I close my eyes.
　　Reluctantly, I open my heavy eyelids and bright light
　　fills the room. I groan. I feel cloudy, disconnected from my
　　leaden limbs, and Christian is wrapped around me like ivy.
　　I’m too warm as per usual. Surely it’s just five in the
　　morning. The alarm has not gone off yet. I stretch out to
　　free myself from his heat, turning in his arms, and he
　　mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep. I glance at
　　the clock. Eight forty-five.
　　Shit, I’m going to be late. Fuck. I scramble out of bed
　　and dash to the bathroom. I am showered and out within
　　four minutes.
　　Christian sits up in bed watching me with ill-concealed
　　amusement coupled with wariness as I continue to dry
　　amusement coupled with wariness as I continue to dry
　　myself while gathering my clothes. Perhaps he’s waiting for
　　me to react to yesterday’s revelations. Right now, I just
　　don’t have time.
　　I check my clothes—black slacks, black shirt—all a
　　bit Mrs. R, but I don’t have a second to change my mind.
　　I hastily don black bra and panties, conscious that he’s
　　watching my every move. It’s . . . unnerving. The panties
　　and bra will do.
　　“You look good,” Christian purrs from the bed. “You
　　can call in sick, you know.” He gives me his devastating,
　　lopsided, one hundred and fifty percent panty-busting
　　smile. Oh, he’s so tempting. My inner goddess pouts
　　provocatively at me.
　　“No, Christian, I can’t. I am not a megalomaniac CEO
　　with a beautiful smile who can come and go as he
　　pleases.”
　　“I like to come as I please.” He smirks and cranks his
　　glorious smile up another notch so it’s in full HD IMAX.
　　“Christian!” I scold. I throw my towel at him and he
　　laughs.
　　“Beautiful smile, huh?”
　　“Yes. You know the effect you have on me.” I put on
　　my watch.
　　“Do I?” he blinks innocently.
　　“Yes, you do. The same effect you have on all women.
　　Gets really tiresome watching them all swoon.”
　　“Does it?” He cocks his eyebrow at me, more amused.
　　“Don’t play the innocent, Mr. Grey, it really doesn’t
　　suit you,” I mutter distractedly as I scoop my hair into a
　　suit you,” I mutter distractedly as I scoop my hair into a
　　ponytail and pull on my black high-heeled shoes. There,
　　that will do.
　　When I bend to kiss him good-bye, he grabs me and
　　pulls me down onto the bed, leaning over me and smiling
　　from ear to ear. Oh my. He’s so beautiful—eyes bright
　　with mischief, floppy just-fucked-again hair, that dazzling
　　smile. Now he’s playful.
　　I’m tired, still reeling from all the disclosures of
　　yesterday, while he’s bright as a button and sexy as fuck.
　　Oh, exasperating Fifty.
　　“What can I do to tempt you to stay?” he says softly,
　　and my heart skips a beat and begins to pound. He is
　　temptation personified.
　　“You can’t,” I grumble, struggling to sit back up. “Let
　　me go.”
　　He pouts and I give up. Grinning, I trace my fingers
　　over his sculptured lips—my Fifty Shades. I love him so in
　　all his monumental fuckedupness. I haven’t even begun to
　　process yesterday’s events and how I feel about them.
　　I lean up to kiss him, thankful that I have brushed my
　　teeth. He kisses me long and hard and then swiftly sets me
　　on my feet, leaving me dazed, breathless, and slightly
　　wobbly.
　　“Taylor will take you. Quicker than finding somewhere
　　to park. He’s waiting outside the building,” Christian says
　　kindly, and he seems relieved. Is he worried about my
　　reaction this morning? Surely last night—er, this morning—
　　proved that I am not going to run.
　　“Okay. Thank you,” I mutter, disappointed that I am
　　“Okay. Thank you,” I mutter, disappointed that I am
　　upright on my feet, confused by his hesitancy, and vaguely
　　irritated that once again I won’t be driving my Saab. But
　　he’s right, of course—it will be quicker with Taylor.
　　“Enjoy your lazy morning, Mr. Grey. I wish I could
　　stay, but the man who owns the company I work for
　　would not approve of his staff ditching just for hot sex.” I
　　grab my purse.
　　“Personally, Miss Steele, I have no doubt that he
　　would approve. In fact he might insist on it.”
　　“Why are you staying in bed? It’s not like you.”
　　He folds his hands behind his head and grins at me.
　　“Because I can, Miss Steele.”
　　I shake my head at him. “Laters, baby.” I blow him a
　　kiss, and I am out of the door.
　　Taylor is waiting for me, and he seems to understand that I
　　am late because he drives like a bat out of hell to get me to
　　work by nine fifteen. I am grateful when he pulls up at the
　　curb—grateful to be alive–his driving was scary. And
　　grateful that I am not hideously late—only fifteen minutes.
　　“Thank you, Taylor,” I mutter, ashen-faced. I
　　remember Christian telling me he drove tanks; maybe he
　　drives for NASCAR, too.
　　“Ana.” He nods a farewell, and I dash into my office,
　　realizing as I open the door to reception that Taylor seems
　　to have overcome the Miss Steele formality. It makes me
　　smile.
　　Claire grins at me as I rush through reception and
　　make my way to my desk.
　　“Ana!” Jack calls me. “Get in here.”
　　Oh shit.
　　“What time do you call this?” he snaps.
　　“I’m sorry. I overslept.” I flush crimson.
　　“Don’t let it happen again. Fix me some coffee, and
　　then I need you to do some letters. Jump to it,” he shouts,
　　making me flinch.
　　Why’s he so mad? What’s his problem? What have I
　　done? I hurry to the kitchen to fix his coffee. Maybe I
　　should have ditched. I could be . . . well, doing something
　　hot with Christian, or having breakfast with him, or just
　　talking—that would be novel.
　　Jack barely acknowledges my presence when I
　　venture back into his office to deliver his coffee. He thrusts
　　a sheet of paper at me—it’s handwritten in a barely legible
　　scrawl.
　　“Type this up, have me sign, then copy and mail it to all
　　our authors.”
　　“Yes, Jack.”
　　He doesn’t look up as I leave. Boy, is he mad.
　　It is with some relief that I finally sit down at my desk. I
　　take a sip of tea as I wait for my computer to boot up. I
　　check my e-mails.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Missing you
　　Date: June 15, 2011 09:05
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Please use your Blackberry.
　　x
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: All Right for Some
　　Date: June 15, 2011 09:27
　　To: Christian Grey
　　My boss is mad.
　　I blame you for keeping me up late with your . . . shenanigans.
　　You should be ashamed of yourself.
　　Anastasia Steele
　　Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Shenaniwhatagans?
　　Date: June 15, 2011 09:32
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　You don’t have to work, Anastasia.
　　You have no idea how appalled I am at my shenanigans.
　　But I like keeping you up late ;)
　　Please use your Blackberry.
　　Oh, and marry me, please.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Living to make
　　Date: June 15, 2011 09:35
　　To: Christian Grey
　　I know your natural inclination is toward nagging, but just stop.
　　I need to talk to your shrink.
　　Only then will I give you my answer.
　　I am not opposed to living in sin.
　　Anastasia Steele
　　Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: BLACKBERRY
　　Subject: BLACKBERRY
　　Date: June 15, 2011 09:40
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Anastasia, if you are going to start discussing Dr. Flynn then USE
　　YOUR BLACKBERRY.
　　This is not a request.
　　Christian Grey,
　　Now Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　Oh shit. Now he’s mad at me, too. Well, he can stew for
　　all I care. I take my Blackberry out of my purse and eye it
　　with skepticism. As I do, it starts ringing. Can’t he leave
　　me alone?
　　“Yes,” I snap.
　　“Ana, hi—”
　　“José! How are you?” Oh, it’s good to hear his voice.
　　“I’m fine, Ana. Look, are you still seeing that Grey
　　guy?”
　　“Er—yes . . . Why?” Where is he going with this?
　　“Well, he’s bought all your photos, and I thought I
　　could deliver them up to Seattle. The exhibition closes
　　Thursday, so I could bring them up Friday evening and
　　drop them off, you know. And maybe we could catch a
　　drink or something. Actually, I was hoping for a place to
　　crash, too.”
　　“José, that’s cool. Yeah, I’m sure we could work
　　something out. Let me talk to Christian and call you back,
　　something out. Let me talk to Christian and call you back,
　　okay?”
　　“Cool, I’ll wait to hear from you. Bye, Ana.”
　　“Bye.” And he’s gone.
　　Holy cow. I haven’t seen or heard from José since his
　　show. I didn’t even ask him how it went or if he sold any
　　more pictures. Some friend I am.
　　So, I could spend the evening with José on Friday.
　　How will Christian like that? I become aware that I am
　　biting my lip till it hurts. Oh, that man has double
　　standards. He can—I shudder at the thought—bathe his
　　batshit ex-lover, but I will probably get a truckload of grief
　　for wanting to have a drink with José. How am I going to
　　handle this?
　　“Ana!” Jack pulls me abruptly out of my reverie. Is he
　　still mad? “Where’s that letter?”
　　“Er—coming.” Shit. What is eating him?
　　I type up his letter in double-quick time, print it out,
　　and nervously make my way into his office.
　　“Here you go.” I place it on his desk and turn to leave.
　　Jack quickly casts his critical, piercing, eyes over it.
　　“I don’t know what you’re doing out there, but I pay
　　you to work,” he barks.
　　“I’m aware of that, Jack,” I mutter apologetically. I feel
　　a slow flush creep up my skin.
　　“This is full of mistakes,” he snaps. “Do it again.”
　　Fuck. He’s beginning to sound like someone I know,
　　but rudeness from Christian I can tolerate. Jack is
　　beginning to piss me off.
　　“And get me another coffee while you’re at it.”
　　“And get me another coffee while you’re at it.”
　　“Sorry,” I whisper and scurry out of his office as
　　quickly as I can.
　　Holy fuck. He’s being unbearable. I sit back down at
　　my desk, hastily redo his letter, which had two mistakes in
　　it, and check it thoroughly before printing. Now it’s
　　perfect. I fetch him another coffee, letting Claire know with
　　a roll of my eyes that I am in deep doo-doo. Taking a
　　deep breath, I approach his office again.
　　“Better,” he mumbles reluctantly as he signs the letter.
　　“Photocopy it, file the original, and mail out to all authors.
　　Understand?”
　　“Yes.” I am not an idiot. “Jack, is there something
　　wrong?”
　　He glances up, his blue eyes darkening as his gaze runs
　　up and down my body. My blood chills.
　　“No.” His answer is concise, rude, and dismissive. I
　　stand there like the idiot I professed not to be and then
　　shuffle back out of his office. Perhaps he too suffers from a
　　personality disorder. Sheesh, I’m surrounded by them. I
　　make my way to the photocopier—which of course is
　　suffering from a paper jam—and when I’ve fixed it, I find
　　it’s out of paper. This is not my day.
　　When I am finally back at my desk, stuffing envelopes,
　　my Blackberry buzzes. I can see through the glass wall that
　　Jack is on the phone. I answer—it’s Ethan.
　　“Hi, Ana. How’d it go last night?”
　　Last night. A quick montage of images flashes through

　　my mind—Christian kneeling, his revelation, his proposal,
　　macaroni and cheese, my weeping, his nightmare, the sex,
　　touching him . . .
　　“Eh . . . fine,” I mutter unconvincingly.
　　Ethan pauses and decides to collude in my denial.
　　“Cool. Can I collect the keys?”
　　“Sure.”
　　“I’ll be over in about half an hour. Will you have time
　　to grab a coffee?”
　　“Not today. I was late getting in, and my boss is like an
　　angry bear with a sore head and poison ivy up his ass.”
　　“Sounds nasty.”
　　“Nasty and ugly.” I giggle.
　　Ethan laughs and my mood lifts a little. “Okay. See you
　　in thirty.” He hangs up.
　　I glance up at Jack and he’s staring at me. Oh shit. I
　　studiously ignore him and continue to stuff envelopes.
　　Half an hour later my phone buzzes. It’s Claire. “He’s
　　here again, in reception. The blond god.”
　　Ethan is a joy to see after all the angst of yesterday and
　　the bad temper my boss is inflicting on me today, but all
　　too soon, he’s saying his good-byes.
　　“Will I see you this evening?”
　　“I’ll probably stay with Christian.” I flush.
　　“You have got it bad,” Ethan observes goodnaturedly.
　　I shrug. That’s not the half of it, and in that moment I
　　realize, I have it more than bad. I have it for life. And
　　amazingly, Christian seems to feel the same. Ethan gives
　　me a swift hug.
　　“Laters, Ana.”
　　I return to my desk, wrestling with my realization. Oh,
　　what I would do for a day on my own, to just think all this
　　through.
　　“Where have you been?” Jack is suddenly looming
　　over me.
　　“I had some business to attend to in reception.” He is
　　really getting on my nerves.
　　“I want my lunch. The usual,” he says abruptly and
　　stomps back into his office.
　　Why didn’t I stay home with Christian? My inner
　　goddess crosses her arms and purses her lips; she wants
　　to know the answer to that one, too. Picking up my purse
　　and my Blackberry, I head for the door. I check my
　　messages.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Missing you
　　Date: June 15, 2011 09:06
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　My bed is too big without you.
　　Looks like I’ll have to go to work after all.
　　Even megalomaniac CEOs need something to do.
　　x
　　Christian Grey
　　Twiddling His Thumbs CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　And there’s another from him, from earlier this morning.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Discretion
　　Date: June 15, 2011 09:50
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Is the better part of valor.
　　Please use discretion . . . your work e-mails are monitored.
　　HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THIS?
　　Yes. Shouty capitals as you say. USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.
　　Dr. Flynn can see us tomorrow evening.
　　x
　　Christian Grey,
　　Still Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　And an even later one . . . Oh no.
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Crickets
　　Date: June 15, 2011 12:15
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　I haven’t heard from you.
　　Please tell me you are okay.
　　You know how I worry.
　　I will send Taylor to check!
　　x
　　Christian Grey,
　　Over-Anxious CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　I roll my eyes, and call him. I don’t want him to worry.
　　“Christian Grey’s phone, Andrea Parker speaking.”
　　Oh. I am so disconcerted that it’s not Christian who
　　answers that it halts me in the street, and the young man
　　behind me mutters angrily as he swerves to avoid bumping
　　into me. I stand under the green awning of the deli.
　　“Hello? Can I help you?” Andrea fills the void of
　　awkward silence.
　　“Sorry . . . Er . . . I was hoping to speak to Christian
　　—”
　　“Mr. Grey is in a meeting at the moment.” She bristles
　　with efficiency. “Can I take a message?”
　　“Can you tell him Ana called?”
　　“Ana? As in Anastasia Steele?”
　　“Er . . . Yes.” Her question confuses me.
　　“Hold one second please, Miss Steele.”
　　I listen attentively as she puts the phone down, but I
　　can’t tell what’s going on. A few seconds later Christian is
　　on the line. “Are you okay?”
　　on the line. “Are you okay?”
　　“Yes, I’m fine.”
　　I hear the quick release of his held breath. He’s
　　relieved.
　　“Christian, why wouldn’t I be okay?” I whisper
　　reassuringly.
　　“You’re normally so quick at responding to my emails.
　　After what I told you yesterday, I was worried,” he
　　says quietly, and then he’s talking to someone in his office.
　　“No, Andrea. Tell them to wait,” he says sternly. Oh, I
　　know that tone of voice.
　　I can’t hear Andrea’s response.
　　“No. I said wait,” he snaps.
　　“Christian, you’re obviously busy. I only called to let
　　you know that I’m okay, and I mean that—just very busy
　　today. Jack has been cracking the whip. Er . . . I
　　mean . . .” I flush and fall silent.
　　Christian says nothing for a moment.
　　“Cracking the whip, eh? Well, there was a time when I
　　would have called him a lucky man.” His voice is full of dry
　　humor. “Don’t let him get on top of you, baby.”
　　“Christian!” I scold him and I know he’s grinning.
　　“Just watch him, that’s all. Look, I’m glad you’re
　　okay. What time shall I collect you?”
　　“I’ll e-mail you.”
　　“From your Blackberry,” he says sternly.
　　“Yes, Sir,” I snap back.
　　“Laters, baby.”
　　“Bye . . .”
　　He’s still hanging on.
　　“Hang up,” I scold, smiling.
　　He sighs heavily down the phone. “I wish you’d never
　　gone to work this morning.”
　　“Me, too. But I am busy. Hang up.”
　　“You hang up.” I hear his smile. Oh, playful Christian. I
　　love playful Christian. Hmm . . . I love Christian, period.
　　“We’ve been here before.”
　　“You’re biting your lip.”
　　Shit, he’s right. How does he know?
　　“You see, you think I don’t know you, Anastasia. But
　　I know you better than you think,” he murmurs seductively
　　in that way that makes me weak, and wet.
　　“Christian, I’ll talk to you later. Right now, I really wish
　　I hadn’t left this morning, too.”
　　“I’ll wait for your e-mail, Miss Steele.”
　　“Good day, Mr. Grey.”
　　Hanging up, I lean against the cold, hard glass of the
　　deli store window. Oh my, even on the phone he owns
　　me. Shaking my head to clear it of all thoughts Grey, I
　　head into the deli, depressed by all thoughts Jack.
　　He is scowling when I get back.
　　“Is it okay if I take my lunch now?” I ask tentatively.
　　He gazes up at me and his scowl deepens.
　　“If you must,” he snaps. “Forty-five minutes. Make up
　　the time you lost this morning.”
　　“Jack, can I ask you something?”
　　“What?”
　　“You seem, kind of out of sorts today. Have I done
　　something to offend you?”
　　He blinks at me momentarily. “I don’t think I’m in the
　　mood to list your misdemeanors right now. I’m busy.” He
　　continues to stare at his computer screen, effectively
　　dismissing me.
　　Whoa . . . What have I done?
　　I turn and leave his office, and for a moment I think I’m
　　going to cry. Why has he taken such a sudden and intense
　　dislike to me? A very unwelcome idea pops into my head,
　　but I ignore it. I don’t need his shit right now—I have
　　enough of my own.
　　I head out of the building to the nearby Starbucks,
　　order a latte, and sit down in the window. Taking my iPod
　　from my purse, I plug my headphones in. I choose a song
　　haphazardly and press repeat so it will play over and over
　　again. I need music to think by.
　　My mind drifts. Christian the sadist. Christian the
　　submissive. Christian the untouchable. Christian’s oedipal
　　impulses. Christian bathing Leila. I groan and close my
　　eyes while that last image haunts me.
　　Can I really marry this man? He’s so much to take in.
　　He’s complex and difficult, but deep down I know I don’t
　　want to leave him despite all his issues. I could never leave
　　him. I love him. It would be like cutting off my right arm.
　　Right now, I have never felt so alive, so vital. I’ve
　　encountered all manner of perplexing, profound feelings
　　and new experiences since I met him. It’s never a dull
　　and new experiences since I met him. It’s never a dull
　　moment with Fifty.
　　Looking back on my life before Christian, it’s as if
　　everything was in black and white like José’s pictures.
　　Now my whole world is in rich, bright, saturated color. I
　　am soaring in a beam of dazzling light, Christian’s dazzling
　　light. I am still Icarus, flying too close to his sun. I snort to
　　myself. Flying with Christian—who can resist a man who
　　can fly?
　　Can I give him up? Do I want to give him up? It’s as if
　　he’s flipped a switch and lit me up from within. It’s been
　　an education knowing him. I have discovered more about
　　myself in the last few weeks than ever before. I’ve learned
　　about my body, my hard limits, my soft limits, my
　　tolerance, my patience, my compassion, and my capacity
　　for love.
　　And it strikes me like a thunderbolt—that’s what he
　　needs from me, what he’s entitled to—unconditional love.
　　He never received it from the crack whore—it’s what he
　　needs. Can I love him unconditionally? Can I accept him
　　for who he is regardless of his revelations last night?
　　I know he’s damaged, but I don’t think he’s
　　irredeemable. I sigh, recalling Taylor’s words. “He’s a
　　good man, Miss Steele.”
　　I’ve seen the weighty evidence of his goodness—his
　　charity work, his business ethics, his generosity—and yet
　　he doesn’t see it in himself. He doesn’t feel deserving of
　　any love. Given his history and his predilections, I have an
　　inkling of his self-loathing—that’s why he’s never let
　　anyone in. Can I get past this?
　　anyone in. Can I get past this?
　　He said once that I couldn’t begin to understand the
　　depths of his depravity. Well, he’s told me now, and given
　　the first few years of his life, it doesn’t surprise me. Though
　　it was still a shock to hear it out loud. At least he’s told me
　　—and he seems happier now that he has. I know
　　everything.
　　Does it devalue his love for me? No, I don’t think so.
　　He’s never felt this way before and neither have I. In truth
　　we’ve both come so far.
　　Tears prick and pool in my eyes as I recall his final
　　barriers crumbling last night when he let me touch him.
　　Jeez, it took Leila and all her crazy to get us to there.
　　Perhaps I should be grateful. The fact that he bathed
　　her is not quite such a bitter taste on my tongue now. I
　　wonder which clothes he gave her. I hope it wasn’t the
　　plum dress. I liked that.
　　So can I love this man with all his issues
　　unconditionally? Because he deserves nothing less. He still
　　needs to learn boundaries and little things like empathy,
　　and to be less controlling. He says he no longer feels the
　　compulsion to hurt me; perhaps Dr. Flynn will be able to
　　cast some light on that.
　　Fundamentally, that’s what concerns me most—that he
　　needs that and has always found like-minded women who
　　need it, too. I frown. Yes, this is the reassurance I need. I
　　want to be all things to this man, his Alpha and his Omega
　　and all things in between because he is to me.
　　I hope Flynn will have the answers, and maybe then I
　　can say yes. Christian and I can find our own slice of
　　can say yes. Christian and I can find our own slice of
　　heaven close to the sun.
　　I gaze out at bustling, lunchtime Seattle. Mrs. Christian
　　Grey—who would have thought? I glance at my watch.

　　Shit! I leap up from my seat and dash to the door—a
　　whole hour of just sitting—where did the time go? Jack is
　　going to go ballistic!
　　I slink back to my desk. Fortunately, he’s not in his office.
　　It looks like I’ve got away with it. I gaze intently at my
　　computer screen, unseeing, trying to reassemble my
　　thoughts into work mode.
　　“Where were you?”
　　I jump. Jack is standing, arms folded, behind me.
　　“I was in the basement, photocopying,” I lie. Jack lips
　　press into a thin, uncompromising line.
　　“I’m leaving for my plane at six thirty. I need you to
　　stay until then.”
　　“Okay.” I smile as sweetly as I can manage.
　　“I’d like my itinerary for New York printed out and
　　photocopied ten times. And get the brochures packaged
　　up. And get me some coffee!” he snarls and stalks into his
　　office.
　　I breathe a sigh of relief and stick my tongue out at him
　　as he closes the door. Bastard.
　　At four o’clock, Claire rings from reception.
　　“I have Mia Grey for you.”
　　“I have Mia Grey for you.”
　　Mia? I hope she doesn’t want to hang at the mall.
　　“Hi, Mia!”
　　“Ana, hi. How are you?” Her excitement is stifling.
　　“Good. Busy today. You?”
　　“I am so bored! I need to find something to do, so I’m
　　arranging a birthday party for Christian.”
　　Christian’s birthday? Jeez, I had no idea. “When is it?”
　　“I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t tell you. It’s on
　　Saturday. Mom and Dad want everyone over for a meal
　　to celebrate. I’m officially inviting you.”
　　“Oh, that’s lovely. Thank you, Mia.”
　　“I’ve already called Christian and told him, and he
　　gave me your number here.”
　　“Cool.” My mind is in a flat spin—what the hell am I
　　going to get Christian for his birthday? What do you buy
　　the man who has everything?
　　“And maybe next week, we can go out one
　　lunchtime?”
　　“Sure. How about tomorrow? My boss is away in
　　New York.”
　　“Oh, that would be cool, Ana. What time?”
　　“Say, twelve forty-five?”
　　“I’ll be there. Bye, Ana.”
　　“Bye.” I hang up.
　　Christian. Birthday. What on earth should I get him?
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Antediluvian
　　Date: June 15, 2011 16:11
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Mr. Grey
　　When, exactly, were you going to tell me?
　　What shall I get my old man for his birthday?
　　Perhaps some new batteries for his hearing aid?
　　A x
　　Anastasia Steele
　　Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Prehistoric
　　Date: June 15, 2011 16:20
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Don’t mock the elderly.
　　Glad you are alive and kicking.
　　And that Mia has been in touch.
　　Batteries are always useful.
　　I don’t like celebrating my birthday.
　　x
　　Christian Grey,
　　Deaf as a Post CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Hmmm.
　　Date: June 15, 2011 16:24
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Mr. Grey
　　I can imagine you pouting as you wrote that last sentence.
　　That does things to me.
　　A xox
　　Anastasia Steele
　　Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Rolling Eyes
　　Date: June 15, 2011 16:29
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Miss Steele
　　WILL YOU USE YOUR BLACKBERRY!!!
　　x
　　Christian Grey,
　　Twitchy Palmed, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　I roll my eyes. Why is he so touchy about e-mails?
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Inspiration
　　Date: June 15, 2011 16:33
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Mr. Grey
　　Ah . . . your twitchy palms can’t stay still for long, can they?
　　I wonder what Dr. Flynn would say about that?
　　But now I know what to give you for your birthday—and I hope it
　　makes me sore . . .
　　;)
　　A x
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Angina
　　Date: June 15, 2011 16:38
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Miss Steele
　　I don’t think my heart could stand the strain of another e-mail like
　　that, or my pants for that matter.
　　Behave.
　　Behave.
　　x
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Steele
　　Subject: Trying
　　Date: June 15, 2011 16:42
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Christian
　　I am trying to work for my very trying boss.
　　Please stop bothering me and being trying yourself.
　　Your last e-mail nearly made me combust.
　　x
　　PS: Can you collect me at 6:30?
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: I’ll Be There
　　Date: June 15, 2011 16:38
　　To: Anastasia Steele
　　Nothing would give me greater pleasure.
　　Actually, I can think of any of number of things that would give
　　me greater pleasure, and they all involve you.
　　me greater pleasure, and they all involve you.
　　x
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　I flush reading his response and shake my head. E-mail
　　banter is all well and good, but we really need to talk.
　　Perhaps once we’ve seen Flynn. I put my Blackberry
　　down and finish my petty cash reconciliation.
　　By six fifteen, the office is deserted. I have everything
　　ready for Jack. His cab to the airport is booked, and I just
　　have to hand him his documents. I glance anxiously
　　through the glass, but he’s still deep in his telephone call,
　　and I don’t want to interrupt him—not in the mood he’s in
　　today.
　　As I wait for him to finish, it occurs to me that I have
　　not eaten today. Oh shit, that’s not going to go down well
　　with Fifty. I quickly skip down to the kitchen to see if there
　　are any cookies left.
　　As I’m opening the communal cookie jar, Jack
　　appears unexpectedly in the kitchen doorway, startling me.
　　Oh. What’s he doing here?
　　He stares at me. “Well, Ana, I think this might be a
　　good time to discuss your misdemeanors.” He steps in,
　　closing the door behind him, and my mouth instantly dries
　　as alarm bells ring loud and piercing in my head.
　　Oh fuck.
　　His lips twitch into a grotesque smile, and his eyes
　　gleam a deep, dark cobalt. “At last, I have you on your
　　own,” he says, and he slowly licks his lower lip.
　　What?
　　“Now . . . are you going to be a good girl and listen
　　very carefully to what I say?”
　　Jack’s eyes flash the darkest blue, and he sneers as he
　　casts a leering look down my body.
　　Fear chokes me. What is this? What does he want? From
　　somewhere deep inside and despite my dry mouth, I find
　　the resolve and courage to squeeze out some words, my
　　self-defense class keep-them-talking mantra circling my
　　brain like an ethereal sentinel.
　　“Jack, now might not be a good time for this. Your cab
　　is due in ten minutes, and I need to give you all your
　　documents.” My voice is quiet but hoarse, betraying me.
　　documents.” My voice is quiet but hoarse, betraying me.
　　He smiles, and it’s a despotic fuck-you smile that
　　finally touches his eyes. They glint in the harsh fluorescent
　　glow of the strip light above us in the drab windowless
　　room. He takes a step toward me, glaring at me, his eyes
　　never leaving mine. His pupils are dilating as I watch—the
　　black eclipsing the blue. Oh no. My fear escalates.
　　“You know I had to fight with Elizabeth to give you this
　　job . . .” His voice trails off as he takes another step
　　toward me, and I step back against the dingy wall
　　cupboards. Keep-him-talking, keep-him-talking, keephim-
　　talking.
　　“Jack, what exactly is your problem? If you want to air
　　your grievances, then perhaps we should ask HR to get
　　involved. We could do this with Elizabeth in a more formal
　　setting.”
　　Where is security? Are they in the building yet?
　　“We don’t need HR to overmanage this situation Ana,”
　　he sneers. “When I hired you, I thought you would be a
　　hard worker. I thought you had potential. But now, I don’t
　　hard worker. I thought you had potential. But now, I don’t
　　know. You’ve become distracted and sloppy. And I
　　wondered . . . is it your boyfriend who’s leading you
　　astray?” He says boyfriend with chilling contempt.
　　“I decided to check through your e-mail account to see
　　if I could find any clues. And you know what I found,
　　Ana? What was out of place? The only personal e-mails in
　　your account were to your hot-shot boyfriend.” He
　　pauses, assessing my reaction. “And I got to thinking . . .
　　where are the e-mails from him? There are none. Nada.
　　Nothing. So what’s going on, Ana? How come his e-mails
　　to you aren’t on our system? Are you some company spy,
　　planted in here by Grey’s organization? Is that what this
　　is?”
　　Holy shit, the e-mails. Oh no. What have I said?
　　“Jack, what are you talking about?” I try for
　　bewildered, and I’m pretty convincing. This conversation
　　is not going as I expected, but I don’t trust him in the
　　slightest. Some subliminal pheromone that Jack is exuding
　　has me on high alert. This man is angry, volatile, and totally
　　unpredictable. I try to reason with him.
　　“You just said that you had to persuade Elizabeth to
　　hire me. So how could I be planted as a spy? Make up
　　your mind, Jack.”
　　“But Grey fucked the New York trip, didn’t he?”
　　Oh shit.
　　“How did he manage that, Ana? What did your rich,
　　Ivy League boyfriend do?”
　　What little blood remains in my face drains away, and I
　　think I’m going to faint. “I don’t know what you’re talking
　　about, Jack,” I whisper. “Your cab will be here shortly.
　　Shall I fetch your things?” Oh please, let me go. Stop this.
　　Jack continues, enjoying my discomfort. “And he
　　thinks I’d make a pass at you?” He smirks and his eyes
　　heat. “Well, I want you to think about something while I’m
　　in New York. I gave you this job, and I expect you to
　　show me some gratitude. In fact, I’m entitled to it. I had to
　　fight to get you. Elizabeth wanted someone better
　　qualified, but I—I saw something in you. So, we need to
　　work out a deal. A deal where you keep me happy. D’you
　　work out a deal. A deal where you keep me happy. D’you
　　understand what I’m saying, Ana?”
　　Fuck!
　　“Look at it as refining your job description, if you like.
　　And if you keep me happy, I won’t dig any further into
　　how your boyfriend is pulling strings, milking his contacts,
　　or cashing in some favor from one of his Ivy League fratboy
　　sycophants.”
　　My mouth drops open. He’s blackmailing me. For
　　sex! And what can I say? News of Christian’s takeover is
　　embargoed for another three weeks. I can barely believe
　　this. Sex—with me!
　　Jack moves closer until he’s standing right in front of
　　me, staring down into my eyes. His cloying sweet cologne
　　invades my nostrils—it’s nauseating—and if I’m not
　　mistaken, the bitter stench of alcohol is on his breath.
　　Fuck, he’s been drinking . . . when?
　　“You are such a tight-assed, cock-blocking, prick
　　tease, you know, Ana,” he whispers through clenched
　　teeth.
　　teeth.
　　What? Prick tease . . . Me?
　　“Jack, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I
　　whisper, as I feel the adrenaline surge through my body.
　　He’s closer now. I am waiting to make my move. Ray will
　　be proud. Ray taught me what to do. Ray knows his selfdefense.
　　If Jack touches me—if he even breathes too
　　close to me—I will take him down. My breath is shallow. I
　　must not faint, I must not faint.
　　“Look at you.” He gives me a leering look. “You’re so
　　turned on, I can tell. You’ve really led me on. Deep down
　　you want it. I know.”
　　Holy fuck. The man is completely delusional. My fear
　　rises to DEFCON ONE, threatening to overwhelm me. “No,
　　Jack. I have never led you on.”

　　“You have, you prick-teasing bitch. I can read the
　　signs.” Reaching up, he gently strokes my face with the
　　back of his knuckles, down to my chin. His index finger
　　strokes my throat, and my heart leaps into my mouth as I
　　fight my gag reflex. He reaches the dip at the base of my
　　neck, where the top button of my black shirt is open, and
　　presses his hand against my chest.
　　“You want me. Admit it, Ana.”
　　Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on his and concentrating
　　on what I have to do—rather than my mushrooming
　　revulsion and dread—I place my hand gently over his in a
　　caress. He smiles in triumph. I grab his little finger, and
　　twist it back, pulling it sharply down backward to his hip.
　　“Arrgh!” he cries out in pain and surprise, and as he
　　leans off balance, I bring my knee, swift and hard, up into
　　his groin, and make perfect contact with my goal. I dodge
　　deftly to my left as his knees buckle, and he collapses with
　　a groan onto the kitchen floor, grasping himself between
　　his legs.
　　“Don’t you ever touch me again,” I snarl at him. “Your
　　itinerary and the brochures are packaged on my desk. I
　　am going home now. Have a nice trip. And in the future,
　　get your own damn coffee.”
　　“You fucking bitch!” he half screams, half groans at
　　me, but I am already out the door.
　　me, but I am already out the door.
　　I run full pelt to my desk, grab my jacket and my
　　purse, and dash to front reception, ignoring the moans and
　　curses emanating from the bastard still prostrate on the
　　kitchen floor. I burst out of the building and stop for a
　　moment as the cool air hits my face, take a deep breath,
　　and compose myself. But I haven’t eaten all day, and as
　　the very unwelcome surge of adrenaline recedes, my legs
　　give out beneath me and I sink to the ground.
　　I watch with mild detachment the slow motion movie
　　that plays out in front of me: Christian and Taylor in dark
　　suits and white shirts, leaping out of the waiting car and
　　running toward me. Christian sinks to his knees at my side,
　　and on some unconscious level, all I can think is: He’s
　　here. My love is here.
　　“Ana, Ana! What’s wrong?” He scoops me into his
　　lap, running his hands up and down my arms, checking for
　　any signs of injury. Grabbing my head between his hands,
　　he stares with wide, terrified, gray eyes into mine. I sag
　　against him, suddenly overwhelmed with relief and fatigue.
　　against him, suddenly overwhelmed with relief and fatigue.
　　Oh, Christian’s arms. There is no place I’d rather be.
　　“Ana.” He shakes me gently. “What’s wrong? Are you
　　sick?”
　　I shake my head as I realize I need to start
　　communicating.
　　“Jack,” I whisper, and I sense rather than see
　　Christian’s swift glance at Taylor, who abruptly disappears
　　into the building.
　　“Fuck!” Christian enfolds me in his arms. “What did
　　that sleazeball do to you?”
　　And from somewhere just the right side of crazy, a
　　giggle bubbles in my throat. I recall Jack’s utter shock as I
　　grabbed his finger.
　　“It’s what I did to him.” I start giggling and I can’t
　　stop.
　　“Ana!” Christian shakes me again, and my giggling fit
　　ceases. “Did he touch you?”
　　“Only once.”
　　I feel Christian’s muscles bunch and tense as rage
　　sweeps through him, and he stands up swiftly, powerfully
　　—rock steady—with me in his arms. He’s furious. No!
　　“Where is that fucker?”
　　From inside the building we hear muffled shouting.
　　Christian sets me on my feet.
　　“Can you stand?”
　　I nod.
　　“Don’t go in. Don’t, Christian.” Suddenly my fear is
　　back, fear of what Christian will do to Jack.
　　“Get in the car,” he barks at me.
　　“Christian, no.” I grab his arm.
　　“Get in the goddamned car, Ana.” He shakes me off.
　　“No! Please!” I plead with him. “Stay. Don’t leave me
　　on my own.” I deploy my ultimate weapon.
　　Seething, Christian runs his hand through his hair and
　　glares down at me, clearly wracked with indecision. The
　　shouting inside the building escalates, and then stops
　　suddenly.
　　Oh, no. What has Taylor done?
　　Christian fishes out his Blackberry.
　　Christian fishes out his Blackberry.
　　“Christian, he has my e-mails.”
　　“What?”
　　“My e-mails to you. He wanted to know where your
　　e-mails to me were. He was trying to blackmail me.”
　　Christian’s look is murderous. Oh shit. “Fuck!” he
　　splutters and narrows his eyes at me. He punches a
　　number into his Blackberry.
　　Oh no. I’m in trouble. Who’s he calling?
　　“Barney. Grey. I need you to access the SIP main
　　server and wipe all Anastasia Steele’s e-mails to me. Then
　　access the personal data files of Jack Hyde and check
　　they aren’t stored there. If they are, wipe them . . . Yes, all
　　of them. Now. Let me know when it’s done.”
　　He stabs the off button then dials another number.
　　“Roach. Grey. Hyde—I want him out. Now. This
　　minute. Call security. Get him to clear his desk
　　immediately, or I will liquidate this company first thing in
　　the morning. You already have all the justification you need
　　to give him his pink slip. Do you understand?” He listens
　　to give him his pink slip. Do you understand?” He listens
　　for a moment and hangs up seemingly satisfied.
　　“Blackberry,” he hisses at me through clenched teeth.
　　“Please don’t be mad at me.” I blink up at him.
　　“I am so mad at you right now,” he snarls and once
　　more sweeps his hand through his hair. “Get in the car.”
　　“Christian, please—”
　　“Get in the fucking car, Anastasia, or so help me I’ll
　　put you in there myself,” he threatens, his eyes blazing with
　　fury.
　　Oh shit. “Don’t do anything stupid, please,” I beg.
　　“STUPID!” he explodes. “I told you to use your
　　fucking Blackberry. Don’t talk to me about stupid. Get in
　　the motherfucking car, Anastasia—NOW!” he snarls and a
　　frisson of fear runs through me. This is Very Angry
　　Christian. I’ve not seen him this mad before. He’s barely
　　holding on to his self-control.
　　“Okay,” I mutter, placating him. “But please, be
　　careful.”
　　Pressing his lips together in a hard line, he points
　　angrily to the car, glaring at me.
　　Jeez, okay, I get the message.
　　“Please be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to
　　you. It would kill me,” I murmur. He blinks rapidly and
　　stills, lowering his arm while he takes a deep breath.
　　“I’ll be careful,” he says, his eyes softening. Oh, thank
　　the Lord. His eyes burn into me as I head to the car, open
　　the front passenger door, and climb in. Once I’m safely in
　　the comfort of the Audi, he disappears into the building,
　　and my heart leaps again into my throat. What’s he
　　planning to do?
　　I sit and wait. And wait. And wait. Five eternal
　　minutes. Jack’s cab pulls up in front of the Audi. Ten
　　minutes. Fifteen. Jeez, what are they doing in there, and
　　how is Taylor? The wait is agonizing.
　　Twenty-five minutes later, Jack emerges from the
　　building, clutching a cardboard storage box. Behind him is
　　the security guard. Where was he earlier? And after them,
　　Christian and Taylor. Jack looks sick. He heads straight
　　for the cab, and I’m grateful for the Audi’s heavily tinted
　　for the cab, and I’m grateful for the Audi’s heavily tinted
　　windows so he cannot see me. The cab drives off—
　　presumably not to Sea-Tac—as Christian and Taylor
　　reach the car.
　　Opening the driver’s door, Christian slides smoothly
　　into the seat, presumably because I am in the front, and
　　Taylor gets in behind me. Neither of them says a word as
　　Christian starts the car and pulls out into the traffic. I risk a
　　quick glance at Fifty. His mouth is set in a firm line, but he
　　seems distracted. The in-car phone rings.
　　“Grey,” Christian snaps.
　　“Mr. Grey, Barney here.”
　　“Barney, I’m on speaker phone, and there are others
　　in the car,” Christian warns.
　　“Sir, it’s all done. But I need to talk to you about what
　　else I found on Mr. Hyde’s computer.”
　　“I’ll call you when I reach my destination. And thanks,
　　Barney.”
　　“No problem, Mr. Grey.”
　　Barney hangs up. He sounds much younger than I
　　Barney hangs up. He sounds much younger than I
　　expected.
　　What else is on Jack’s computer?
　　“Are you talking to me?” I ask quietly.
　　Christian glances at me, before fixing his eyes back on
　　the road ahead, and I can tell he’s still mad.
　　“No,” he mutters sullenly.
　　Oh, there we go . . . how childish. I wrap my arms
　　around myself and stare unseeing out the window. Perhaps
　　I should just ask him to drop me off at my apartment, then
　　he can “not talk” to me from the safety of Escala and save
　　us both the inevitable quarrel. But even as I think it, I
　　know I don’t want to leave him to brood, not after
　　yesterday.
　　Eventually, we pull up in front of his apartment building,
　　and Christian climbs out of the car. Moving with easy
　　grace around to my side, he opens my door.
　　“Come,” he orders as Taylor clambers into the driver’s
　　seat. I take his proffered hand and follow him through the
　　grand foyer to the elevator. He doesn’t let go of me.
　　“Christian, why are you so mad at me?” I whisper as
　　we wait.
　　“You know why,” he mutters as we step into the
　　elevator, and he punches in the code to his floor. “God, if
　　something had happened to you, he’d be dead by now.”
　　Christian’s tone chills me to the bone. The doors close.
　　“As it is, I’m going to ruin his career so he can’t take
　　advantage of young women anymore, miserable excuse for
　　a man that he is.” He shakes his head. “Jesus, Ana!” He
　　grabs me suddenly, imprisoning me in the corner of the
　　elevator.
　　His hands fist in my hair as he pulls my face up to his,
　　and his mouth is on mine, a passionate desperation in his
　　kiss. I don’t know why this takes me by surprise, but it
　　does. I taste his relief, his longing, and his residual anger
　　while his tongue possesses my mouth. He stops, gazing
　　down at me, resting his weight against me so I can’t move.
　　He leaves me breathless, clinging to him for support,
　　staring up into that beautiful face etched with determination
　　and without any trace of humor.
　　and without any trace of humor.
　　“If anything had happened to you . . . If he’d harmed
　　you . . .” I feel the shudder that runs through him.
　　“Blackberry,” he commands quietly. “From now on.
　　Understand?”
　　I nod, swallowing, unable to break eye contact from
　　his grim, mesmerizing look.
　　He straightens, releasing me as the elevator comes to a
　　stop. “He said you kicked him in the balls.” Christian’s
　　tone is lighter with a trace of admiration, and I think I’m
　　forgiven.
　　“Yes,” I whisper, still reeling from the intensity of his
　　kiss and his impassioned command.
　　“Good.”
　　“Ray is ex-army. He taught me well.”
　　“I’m very glad he did,” he breathes and adds, arching a
　　brow, “I’ll need to remember that.” Taking my hand, he
　　leads me out of the elevator and I follow, relieved. I think
　　that’s as bad as his mood is going to get.
　　“I need to call Barney. I won’t be long.” He
　　“I need to call Barney. I won’t be long.” He
　　disappears into his study, leaving me stranded in the vast
　　living room. Mrs. Jones is adding the finishing touches to
　　our meal. I realize I am famished, but I need something to
　　do.
　　“Can I help?” I ask.