracted and bedded by a passing control freak.
Good night.
Ana
Her e-mail makes me laugh out loud but it irritates me in equal measure. She’s much more sassy in print and she has a great sense of humor, but the woman needs sleep.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Stop Burning the Midnight Oil
Date: May 24 2011 00:12
To: Anastasia Steele
GO TO BED, ANASTASIA.
Christian Grey
CEO & Control Freak, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
A few minutes pass and once I’m convinced she’s gone to bed, persuaded by my capital letters, I head into my bedroom. I take my laptop just in case she replies again.
Once in bed, I grab my book and read. After half an hour I give up. I can’t concentrate; my mind keeps straying to Ana, how she was this evening, and her e-mail.
I need to remind her of what I expect from our relationship. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. I’ve strayed too far from my goal.
“Are you going to come and help Ana with the move?” Kavanagh’s words remind me that unrealistic expectations have been set.
Perhaps I could help them move?
No. Stop now, Grey.
Opening my laptop, I read through her “Issues” e-mail again. I need to manage her expectations and try to find the right words to express how I feel.
Finally, I’m inspired.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your Issues
Date: May 24 2011 01:27
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
Following my more thorough examination of your issues, may I bring to your attention the definition of submissive.
submissive [suhb-mis-iv]—adjective
1. inclined or ready to submit; unresistingly or humbly obedient: submissive servants.
2. marked by or indicating submission: a submissive reply.
Origin: 1580–90; submiss + -ive
Synonyms: 1. tractable, compliant, pliant, amenable. 2. passive, resigned, patient, docile, tame, subdued. Antonyms: 1. rebellious, disobedient.
Please bear this in mind for our meeting on Wednesday.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
That’s it. I hope she’ll find it amusing, but it gets my point across.
With that thought, I switch off my bedside light and fall asleep and dream.
His name is Lelliot. He’s bigger than me. He laughs. And smiles. And shouts. And talks all the time. He talks all the time to Mommy and Daddy. He is my brother. Why don’t you talk? Lelliot says again and again and again. Are you stupid? Lelliot says again and again and again. I jump on him and smack his face again and again and again. He cries. He cries a lot. I don’t cry. I never cry. Mommy is angry with me. I have to sit on the bottom stair. I have to sit for the longest time. But Lelliot never asks me why I don’t talk ever again. If I make my hand into a fist he runs away. Lelliot is scared of me. He knows I’m a monster.
WHEN I RETURN FROM my run the next morning, I check my e-mail before having a shower. Nothing from Miss Steele, but then it’s only 7:30. Maybe it’s a little early.
Grey, snap out of this. Get a grip.
I glare at the gray-eyed prick who stares back at me from the mirror as I shave. No more. Forget about her for today.
I have a job to do and a breakfast meeting to attend.
“FREDDIE WAS SAYING BARNEY may have a prototype of the tablet for you in a couple of days,” Ros tells me during our videoconference.
“I was studying the schematics yesterday. They were impressive, but I’m not sure we’re there yet. If we get this right there’s no telling where the technology could go, and what it could do in developing countries.”
“Don’t forget the home market,” she interjects.
“As if.”
“Christian, just how long are you going to be in Portland?” Ros sounds exasperated. “What’s going on down there?” Eyeing the webcam, she then peers hard at her screen, looking for clues in my expression.
“A merger.” I try to hide my smile.
“Does Marco know?”
I snort. Marco Inglis is the head of my mergers and acquisitions division. “No. It’s not that kind of merger.”
“Oh.” Ros is silenced momentarily and, from her look, surprised.
Yeah. It’s private.
“Well, I hope you’re successful,” she says, smirking.
“Me, too,” I acknowledge with a smirk of my own. “Now, can we talk about Woods?”
Over the past year, we’ve acquired three tech companies. Two are booming, surpassing all targets, and one is struggling despite Marco’s initial optimism. Lucas Woods heads it up; he’s turned out to be an idiot—all show, no substance. The money has gone to his head and he’s lost focus and squandered the lead his company once had in fiber optics. My gut says asset-strip the company, fire Woods, and merge their technology division into GEH.
But Ros thinks Lucas needs more time—and that we need time to plan if we’re going to liquidate and rebrand his company. If we do, it will involve expensive redundancies.
“I think Woods has had enough time to turn this around. He just won’t accept reality,” I say emphatically. “We need him gone, and I’d like Marco to estimate the costs of liquidating.”
