Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as told by Christian: 0 (45 page)

Have I changed my mind? I think I’ve just relaxed my boundaries a little, that’s all. “I don’t think I’ve changed my mind per se. We just need to redefine our parameters, redraw our battle lines, if you will. We can make this work, I’m sure. I want you submissive in my playroom. I will punish you if you digress from the rules. Other than that…well, I think it’s all up for discussion. Those are my requirements, Miss Steele. What say you to that?”

“So I get to sleep with you? In your bed?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

“I agree, then. Besides, I sleep very well when you’re in my bed. I had no idea.”

“I was frightened you’d leave me if I didn’t agree to all of it,” she says, her face a little pale.

“I’m not going anywhere, Anastasia. Besides—”
How can she think that?
I need to reassure her. “We’re following your advice, your definition: compromise. You e-mailed it to me. And so far, it’s working for me.”

“I love that you want more.”

“I know.” My tone is warm.

“How do you know?”

“Trust me. I just do.”
You told me in your sleep.

The waitress returns with our breakfast and I watch Ana devour it. “More” seems to be working for her.

“This is delicious,” she says.

“I like that you’re hungry.”

“Must have been all the exercise last night and the thrill this morning.”

“It was a thrill, wasn’t it?”

“It was mighty fine, Mr. Grey,” she says as she pops the final piece of pancake into her mouth. “Can I treat you?” she adds.

“Treat me how?”

“Pay for this meal.”

I snort. “I don’t think so.”

“Please. I want to.”

“Are you trying to completely emasculate me?” I raise an eyebrow in warning.

“This is probably the only place that I’ll be able to afford to pay.”

“Anastasia, I appreciate the thought. I do. But no.”

She purses her lips with irritation when I ask the redhead for the check. “Don’t scowl,” I warn, and check the time: it’s 8:30. I have a meeting at 11:15 with the Savannah Brownfield Redevelopment Authority, so unfortunately we have to get back to the city. I contemplate canceling the meeting, because I’d like to spend the day with Ana, but no, that’s too much. I’m running after this girl when I should be concentrating on my business.

Priorities, Grey.

With her hand in mine, we head to the car looking like any other couple. She’s swamped in my sweatshirt, looking casual, relaxed, beautiful—and yes, she’s with me. Three guys strolling into IHOP check her out; she’s oblivious even when I put my arm around her to stake my claim. She really has no idea how lovely she is. I open her car door and she gives me a sunny smile.

I could get used to this.

I program her mother’s address into the GPS and we set off north on I-95, listening to the Foo Fighters. Ana’s feet tap to the beat. This is the sort of music she likes—all-American rock. The traffic on the freeway is heavier now, with commuters heading into the city. But I don’t care: I like being here with her, spending time. Holding her hand, touching her knee, watching her smile. She tells me about previous visits to Savannah; she’s not keen on the heat, either, but her eyes light up when she talks about her mother. It’ll be interesting to see her interacting with her mother and stepfather this evening.

I pull up outside her mother’s home with some regret. I wish we could play hooky all day; the last twelve hours have been…nice.

More than nice, Grey.
Sublime.

“Do you want to come in?” she asks.

“I need to work, Anastasia, but I’ll be back this evening. What time?”

She suggests seven, then looks from her hands to me, her eyes bright and joyful. “Thank you…for the more.”

“My pleasure, Anastasia.” I lean over and kiss her, inhaling her sweet, sweet scent.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Try to stop me,” I whisper.

She climbs out of the car, still in my sweatshirt, and waves good-bye. I head back to the hotel, feeling a little emptier now that she’s not with me.

IN MY ROOM, I
call Taylor.

“Mr. Grey.”

“Yeah…thanks for organizing this morning.”

“You’re most welcome, sir.” He sounds surprised.

“I’ll be ready to leave at ten forty-five for the meeting.”

“I’ll have the Suburban waiting outside.”

“Thanks.”

I change out of my jeans and into my suit but leave my favorite tie beside my laptop as I order up coffee from room service.

I work through my e-mails, drink coffee, and consider calling Ros; however, it’s too early for her. I read through all the paperwork that Bill has sent: Savannah does make a good case for siting the plant here. I check my inbox, and there’s a new message from Ana.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Soaring as Opposed to Sore-ing

Date:
June 2 2011 10:20 EST

To:
Christian Grey

Sometimes, you really know how to show a girl a good time.

Thank you

Ana x

The title makes me laugh and the kiss makes me feel ten feet tall. I type up my response.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Soaring vs Sore-ing

Date:
June 2 2011 10:24 EST

To:
Anastasia Steele

I’ll take either of those over your snoring. I had a good time, too.

But I always do when I’m with you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Her answer is almost immediate.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
SNORING

Date:
June 2 2011 10:26 EST

To:
Christian Grey

I DO NOT SNORE. And if I do, it’s very ungallant of you to point it out.

You are no gentleman, Mr. Grey! And you are in the Deep South, too!

Ana

I chuckle.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Somniloquy

Date:
June 2 2011 10:28 EST

To:
Anastasia Steele

I have never claimed to be a gentleman, Anastasia, and I think I have demonstrated that point to you on numerous occasions. I am not intimidated by your SHOUTY capitals. But I will confess to a small white lie: no—you don’t snore, but you do talk. And it’s fascinating.

What happened to my kiss?

Christian Grey

Cad & CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

This will drive her crazy.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Spill the Beans

Date:
June 2 2011 10:32 EST

To:
Christian Grey

You are a cad and a scoundrel—definitely no gentleman.

So, what did I say? No kisses for you until you talk!

Oh, this could run and run…

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Sleeping Talking Beauty

Date:
June 2 2011 10:35 EST

To:
Anastasia Steele

It would be most ungallant of me to say, and I have already been chastised for that.

But if you behave yourself, I may tell you this evening. I do have to go into a meeting now.

Laters, baby.

Christian Grey

CEO, Cad & Scoundrel, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

With a broad grin I slip on my tie, grab my jacket, and head downstairs to find Taylor.

JUST OVER AN HOUR
later, I’m winding up my meeting with the Savannah Brownfield Redevelopment Authority. Georgia has a great deal to offer, and the team has promised GEH some serious tax incentives. There’s a knock at the door and Taylor enters the small conference room. His face looks grim, but what’s more worrying is that he never, ever interrupts my meetings. My scalp prickles.

Ana? Is she okay?

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” he says to all of us.

“Yes, Taylor,” I ask, and he approaches and speaks discreetly in my ear.

“We have a situation at home concerning Miss Leila Williams.”

Leila?
What the hell? And part of me is relieved that it’s not Ana.

“Would you excuse me, please?” I ask the two men and two women from the SBRA.

In the hallway, Taylor’s tone is grave as he apologizes once more for interrupting my meeting.

“Don’t worry. Tell me what’s happened.”

“Miss Williams is in an ambulance on the way to the ER at Seattle Free Hope.”

“Ambulance?”

“Yes, sir. She broke into the apartment and made a suicide attempt in front of Mrs. Jones.”

Fuck.
“Suicide?”
Leila? In my apartment?

“She slashed her wrist. Gail went with her in the ambulance. She’s informed me that the EMTs arrived in time and Miss Williams is not in any immediate danger.”

“Why Escala? Why in front of Gail?” I’m shocked.

Taylor shakes his head. “I don’t know, sir. Neither does Gail. She can’t get any sense out of Miss Williams. Apparently, she only wants to talk to you.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly, sir,” Taylor says without judgment. I scrape my hands through my hair, trying to grasp the magnitude of what Leila has done. What the hell am I supposed to do? Why did she come to me? Was she expecting to see me? Where’s her husband? What’s happened to him?

“How’s Gail?”

“A little shaken.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“I thought you should know, sir.”

“Yes. Sure. Thanks,” I mumble, distracted. I can’t believe it; Leila seemed happy when she last e-mailed, what, six or seven months ago. But there are no answers for me here in Georgia—I have to go back and talk to her. Find out why. “Tell Stephan to ready the jet. I need to go home.”

“Will do.”

“Let’s leave as soon as we can.”

“I’ll be in the car.”

“Thank you.”

Taylor heads toward the exit, raising the phone to his ear.

I’m reeling.

Leila. What the hell?

She’s been out of my life for a couple of years. We’ve shared the occasional e-mail. She got married. She seemed happy. What’s happened?

I head back into the boardroom and make my apologies before stepping outside into the stifling heat, where Taylor is waiting in the Suburban.

“The plane will be ready in forty-five minutes. We can head back to the hotel, pack, and go,” he informs me.

“Good,” I respond, grateful for the car’s air-conditioning. “I should call Gail.”

“I’ve tried, but her phone goes to voice mail. I think she’s still at the hospital.”

“Okay, I’ll call her later.” This is not what Gail needs on a Thursday morning. “How did Leila get into the apartment?”

“I don’t know, sir.” Taylor makes eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, his face apologetic and grim at once. “I’ll make it a priority to find out.”

OUR BAGS ARE PACKED
and we’re on our way to Savannah/Hilton Head International when I call Ana, but frustratingly, she doesn’t answer. I brood, staring out the window as we cruise toward the airport. I don’t have to wait long for her to return my call.

“Anastasia.”

“Hi,” she says, her voice breathy, and it’s such a pleasure to hear her.

“I have to return to Seattle. Something’s come up. I am on my way to the airport now. Please apologize to your mother—I can’t make dinner.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?”

“I have a situation that I have to deal with. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll send Taylor to meet you at Sea-Tac if I can’t come myself.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “I hope you sort out your situation. Have a safe flight.”

I wish I didn’t have to go.

“You, too, baby,” I whisper, and hang up before I change my mind and stay.

I CALL ROS AS
we taxi toward the runway.

“Christian, how’s Savannah?”

“I’m on the plane coming home. I have a problem I have to deal with.”

“Something at GEH?” Ros asks, alarmed.

“No. It’s personal.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“How did your meeting go?”

“Positive. But I had to cut it short. Let’s see what they put in writing. I might prefer Detroit just because it’s cooler.”

“The heat’s that bad?”

“Suffocating. I’ve got to go. I’ll call for an update later.”

“Safe travels, Christian.”

ON THE FLIGHT I
throw myself into work to distract me from the problem waiting at home. By the time we’ve touched down I’ve read three reports and written fifteen e-mails. Our car is waiting, and Taylor drives through the pouring rain straight to Seattle Free Hope. I have to see Leila and find out what the hell is going on. As we near the hospital my anger surfaces.

Why would she do this to me?

The rain is lashing down as I climb out of the car; the day is as bleak as my mood. I take a deep breath to control my fury and head through the front doors. At the reception desk I ask for Leila Reed.

“Are you family?” The nurse on duty glowers at me, her mouth pinched and sour.

“No.” I sigh. This is going to be difficult.

“Well, I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

“She tried to open a vein in my apartment. I think I’m entitled to know where the hell she is,” I hiss through my teeth.

“Don’t take that tone with me!” she snaps. I glare at her. I’m not going to get anywhere with this woman.

“Where is your ER department?”

“Sir, there’s nothing we can do if you’re not family.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find it myself,” I growl, and storm over to the double doors. I know I could call my mother, who would expedite this for me, but then I’d have to explain what’s happened.

The ER is bustling with doctors and nurses, and triage is full of patients. I accost a young nurse and give her my brightest smile. “Hello, I’m looking for Leila Reed—she was admitted earlier today. Can you tell me where she might be?”

“And you are?” she asks, a flush creeping over her face.

“I’m her brother,” I lie smoothly, ignoring her reaction.