Grey Page 15
There's a ping from my computer.
Another e-mail from Miss Steele.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Inquiring Minds
Date: May 23 2011 08:25
To: Christian Grey
I have many questions, but not suitable for e-mail, and some of us have to work for a living.
I do not want or need a computer indefinitely.
Until later, good day. Sir.
Ana
The tone of her e-mail makes me smile, but it seems she's off to work, so this might be the last one for a while. Her reluctance to accept the damned computer is annoying. But I suppose it shows she's not acquisitive. She's no gold digger--rare among the women I've known...yet Leila was the same.
"Sir, I am not deserving of this beautiful dress."
"You are. Take it. And I'll not hear another word on this. Understand?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good. And the style will suit you."
Ah, Leila. She was a good submissive, but she became too attached and I was the wrong man. Fortunately, that wasn't for long. She's married now and happy. I turn my attention back to Ana's e-mail and reread.
"Some of us have to work for a living."
The sassy wench is implying I don't do any work.
Well to hell with that!
I spy Fred's rather dry summary report open on my desktop and decide to set the record straight with Ana.
* * *
From: Christian Grey Subject: Your New Computer (again on loan) Date: May 23 2011 08:26
To: Anastasia Steele
Laters, baby.
P.S.: I work for a living, too.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I find it impossible to concentrate on my work, waiting for the telltale ping to announce a new e-mail from Ana. When it comes, I look up immediately--but it's from Elena. And I'm surprised by my disappointment.
* * *
From: Elena Lincoln
Subject: The Weekend
Date: May 23 2011 08:33
To: Christian Grey
Christian, you work too hard. What's in Portland? Work?
Ex
ELENA LINCOLN
ESCLAVA
For The Beauty That Is YouTM
Do I tell her? If I do, she'll call immediately with questions, and I'm not ready to divulge my weekend experiences yet. I type her a quick e-mail saying it's work, and get back to my reading.
Andrea calls me at nine and we run through my schedule. As I'm in Portland, I ask her to set up a meeting with the president and the AVP of economic development at WSU, to discuss the soil science project we've set up and their need for additional funding in the next fiscal year. She agrees to cancel all my social engagements this week, and then connects me through to my first videoconference of the day.
AT 3:00 I'M PORING over some tablet design schematics that Barney has sent me when I'm disturbed by a knock at my door. The interruption is annoying but for a moment I hope that it's Miss Steele. It's Taylor.
"Hello." I hope my voice doesn't reveal my disappointment.
"I have your clothes, Mr. Grey," he says politely.
"Come in. Can you hang them in the closet? I'm expecting my next conference call."
"Certainly, sir." He hurries into the bedroom, carrying a couple of suit bags and a duffel.
When he returns I'm still waiting for my call.
"Taylor, I don't think I'm going to need you for the next couple of days. Why don't you take the time to see your daughter?"
"That's very good of you, sir, but her mother and I--" He stops, embarrassed.
"Ah. Like that, is it?" I ask.
He nods. "Yes, sir. It will take some negotiating."
"Okay. Would Wednesday be better?"
"I'll ask. Thank you, sir."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"You do enough, sir."
He doesn't want to talk about this. "Okay. I think I'm going to need a printer--can you arrange it?"
"Yes, sir." He nods. As he leaves, closing the door softly behind him, I frown. I hope his ex-wife isn't giving him grief. I pay for his daughter's schooling as another incentive for him to stay in my employment; he's a good man, and I don't want to lose him. The phone rings--it's my conference call with Ros and Senator Blandino.
MY LAST CALL WRAPS up at 5:20. Stretching in my chair, I think about how productive I've been today. It's amazing how much more I get done when I'm not in the office. Only a couple of reports to read and I'm finished for the day. As I look out the window at the early-evening sky, my mind strays to a certain potential submissive.
I wonder how her day at Clayton's has been, pricing cable ties and measuring out lengths of rope. I hope one day I'll get to use them on her. The thought conjures images of her tethered in my playroom. I dwell on this for a moment...then quickly send her an e-mail. All this waiting, working, and emailing is making me restless. I know how I'd like to release this pent-up energy, but I have to settle for a run.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Working for a Living
Date: May 23 2011 17:24
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I do hope you had a good day at work.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I change back into my running gear. Taylor has brought me two more pairs of sweatpants. I'm sure that's Gail's doing. As I head toward the door I check my e-mail. She's replied.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Working for a Living
Date: May 23 2011 17:48
To: Christian Grey
Sir... I had a very good day at work.
Thank you.
Ana
But she hasn't done her homework. I e-mail her back.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Do the Work!
Date: May 23 2011 17:50
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele,
Delighted you had a good day.
While you are emailing, you are not researching.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
And rather than leave the room, I wait for her reply. She doesn't keep me waiting long.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Nuisance
Date: May 23 2011 17:53
To: Christian Grey
Mr. Grey, stop emailing me, and I can start my assignment.
I'd like another A.
Ana
I laugh out loud. Yes. That A was something else. Closing my eyes, I see and feel her mouth around my cock once more.
Fuck.
Bringing my errant body to heel, I press send on my reply, and wait.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Impatient
Date: May 23 2011 17:55
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele,
Stop emailing me--and do your assignment.
I'd like to award another A.
The first one was so well deserved. ;)
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Her response is not as immediate, and feeling a little crestfallen, I turn away and decide to go on my run. But as I open the door the ping from my inbox pulls me back.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Internet Research
Date: May 23 2011 17:59
To: Christian Grey
Mr. Grey,
What would you suggest I put into a search engine?
Ana
Shit! Why didn't I think about this? I could have given her some books. Numerous websites spring to mind--but I don't want to frighten her off.
Perhaps she should start with the most vanilla...
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Int
ernet Research
Date: May 23 2011 18:02
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele,
Always start with Wikipedia.
No more e-mails unless you have questions.
Understood?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I get up from my desk, thinking she won't respond, but as usual she surprises me and does. I can't resist.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Bossy!
Date: May 23 2011 18:04
To: Christian Grey
Yes...Sir.
You are so bossy.
Ana
Damned right, baby.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: In Control
Date: May 23 2011 18:06
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia, you have no idea.
Well, maybe an inkling now.
Do the work.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Show some restraint, Grey. Before she can distract me again, I'm out the door. With the Foo Fighters blaring in my ears I run to the river; I've seen the Willamette at dawn, now I want to see it at dusk. It's a fine evening: couples are walking by the riverside, some sitting on the grass, and a few tourists are cycling up and down the concourse. I avoid them, the music blasting in my ears.
Miss Steele has questions. She is still in the game--this is not a "no." Our e-mail exchange has given me hope. As I run under the Hawthorne Bridge I reflect on how at ease she is with the written word, more so than when she's speaking. Maybe this is her preferred medium of expression. Well, she has been studying English literature. I'm hoping that by the time I get back there'll be another e-mail, maybe with questions, maybe with some more of her sassy banter.
Yeah. That's something to look forward to.
As I sprint down Main Street I dare to hope that she'll accept my proposition. The thought is exciting, invigorating even, and I pick up my pace, sprinting back to The Heathman.
IT'S 8:15 WHEN I sit back in my dining chair. I've eaten the wild Oregon salmon for dinner, courtesy of Miss Dark, Dark Eyes again, and I still have half a glass of Sancerre to finish. My laptop is open and powered up, should any important e-mails arrive. I pick up the report that I've printed out, on the brownfield sites in Detroit. "It would have to be Detroit," I grumble out loud, and start to read.
A few minutes later, I hear a ping.
It's an e-mail with "Shocked of WSUV" written in the subject line. The heading makes me sit up.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Shocked of WSUV
Date: May 23 2011 20:33
To: Christian Grey
Okay, I've seen enough.
It was nice knowing you.
Ana
Shit!
I read it again.
Fuck.
It's a "no." I stare at the screen in disbelief.
That's it?
No discussion?
Nothing.
Just "It was nice knowing you"?
What. The. Fuck.
I sit back in my chair, dumbfounded.
Nice?
Nice.
NICE.
She thought it was more than nice when her head was thrown back as she came.
Don't be so hasty, Grey.
Maybe it's a joke?
Some joke!
I pull my laptop toward me to write a reply.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: NICE?
Date: May 23 2011
To: Anastasia Steele
But as I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys, I can't think of what to say.
How could she dismiss me so easily?
Her first fuck.
Get it together, Grey. What are your options? Maybe I should pay her a visit, just to make sure it's a "no." Maybe I can persuade her otherwise. I certainly don't know what to say to this e-mail. Perhaps she's looked at some particularly hardcore sites. Why didn't I give her a few books? I don't believe this. She needs to look me in the eye and say no.
Yep. I rub my chin as I formulate a plan, and moments later I'm in my closet, retrieving my tie.
That tie.
This deal isn't dead yet. From my messenger bag I take some condoms and slide them into the back pocket of my pants, then grab my jacket and a bottle of white wine from the minibar. Damn, it's a chardonnay--but it will have to do. Snatching my room key, I close the door and head toward the elevator to collect my car from the valet.
AS I PULL UP in the R8 outside the apartment she shares with Kavanagh, I wonder if this is a wise move. I've never visited any of my previous submissives at their homes--they always came to me. I'm pushing all the boundaries that I've set for myself. Opening the door of the car and climbing out, I'm uneasy; it's reckless and too presumptuous of me to come here. Then again, I've already been here twice, though for only a few minutes. If she does agree, I'll have to manage her expectations. This won't happen again.
Getting ahead of yourself, Grey.
You're here because you think it's a "no."
Kavanagh answers when I knock at the door. She's surprised to see me. "Hi, Christian. Ana didn't say you were coming over." She stands aside to let me enter. "She's in her room. I'll call her."
"No. I'd like to surprise her." I give her my most earnest and endearing look and in response she blinks a couple of times. Whoa. That was easy. Who would have thought? How gratifying. "Where's her room?"
"Through there, the first door." She points to a door off the empty living room.
"Thanks."
Leaving my jacket and the chilled wine on one of the packing crates, I open the door to find a small hallway with a couple of rooms off it. I assume one is a bathroom, so I knock on the other door. After a beat, I open it and there's Ana, sitting at a small desk, reading what looks like the contract. She has her earbuds in as she idly drums her fingers to an unheard beat. Standing there for a moment, I watch her. Her face is scrunched in concentration; her hair is braided and she's wearing sweats. Perhaps she's been for a run this evening...perhaps she's suffering from excess energy, too. The thought is pleasing. Her room is small, neat, and girlish: all whites, creams, and baby blues, and bathed in the soft glow of her bedside lamp. It's also a little empty, but I spy a closed packing crate with Ana's room scrawled on the top. At least she has a double bed--with a white wrought-iron bedstead. Yes. That has possibilities.
Ana suddenly jumps, startled by my presence.
Yes. I'm here because of your e-mail.
She pulls out her earbuds and the sound of tinny music fills the silence between us.
"Good evening, Anastasia."
She stares at me dumbfounded, her eyes widening.
"I felt that your e-mail warranted a reply in person." I try to keep my voice neutral. Her mouth opens and closes, but she remains mute.
Miss Steele is speechless. This I like. "May I sit?"
She nods, continuing to stare in disbelief as I perch on her bed.
"I wondered what your bedroom would look like," I offer as an icebreaker, though chitchat is not my area of expertise. She scans her room as if seeing it for the first time. "It's very serene and peaceful in here," I add, though I feel anything but serene or peaceful right now. I want to know why she's said no to my proposal with no discussion whatsoever.
"How...?" she whispers, but she stops, her disbelief still evident in her quiet tone.
"I'm still at The Heathman." She knows this.
"Would you like a drink?" she squeaks.
"No thank you, Anastasia." Good. She's found her manners. But I want to get on with the business at hand: her alarming e-mail. "So, it was nice knowing me?" I emphasize the word that offends me most in that sentence.
Nice? Really?
She examines her hands in her lap, her
fingers nervously tapping against her thighs. "I thought you'd reply by e-mail," she says, her voice as small as her room.
"Are you biting your lower lip deliberately?" I inquire, my voice sterner than I'd intended.
"I wasn't aware I was biting my lip," she whispers, her face pale.
We gaze at each other.
And the air almost crackles between us.
Fuck.
Can't you feel this, Ana? This tension. This attraction. My breathing shallows as I watch her pupils dilate. Slowly, deliberately, I reach for her hair and gently tug on the elastic, freeing one of her braids. She watches me, captivated, her eyes never leaving mine. I loosen her second braid.
"So you decided on some exercise?" My fingers trace the soft shell of her ear. With great care, I tug and squeeze the plump skin of her earlobe. She's not wearing earrings, though she does have pierced ears. I wonder what a diamond would look like twinkling there. I ask her why she's been exercising, keeping my voice low. Her breathing quickens.
"I needed time to think," she says.
"Think about what, Anastasia?"
"You."
"And you decided that it was nice knowing me? Do you mean knowing me in the biblical sense?"
Her cheeks pink. "I didn't think you were familiar with the Bible."
"I went to Sunday school, Anastasia. It taught me a great deal."
Catechism. Guilt. And that God abandoned me long ago.
"I don't remember reading about nipple clamps in the Bible. Perhaps you were taught from a modern translation," she goads me, her eyes shining and provocative.
Oh, that smart mouth.
"Well, I thought I should come and remind you how nice it was knowing me." The challenge is there in my voice, and now between us. Her mouth drops open in surprise, but I glide my fingers to her chin and coax it closed. "What do you say to that, Miss Steele?" I whisper, as we stare at each other.
Suddenly she launches herself at me.
Shit.
Somehow I grab her arms before she can touch me, and twist so that she lands on the bed, beneath me, and I have her arms stretched out above her head. Turning her face to mine, I kiss her, hard, my tongue exploring and reclaiming her. Her body rises in response as she kisses me back with equal ardor.
Oh, Ana. What you do to me.
Once she's squirming for more, I stop and gaze down at her. It's time for plan B.
"Trust me?" I ask, when her eyelids flutter open.