I oblige, and he sits beside me while Mrs. Jones busies herself with breakfast. Gosh, it’s unnerving having someone else listen to our conversation.
　　“Have you bought your air ticket?”
　　“No, I’ll buy it when I get home – over the Internet.”
　　He leans on his elbow, rubbing his chin.
　　“Do you have the money?”
　　Oh no.
　　“Yes,” I say with mock patience as if I’m talking to a small child.
　　He raises a censorious eyebrow at me. Crap.
　　“Yes, I do, thank you,” I amend rapidly.
　　“I have a jet. It’s not scheduled to be used for three days, it’s at your disposal.”
　　I gape at him. Of course he has a jet, and I have to resist my body’s natural inclination to roll my eyes at him. I want to laugh. But I don’t, as I can’t read his mood.
　　“We’ve already made serious misuse of your company’s aviation fleet. I wouldn’t want to do it again.”
　　“It’s my company, it’s my jet.” He sounds almost wounded. Oh, boys and their toys!
　　“Thank you for the offer. But I’d be happier taking a scheduled flight.”
　　He looks like he wants to argue further but decides against it.
　　“As you wish,” he sighs. “Do you have much preparation to do for your interview?”
　　“No.”
　　“Good. You’re still not going to tell me which publishing houses?”
　　“No.”
　　His lips curl up in a reluctant smile.
　　“I am a man of means, Miss Steele.”
　　“I am fully aware of that, Mr. Grey. Are you going to track my phone?” I ask innocently.
　　“Actually, I’ll be quite busy this afternoon, so I’ll have to get someone else to do it.” He smirks.
　　Is he joking?
　　“If you can spare someone to do that, you’re obviously overstaffed.”
　　“I’ll send an email to the head of human resources and have her look into our head count.” His lips twitch to hide his smile.
　　Oh thank the Lord, he’s recovered his sense of humor.
　　Mrs. Jones serves us breakfast and we eat quietly for a few moments. After clearing the pans, tactfully, she heads out of the living area. I peek up at him.
　　“What it is, Anastasia?”
　　“You know, you never did tell me why you don’t like to be touched.”
　　He blanches, and his reaction makes me feel guilty for asking.
　　“I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anybody.” His voice is quiet as he gazes at me impassively.
　　And it’s clear to me that he’s never confided in anyone. Doesn’t he have any close friends? Perhaps he told Mrs. Robinson? I want to ask him, but I can’t – I can’t pry that invasively. I shake my head at the realization. He really is an island.
　　“Will you think about our arrangement while you’re away?” he asks.
　　“Yes.”
　　“Will you miss me?”
　　I gaze at him, surprised by his question.
　　“Yes,” I answer honestly.
　　How could he mean so much to me in such a short time? He’s got right under my skin… literally. He smiles and his eyes light up.
　　“I’ll miss you too. More than you know,” he breathes.
　　My heart warms at his words. He really is trying, hard. He gently strokes my cheek, bends down, and kisses me softly.
　　It is late afternoon, and I sit nervous and fidgeting in the lobby waiting for Mr. J. Hyde of Seattle Independent Publishing. This is my second interview today, and the one I’m most anxious about. My first interview went well, but it was for a larger conglomerate with offices based throughout the US, and I would be one of many editorial assistants there. I can imagine being swallowed up and spat out pretty quickly in such a corporate machine. SIP is where I want to be. It’s small and unconventional, championing local authors, and has an interesting and quirky roster of clients.
　　My surroundings are sparse, but I think it’s a design statement rather than frugality. I am seated on one of two dark green chesterfield couches made of leather – not unlike the couch that Christian has in his playroom. I stroke the leather appreciatively and wonder idly what Christian does on that couch. My mind wanders as I think of the possibilities… no – I must not go there now. I flush at my wayward and inappropriate thoughts. The receptionist is a young African-American woman with large silver earrings and long straightened hair. She has a bohemian look about her, the sort of woman I could be friendly with. The thought is comforting. Every few moments, she glances at up me, away from her computer and smiles reassuringly. I tentatively return her smile.
　　My flight is booked; my mother is in seventh heaven that I am visiting; I am packed, and Kate has agreed to drive me to the airport. Christian has ordered me to take my BlackBerry and the Mac. I roll my eyes at the memory of his overbearing bossiness, but I realize now that’s just the way he is. He likes control over everything, including me. Yet he’s so unpredictably and disarmingly agreeable too. He can be tender, good-humored, even sweet. And when he is, it’s so left field and unexpected. He insisted on accompanying me all the way down to my car in the garage. Jeez, I’m only going for a few days, he’s acting like I’m going for weeks. He keeps me on the back foot permanently.
　　“Ana Steele?” A woman with long, black, pre-Raphaelite hair standing by the reception desk distracts me from my introspection. She has the same bohemian, floaty look as the receptionist. She could be in her late thirties, maybe in her forties. It’s so difficult to tell with older women.
　　“Yes,” I reply, standing awkwardly.
　　She gives me a polite smile, her cool hazel eyes assessing me. I am wearing one of Kate’s dresses, a black pinafore over a white blouse, and my black pumps. Very interview, I think. My hair is restrained in a ponytail, and for once the tendrils are behaving themselves… she holds her hand out to me.
　　“Hello, Ana, my name’s Elizabeth Morgan. I’m head of Human Resources here at SIP.”
　　“How do you do?” I shake her hand. She looks very casual to be the head of HR.
　　“Please follow me.”
　　We go through the double doors behind the reception area, into a large brightly decorated open plan office, and from there, head into a small meeting room. The walls are pale green, lined with pictures of book covers. At the head of the Maplewood conference table sits a young man with red hair tied in a ponytail. Small, silver, hooped earrings glint in both his ears. He wears a pale blue shirt, no tie, and grey flannel trousers. As I approach him, he stands and gazes at me with fathomless dark blue eyes.
　　“Ana Steele, I’m Jack Hyde, the commissioning editor here at SIP, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
　　We shake hands, and his dark expression is unreadable, though friendly enough, I think.
　　“Have you traveled far?” he asks pleasantly.
　　“No, I’ve recently moved to the Pike Street Market area.”
　　“Oh, not far at all then. Please, take a seat.”
　　I sit, and Elizabeth takes a seat beside him.
　　“So why would you like to intern for us at SIP, Ana?” he asks.
　　He says my name softly and cocks his head to one side, like someone I know – it’s unnerving. Doing my best to ignore the irrational wariness he inspires, I launch into my carefully prepared speech, conscious that a rosy flush is spreading across my cheeks. I look at both of them, remembering The Katherine Kavanagh Successful Interviewing Technique lecture – maintain eye contact, Ana! Boy, that woman can be bossy too, sometimes. Jack and Elizabeth both listen attentively.
　　“You have a very impressive GPA. What extra-curricular activities did you indulge in at WSU?”
　　Indulge? I blink at him. What an odd choice of word. I launch into details of my librarianship at the campus central library, and my one experience of interviewing an obscenely rich despot for the student magazine. I gloss over the part that I didn’t actually write the article. I mention the two literary societies that I belonged to and conclude with working at Clayton’s and all the useless knowledge I now possess about hardware and DIY. They both laugh, which is the response I’d hoped for. Slowly, I relax and begin to enjoy myself.
　　Jack Hyde asks sharp, intelligent questions, but I’m not thrown – I keep up, and when we discuss my reading preferences and my favorite books, I think I hold my own. Jack, on the other hand, appears to only favor American literature written after 1950. Nothing else. No classics - not even Henry James or Upton Sinclair or F Scott Fitzgerald. Elizabeth says nothing, just nods occasionally and takes notes. Jack, though argumentative, is charming in his way, and my initial wariness dissipates the longer we talk.
　　“And where do you see yourself in five years’ time?” he asks.
　　With Christian Grey, the thought comes involuntarily into my head. My errant mind makes me frown.
　　“Copy editing perhaps? Maybe a literary agent, I’m not sure. I am open to opportunities.”
　　He grins.
　　“Very good, Ana. I don’t have any further questions. Do you?” he directs his question at me.
　　“When would you like someone to start?” I ask.
　　“As soon as possible,” Elizabeth pipes up. “When could you start?”
　　“I’m available from next week.”
　　“That’s good to know,” Jack says.
　　“If that’s all anyone has to say,” Elizabeth glances at the two of us, “I think that concludes the interview.” She smiles kindly.
　　“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ana,” Jack says softly as he takes my hand. He squeezes it gently, so that I blink up at him as I say goodbye.
　　I feel unsettled as I make my way to my car, though I’m not sure why. I think the interview went well, but it’s so hard to say. Interviews seem such artificial situations, everyone on their best behavior trying desperately to hide behind a professional fa?ade. Did my face fit? I shall have to wait and see.
　　I climb into my Audi A3 and head back to the apartment, though I take me time. I’m on the red-eye with a stopover in Atlanta, but my flight doesn’t leave until 10:25 this evening, so I have plenty of time.
　　Kate is unpacking boxes in the kitchen when I return.
　　“How did they go?” she asks, excited. Only Kate can look gorgeous in an oversized shirt, tattered jeans, and a dark blue bandana.
　　“Good, thanks, Kate. Not sure this outfit was cool enough for the second interview.”
　　“Oh?”
　　“Boho chic might have done it.”
　　Kate raises an eyebrow.
　　“You and boho chic.” She cocks her head to one side - Gah! Why is everyone reminding me of my favorite Fifty Shades? “Actually, Ana, you’re one of the few people who could really pull that look off.”
　　I grin.
　　“I really liked the second place. I think I could fit in there. The guy who interviewed me was unnerving though,” I trail off – shit I’m talking to foghorn Kavanagh here. Shut up Ana!
　　“Oh?” The Katherine Kavanagh radar for an interesting tidbit of information swoops into action – a tidbit that will only resurface at some inopportune and embarrassing moment, which reminds me.
　　“Incidentally – will you please stop winding Christian up? Your comment about José at dinner yesterday was out of line. He’s a jealous guy. It doesn’t do any good, you know.”
　　“Look, if he wasn’t Elliot’s brother I’d have said a lot worse. He’s a real control freak. I don’t know how you stand it. I was trying to make him jealous – give him a little help with his commitment issues.” She holds her hands up defensively. “But – if you don’t want me to interfere, I won’t,” she says hastily at my scowl.
　　“Good. Life with Christian is complicated enough, trust me.”
　　Jeez, I sound like him.
　　“Ana,” she pauses staring at me. “You’re okay, aren’t you? You’re not running to your mother’s to escape?”
　　I flush.
　　“No Kate. It was you who said I needed a break.”
　　She closes the distance between us and takes my hands – a most un-Kate thing to do. Oh no… tears threaten.
　　“You’re just, I don’t know… different. I hope you’re okay, and whatever issues you’re having with Mr. Moneybags, you can talk to me. And I will try not to wind him up, though frankly it’s like shooting fish in a barrel with him. Look, Ana, if something’s wrong, you will tell me, I won’t judge. I’ll try to understand.”
　　I blink back tears.
　　“Oh, Kate.” I hug her. “I think I’ve really fallen for him.”
　　“Ana, anyone can see that. And he’s fallen for you. He’s mad about you. Won’t take his eyes off you.”

　　I laugh uncertainly.
　　“Do you think so?”
　　“Hasn’t he told you?”
　　“Not in so many words.”
　　“Have you told him?”
　　“Not in so many words.” I shrug apologetically.
　　“Ana! Someone has to make the first move, otherwise you’ll never get anywhere.”
　　What… tell him how I feel?
　　“I’m just afraid I’ll frighten him away.”
　　“And how do you know he’s not feeling the same?”
　　“Christian, afraid? I can’t imagine him being frightened of anything.” But as I say the words, I imagine him as a small child. Maybe fear was all he knew then. Sorrow grips and squeezes my heart at the thought.
　　Kate gazes at me with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, rather like my subconscious – all she needs is the half-moon specs.
　　“You two need to sit down and talk to each other.”
　　“We haven’t been doing much talking lately.” I flush. Other stuff. Non-verbal communication and that’s okay. Well, much more than okay.
　　She grins.
　　“That’ll be the sexing! If that’s going well, then that’s half the battle Ana. I’ll grab some Chinese take-out. Are you ready to go?”
　　“I will be – we don’t have to leave for a couple of hours or so.”
　　“No – I’ll see you in twenty.” She grabs her jacket and leaves, forgetting to close the door. I shut it behind her and head off to my bedroom mulling over her words.
　　Is Christian afraid of his feelings for me? Does he even have feelings for me? He seems very keen, says I’m his – but that’s just part of his I-must-own-and-have-everything-now – control-freak dominant self, surely. I realize that while I’m away, I will have to run through all our conversations again and see if I can pick out telltale signs.
　　I’ll miss you too… more than you know...
　　You’ve completely beguiled me…
　　I shake my head. I don’t want to think about it now. I am charging the BlackBerry, so I haven’t had it with me all afternoon. I approach it with caution, and I’m disappointed that there are no messages. I switch on the mean machine, and there are no messages there either. Same email address Ana – my subconscious rolls her eyes at me, and for the first time, I understand why Christian wants to spank me when I do that.
　　Okay. Well, I’ll write him an email.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Interviews
　　Date: May 30 2011 18:49
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Sir
　　My interviews went well today.
　　Thought you might be interested.
　　How was your day?
　　Ana
　　I sit and glare at the screen. Christian’s responses are usually instantaneous. I wait… and wait, and finally I hear the welcome ping from my inbox.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: My day
　　Date: May 30 2011 19:03
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Dear Miss Steele
　　Everything you do interests me, you are the most fascinating woman I know.
　　I’m glad your interviews went well.
　　My morning was beyond all expectations.
　　My afternoon was very dull in comparison.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Fine Morning
　　Date: May 30 2011 19:05
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Sir
　　The morning was exemplary for me too, in spite of you weirding out on me after the impeccable desk sex. Don’t think I didn’t notice.
　　Thank you for breakfast. Or thank Mrs. Jones.
　　I’d like to ask you questions about her – without you weirding out on me again.
　　Ana
　　My finger hovers over the send button, and I am reassured that I’ll be on the other side of the continent this time tomorrow.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Publishing and You?
　　Date: May 30 2011 19:10
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Anastasia
　　‘Weirding’ is not a verb and should not be used by anyone who wants to go into publishing. Impeccable? Compared to what, pray tell? And what do you need to ask about Mrs. Jones? I’m intrigued.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: You and Mrs. Jones
　　Date: May 30 2011 19:17
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Sir
　　Language evolves and moves on. It is an organic thing. It is not stuck in an ivory tower, hung with expensive works of art and overlooking most of Seattle with a helipad stuck on its roof.
　　Impeccable – compared to the other times we have… what’s your word… oh yes… fucked. Actually the fucking has been pretty impeccable, period, in my humble opinion – but then as you know I have very limited experience.
　　Is Mrs. Jones an ex-sub of yours?
　　Ana
　　My finger hovers once more over the send button, and I press it.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Language. Watch Your Mouth!
　　Date: May 30 2011 19:22
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Anastasia
　　Mrs. Jones is a valued employee. I have never had any relationship with her beyond our professional one. I do not employ anyone I’ve had any sexual relations with. I am shocked that you would think so. The only person I would make an exception to this rule is you – because you are a bright young woman with remarkable negotiating skills. Though, if you continue to use such language, I may have to reconsider taking you on here. I am glad you have limited experience. Your experience will continue to be limited – just to me. I shall take impeccable as a compliment – though with you, I’m never sure if that’s what you mean, or if your sense of irony is getting the better of you – as usual.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From His Ivory Tower
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Not for all the Tea in China
　　Date: May 30 2011 19:27
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Mr. Grey
　　I think I have already expressed my reservations about working for your company. My views on this have not changed, are not changing, and will not change, ever. I must leave you now as Kate has returned with food. My sense of irony and I, bid you goodnight.
　　I will contact you once I’m in Georgia.
　　Ana
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Even Twinings English Breakfast Tea?
　　Date: May 30 2011 19:29
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Goodnight Anastasia.
　　I hope you and your sense of irony have a safe flight.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　Kate and I pull up outside the drop-off area at Sea-Tac Airport terminal. Leaning across, she hugs me.
　　“Enjoy Barbados, Kate. Have a wonderful holiday.”
　　“I’ll see you when I get back. Don’t let old moneybags grind you down.”
　　“I won’t.”
　　We hug again – and then I’m on my own. I head over to check-in and stand in line, waiting with my carry-on luggage. I haven’t bothered with a suitcase, just a smart rucksack that Ray gave me for my last birthday.
　　“Ticket please?” The bored young man behind the desk holds up his hand without looking at me.
　　Mirroring his boredom, I hand over my ticket and my driver’s license as ID. I am hoping for a window seat if at all possible.
　　“Okay, Miss Steele. You’ve been upgraded to first class.”
　　“What?”
　　“Ma’am, if you’d like to go through to the first class lounge and await your flight there.” He seems to have woken up and is beaming at me like I’m the Christmas Fairy and the Easter Bunny rolled into one.
　　“Surely there’s some mistake.”
　　“No, no.” He checks his computer screen again. “Anastasia Steele – upgrade.” He simpers at me.
　　Ugh. I narrow my eyes. He hands me my boarding pass, and I head towards the first class lounge muttering under my breath. Damn Christian Grey, interfering control freak – he just can’t leave well enough alone.
　　I am manicured, massaged, and I’ve had two glasses of champagne. The First Class lounge has many redeeming features. With each sip of Moet, I feel slightly more inclined to forgive Christian and his intervention. I open up my MacBook, hoping to test the theory that it works anywhere on the planet.
　　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
　　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 this week.
　　Who was massaging your back?
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO with friends in the right places, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　Aha! Pay back time. Our flight has been called so I shall email him from the plane. It will be safer. I almost hug myself with mischievous glee.
　　There is so much room in first class. Champagne cocktail in hand, I settle myself into the sumptuous leather window seat as the cabin slowly fills. I call Ray to tell him where I am – a mercifully brief call, as it’s so late for him.
　　“Love you, Dad,” I murmur.
　　“You too, Annie. Say hi to your mom. Goodnight.”
　　“Goodnight.” I hang up.
　　Ray is in good form. I stare at my Mac and with the same childish glee building. Opening my laptop, I log into the email program.
　　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. I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed to email 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
　　Oh, he’s going to flip out – and I shall be airborne and out of reach. Serves him right. If I’d been in the ordinary departure lounge then Jean-Paul wouldn’t have gotten his hands on me. He was a very nice young man, in a blonde, perma-tanned way – honestly, who has a tan in Seattle? It’s just so wrong. I think he was gay – but I’ll just keep that detail to myself. I stare at my email. Kate is right. It is like shooting fish in a barrel with him. My subconscious stares at me with an ugly twist to her mouth – do you really want to wind him up? What he’s done is sweet, you know! He cares about you and wants you to travel in
　　style. Yes, but he could have asked me or told me. Not made me look like a complete klutz at check-in. I press send and wait, feeling like a very naughty girl.
　　“Miss Steele, you’ll need to stow your laptop for take-off,” the over-made-up flight attendant says politely. She makes me jump. My guilty conscience is at work.
　　“Oh, sorry.”
　　Crap. Now I’ll have to wait to know if he’s replied. She hands me a soft blanket and pillow, showing her perfect teeth. I drape the blanket over my knees. It’s nice to feel mollycoddled sometimes.
　　The cabin has filled up, except for the seat beside me which is still unoccupied. Oh no… a disturbing thought crosses my mind. Perhaps the seat is Christian’s. Oh shit… no… he wouldn’t do that. Would he? I told him I didn’t want him to come with me. I glance anxiously at my watch and then the disembodied voice from the flight deck announces,
　　“Cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check.”
　　What does that mean? Are they closing the doors? My scalp prickles as I sit in palpitating anticipation. The seat next to me is the only unoccupied one in the sixteen-seat cabin. The plane jolts as it pulls away from its stand, and I breathe a sigh of relief but feel a faint tingle of disappointment too… no Christian for four days. I take a sneak peek at my BlackBerry.
　　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.
　　Holy crap. That’s the problem with Christian’s humor – I can be never be sure if he’s joking or if he’s seriously angry. I suspect on this occasion he’s seriously angry. Surreptitiously, so the flight attendant can’t see, I type a reply under the blanket.
　　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
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Joking
　　Date: May 30 2011 22:31
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　How can you be emailing? 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.
　　Two palms! I put my BlackBerry away, sit back while the plane taxis to the runway, and pull out my tattered copy of Tess – some light reading for the journey. Once we’re airborne, I tip my seat back, and soon I’m drifting off to sleep.
　　The flight attendant wakes me as we start our descent into Atlanta. Local time is 5:45 a.m., but I’ve only had four hours sleep or so… I feel groggy, but grateful for the glass of orange juice she hands me. I glance nervously at my BlackBerry. There are no further emails from Christian. Well, it’s nearly three in the morning in Seattle, and he probably wants to discourage me from screwing up the avionics system, or whatever prevents planes from flying if mobile phones are switched on.
　　The wait in Atlanta is only an hour. And again I’m luxuriating in the confines of the first class lounge. I am tempted to curl up and go to sleep on one of the plush, inviting couches that sink softly under my weight. But it will just not be long enough. To keep myself awake, I start a long steam of consciousness to Christian on my laptop.
　　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 email 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 Saturday 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 goodbye, 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
　　I press send and make my way sleepily to the departure gate to board a different plane. This one has only six seats in first class, and once we are in the air, I curl up under my soft blanket and fall asleep.
　　All too soon, I’m woken by the flight attendant offering me more orange juice as we begin our approach to Savannah International. I sip slowly, beyond fatigued, and I allow myself to feel a modicum of excitement. I’m going to see my mother for the first time in six months. Sneaking another covert look at my BlackBerry, I remember vaguely that I sent a long rambling email to Christian – but there’s nothing in response. It’s five in the morning in Seattle – hopefully he’s still asleep and not up playing mournful laments on his piano.
　　The beauty of carry-on rucksacks is that one can breeze out of the airport and not wait endlessly for baggage at the carousels. The beauty of traveling first class is that they let you off the plane first.
　　My mom is waiting with Bob, and it is so good to see them. I don’t know if it’s because of exhaustion, the long journey, or the whole Christian situation, but as soon as I’m in my mother’s arms, I burst into tears.
　　“Oh Ana, honey. You must be so tired.” She glances anxiously at Bob.
　　“No Mom, it’s just – I’m so pleased to see you.” I hug her tightly.
　　She feels so good and welcoming and home. Reluctantly, I relinquish her, and Bob gives me an awkward one-armed hug. He seems unsteady on his feet, and I remember that he’s hurt his leg.
　　“Welcome back, Ana. Why you cryin’?” he asks.
　　“Aw, Bob, I’m just pleased to see you too.” I stare up into his handsome square-jawed face, and his twinkling blue eyes that gaze at me fondly. I like this husband, Mom. You can keep him. He takes my backpack.
　　“Jeez, Ana, what have you got in here?”
　　That will be the Mac, and they both put their arms around me as we head for the parking lot.
　　I always forget how unbearably hot it is in Savannah. Leaving the cool air-conditioned confines of the arrival terminal, we step into the Georgia heat like we’re wearing it. Whoa! It saps everything. I have to struggle out of Mom and Bob’s embrace so I can remove my hoodie. I am so glad I packed shorts. I miss the dry heat of Vegas sometimes, where I lived with Mom and Bob when I was seventeen, but this wet heat, even at 8:30 in the morning, takes some getting used to. By the time I’m in the back of Bob’s wonderfully air-conditioned Tahoe SUV, I feel limp, and my hair has started a frizzy protest at the heat. In the back of the SUV I quickly text Ray, Kate, and Christian:
　　*Arrived Safely in Savannah. A :)*
　　My thoughts stray briefly to José as I press send, and through the fog of my fatigue, I remember that it’s his show next week. Should I invite Christian knowing how he feels about José? Will Christian still want to see me after that email? I shudder at the thought, and then put it out of my mind. I’ll deal with that later. Right now I am going to enjoy my mom’s company.
　　“Honey, you must be tired. Would you like to sleep when we get home?”
　　“No, Mom. I’d like to go to the beach.”
　　I am in my blue halter neck tankini, sipping a Diet Coke, on a sun bed facing the Atlantic Ocean, and to think that only yesterday I was staring out at the Sound toward the Pacific. My mother lounges beside me in a ridiculously large floppy sun hat and Jackie O shades, sipping a Coke of her own. We are on Tybee Island Beach, just three blocks from home. She holds my hand. My fatigue has waned, and as I soak up the sun, I feel comfortable, safe, and warm. For the first time in forever, I start to relax.
　　“So Ana… tell me about this man who has you in such a spin.”
　　Spin! How can she tell? What to say? I can’t talk about Christian in any great detail because of the NDA, but even then, would I choose to talk to my mother about it? I blanch at the thought.
　　“Well?” she prompts and squeezes my hand.
　　“His name’s Christian. He’s beyond handsome. He’s wealthy… too wealthy. He’s very complicated and mercurial.”
　　Yes – I feel inordinately pleased with my concise, accurate summary. I turn on my side to face her, just as she makes the same move. She gazes at me with her crystal-clear blue eyes.
　　“Complicated and mercurial are the two pieces of information I want to concentrate on, Ana.”
　　Oh no…
　　“Oh, Mom, his mood-swings make me dizzy. He’s had a grim upbringing, so he’s very closed, difficult to gauge.”
　　“Do you like him?”
　　“I more than like him.”
　　“Really?” She gapes at me.
　　“Yes, Mom.”
　　“Men aren’t really complicated, Ana, honey. They are very simple, literal creatures. They usually mean what they say. And we spend hours trying to analyze what they’ve said – when really it’s obvious. If I were you, I’d take him literally. That might help.”
　　I gape at her. This sounds like good advice. Take Christian literally. Immediately some of the things he’s said spring into my mind.
　　I don’t want to lose you…
　　You’ve bewitched me…
　　You’ve completely beguiled me…
　　I’ll miss you too… more than you know...
　　I gaze at my mom. She is on her fourth marriage. Maybe she does know something about men after all.
　　“Most men are moody darling, some more than others. Take your father for instance…,” Her eyes soften and sadden whenever she thinks of my dad. My real dad, this mythical man I never knew, snatched so cruelly from us in a combat training accident when he was a marine. Part of me thinks my mom has been looking for someone like my dad all this time… maybe she’s finally found what she’s looking for in Bob. Pity she couldn’t find it with Ray.
　　“I used to think your father was moody. But now when I look back, I just think he was too caught up in his job and trying to make a life for us.” She sighs. “He was so young, we both were. Maybe that was the issue.”
　　Hmm… Christian is not exactly old. I smile fondly at her. She can become very soulful thinking about my father, but I’m sure he had nothing on Christian’s moods.
　　“Bob wants to take us out tonight for dinner. To his golf club.”
　　“Oh no! Bob’s started playing golf?” I scoff in disbelief.
　　“Tell me about it,” groans my mother, rolling her eyes.
　　After a light lunch back at the house, I start to unpack. I am going to treat myself to a siesta. My mother has disappeared to mold some candles or whatever she does with them, and Bob is at work, so I have time to catch up on some sleep. I open the Mac and fire it up. It’s two in the afternoon in Georgia, eleven in the morning in Seattle. I wonder if I have a reply from Christian. Nervously, I log into the email program.
　　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 a 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 that 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 email for example: I have read and re-read 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 and give you the space you need and stay away from you while you are in Georgia. I look forward to your next email.
　　In the meantime, enjoy yourself. But not too much.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　Holy crap. He’s written an essay like we’re back at school – and most of it good. My heart is in my mouth as I re-read his epistle, and I huddle on the spare bed practically hugging my Mac. Make our agreement a year? I have the power! Jeez, I’m going to have to think about that. Take him literally, that’s what my mother says. He doesn’t want to lose me. He’s said that twice! He wants to make this work too. Oh Christian, so do I! He’s going to try and stay away! Does this mean he might fail to stay away? Suddenly, I hope so. I want to see him. We’ve been apart less than twenty-four hours, and knowing that I can’t see him for four days, I realize how much I miss him. How much I love him.
　　“Ana, honey.” The voice is soft and warm, full of love and sweet memories of times gone by.
　　A gentle hand brushes my face. My mom wakes me, and I’m wrapped around my laptop, hugging it to me.
　　“Ana, sweetheart,” she continues in her soft singsong voice while I surface from sleep, blinking in the pale pink light of dusk.
　　“Hi, Mom.” I stretch out and smile.
　　“We’re going out for dinner in thirty minutes. You still want to come?” she asks kindly.
　　“Oh, yes, Mom, of course.” I try very hard, but fail to stifle my yawn.
　　“Now that’s an impressive piece of technology.” She points to my laptop.
　　Oh crap.
　　“Oh… this?” I strive for casual, surprised nonchalance.
　　Will Mom notice? She seems to have grown more astute since I acquired a ‘boyfriend’.
　　“Christian lent it to me. I think I could pilot the space shuttle with it, but I just use it for emails and Internet access.”
　　Really it’s nothing. Eyeing me suspiciously, she sits down on the bed and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
　　“Has he emailed you?”
　　Oh double crap.
　　“Yeah.” My nonchalance is wearing thin, and I flush.
　　“Perhaps he’s missing you, huh?”
　　“I hope so, Mom.”
　　“What does he say?”
　　Oh triple crap. I frantically try to think of something acceptable from that email I can tell my mother. I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear about Doms and bondage and gagging, but then I can’t tell her because there’s the NDA.
　　“He’s told me to enjoy myself, but not too much.”
　　“Sounds reasonable. I’ll leave you to get ready, honey.” Leaning over, she kisses my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re here, Ana. It’s wonderful to see you.” And with that loving statement, she leaves.
　　Hmm, Christian and reasonable… two concepts that I thought were mutually exclusive, but after his email, maybe all things are possible. I shake my head. I will need time to digest his words. Probably after dinner – and I can reply to him then. I climb out of bed and quickly slip out of my t-shirt and shorts, and head to the shower.
　　I have brought Kate’s gray halter-neck dress that I wore for my graduation. It’s the only dressy item I have. One good thing about the heat is that the creases have dropped out, so I think it will do for the golf club. As I dress, I wake the laptop up. There is nothing new from Christian, and I feel a stab of disappointment. Very quickly, I type him an email.
　　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 email. Will respond when I can. I miss you already.
　　Enjoy your afternoon.
　　Your Ana
　　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 email. 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.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO & Eye Roller, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Eye Rolling
　　Date: May 31 2011 19:14 EST
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Mr. Grey
　　Stop emailing me. I am trying to get ready for dinner. You are very distracting, even when you are on the other side of the continent. And yes – who spanks you when you roll your eyes?
　　Your Ana
　　I press send, and immediately the image of that evil witch Mrs. Robinson comes into my mind. I just can’t picture it. Christian being beaten by someone as old as my mother, it’s just so wrong. Again I wonder what damage she’s wrought. My mouth sets in a hard grim line. I need a doll to stick pins in, maybe that way I can vent some of the anger I feel at this stranger.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Your behind
　　Date: May 31 2011 16:18
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Dear Miss Steele
　　I still prefer my title to yours, in so many different ways. It is lucky that I am master of my own destiny and no one castigates me. Except my mother occasionally and Dr. Flynn, of course. And you.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Chastising… Me?
　　Date: May 31 2011 19:22 EST
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Sir
　　When have I ever plucked up the nerve to chastise you, Mr. Grey? I think you are mixing me up with someone else… which is very worrying. I really do have to get ready.
　　Your Ana
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Your behind
　　Date: May 31 2011 16:25
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Dear Miss Steele
　　You do it all the time in print. Can I zip up your dress?
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　For some unknown reason, his words leap out of the page and make me gasp. Oh… he wants to play games.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: NC-17
　　Date: May 31 2011 19:28 EST
　　To: Christian Grey
　　I would rather you unzipped it.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Careful what you wish for…
　　Date: May 31 2011 16:31
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　SO WOULD I.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Panting
　　Date: May 31 2011 19:33 EST
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Slowly…
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Groaning
　　Date: May 31 2011 16:35
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Wish I was there.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Moaning
　　Date: May 31 2011 19:37 EST
　　To: Christian Grey
　　SO DO I
　　“Ana!” My mother calls me, making me jump. Shit. Why do I feel so guilty?
　　“Just coming, Mom.”
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Moaning
　　Date: May 31 2011 19:39 EST
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Gotta go.
　　Laters, baby.
　　I dash into the hall where Bob and my mother are waiting. My mother frowns.
　　“Darling - are you feeling ok? You look at bit flushed.”
　　“Mom, I’m fine.”
　　“You look lovely, dear.”
　　“Oh, this is Kate’s dress. You like it?”
　　Her frown deepens.
　　“Why are you wearing Kate’s dress?”
　　Oh… no.
　　“Well I like this one and she doesn’t,” I improvise quickly.
　　She regards me shrewdly while Bob oozes impatience with his hangdog, hungry look.
　　“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow,” she says.
　　“Oh, Mom, you don’t need to do that. I have plenty of clothes.”
　　“Can’t I do something for my own daughter? Come on, Bob’s starving.”
　　“Too right,” moans Bob, rubbing his stomach and assuming a fake pained expression.
　　I giggle as he rolls his eyes, and we head out the door.
　　Later when I’m in the shower, cooling under the lukewarm water, I reflect on how much my mother has changed. Seeing her at dinner, she was in her element, funny and flirty and amongst many friends at the golf club. Bob was warm and attentive… they seem so good for each other. I’m really pleased for her. It means I can stop worrying about her and second-guessing her decisions and put the dark days of Husband Number Three behind us both. Bob is a keeper. And she’s giving me good advice. When did that start happening? Since I met Christian. Why is that?
　　When I’m done, I dry myself quickly, keen to get back to Christian. There’s an email waiting for me, sent just after I left for dinner a few hours ago.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Plagiarism
　　Date: May 31 2011 16:41
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　You stole my line.
　　And left me hanging.
　　Enjoy your dinner.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Who are you to cry thief?
　　Date: May 31 2011 22:18 EST
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Sir, I think you’ll find it was Elliot’s line originally.
　　Hanging how?
　　Your Ana
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Unfinished Business
　　Date: May 31 2011 19:22
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Miss Steele
　　You’re back. You left so suddenly - just when things were getting interesting.
　　Elliot’s not very original. He’ll have stolen that line from someone.
　　How was dinner?
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Unfinished Business?
　　Date: May 31 2011 22:26 EST
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dinner was filling – you’ll be very pleased to hear, I ate far too much.
　　Getting interesting? How?
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Unfinished Business - definitely
　　Date: May 31 2011 19:30
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Are you being deliberately obtuse? I think you’d just asked me to unzip your dress.
　　And I was looking forward to doing just that. I am also glad to hear you are eating.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Well… there’s always the weekend
　　Date: May 31 2011 22:36 EST
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Of course I eat… It’s only the uncertainty I feel around you that puts me off my food.
　　And I would never be unwittingly obtuse, Mr. Grey.
　　Surely you’ve worked that out by now ;)
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Can’t Wait
　　Date: May 31 2011 19:40
　　To: Anastasia Steele