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五十度灰英文版 - Part II 14
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  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.
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作者:佚名
章节:12 人气:0
摘要:一歇洛克-福尔摩斯始终称呼她为那位女人。我很少听见他提到她时用过别的称呼。在他的心目中,她才貌超群,其他女人无不黯然失色。这倒并不是说他对艾琳-艾德勒有什么近乎爱情的感情。因为对于他那强调理性、严谨刻板和令人钦佩、冷静沉着的头脑来说,一切情感,特别是爱情这种情感,都是格格不入的。我认为,他简直是世界上一架用于推理和观察的最完美无瑕的机器。但是作为情人,他却会把自己置于错误的地位。 [点击阅读]
冤家,一个爱情故事
作者:佚名
章节:10 人气:0
摘要:第一章1赫尔曼·布罗德翻了个身,睁开一只眼睛。他睡得稀里糊涂,拿不准自己是在美国,在齐甫凯夫还是在德国难民营里。他甚至想象自己正躲在利普斯克的草料棚里。有时,这几处地方在他心里混在一起。他知道自己是在布鲁克林,可是他能听到纳粹分子的哈喝声。他们用刺刀乱捅,想把他吓出来,他拚命往草料棚深处钻。刺刀尖都碰到了他的脑袋。需要有个果断的动作才能完全清醒过来。 [点击阅读]
冰与火之歌1
作者:佚名
章节:73 人气:0
摘要:“既然野人①已经死了,”眼看周围的树林逐渐黯淡,盖瑞不禁催促,“咱们回头吧。”“死人吓着你了吗?”威玛·罗伊斯爵士带着轻浅的笑意问。盖瑞并未中激将之计,年过五十的他也算得上是个老人,这辈子看过太多贵族子弟来来去去。“死了就是死了,”他说,“咱们何必追寻死人。”“你能确定他们真死了?”罗伊斯轻声问,“证据何在?”“威尔看到了,”盖瑞道,“我相信他说的话。 [点击阅读]