I line up on the white ball and with a swift clean stroke, hit the center ball of the triangle square on with such force that a striped ball spins and plunges into the top right pocket. I’ve scattered the rest of the balls. “I choose stripes,” I say innocently, smiling coyly at Christian. His mouth twists in amusement. “Be my guest,” he says politely. I proceed to pocket the next three balls in quick succession. Inside, I’m dancing. At this moment, I am so grateful to José for teaching me to play pool and play it well. Christian watches impassively, giving nothing away, but his amusement seems to ebb. I miss the green stripe by a hairsbreadth. “You know, Anastasia, I could stand here and watch you leaning and stretching across this billiard table all day,” he says appreciatively. he says appreciatively. I flush. Thank hea一vens I am wearing my jeans. He smirks. He’s trying to put me off my game, the bastard. He pulls his cream sweater over his head, tosses it onto the back of a chair, and grins at me, as he saunters over to take his first shot. He bends low over the table. My mouth goes dry. Oh, I see what he means. Christian in tight jeans and white Tshirt, bending, like that . . . is something to behold. I quite lose my train of thought. He sinks four solids rapidly, then fouls by sinking the white. “A very elementary mistake, Mr. Grey,” I tease. He smirks. “Ah, Miss Steele, I am but a foolish mortal. Your go, I believe.” He wa一ves at the table. “You’re not trying to lose are you?” “Oh no. For what I ha一ve in mind as the prize, I want to win, Anastasia.” He shrugs casually. “But then, I always want to win.” I narrow my eyes at him. Right then . . . I’m so glad I’m wearing my blue blouse, which is pleasingly low-cut. I I’m wearing my blue blouse, which is pleasingly low-cut. I stalk around the table, bending low at every a一vailable opportunity—giving Christian an eyeful of my behind and my clea一vage whenever I can. Two can play at that game. I glance at him. “I know what you’re doing,” he whispers, his eyes dark. I tilt my head coquettishly to one side, gently fondling my cue, running my hand up and down it slowly. “Oh. I am just deciding where to take my next shot,” I murmur distractedly. Leaning across, I hit the orange stripe into a better position. I then stand directly in front of Christian and take the rest from underneath the table. I line up my next shot, leaning right over the table. I hear Christian’s sharp intake of breath, and of course, I miss. Shit. He comes to stand behind me while I am still bent over the table and places his hand on my backside. Hmm . . . “Are you wa一ving this around to taunt me, Miss Steele?” And he smacks me, hard. I gasp. “Yes,” I mutter, because it’s true. “Be careful what you wish for, baby.” I rub my behind as he wanders to the other end of the table, leans over, and takes his shot. Jeez, I could look at him all day. He hits the red ball, and it shoots into the left side pocket. He aims for the yellow, top right, and it just misses. I grin. “Red Room here we come,” I taunt him. He merely raises an eyebrow and directs me to continue. I make quick work of the green stripe and by some fluke, manage to knock in the final orange stripe. “Name your pocket,” Christian murmurs, and it’s as if he’s talking about something else, something dark and rude. “Top left-hand.” I take aim over the black, hit it, but miss. It skirts wide. Damn. Christian smiles a wicked grin as he leans over the table and makes short work of the two remaining solids. I am practically panting, watching him, his lithe body stretching over the table. He stands and chalks his cue, his stretching over the table. He stands and chalks his cue, his eyes burning into me. “If I win . . .” Oh yes? “I am going to spank you, then fuck you over this billiard table.” Holy shit. Every single muscle south of my na一vel clenches hard. “Top right,” he murmurs, pointing to the black, and bends to take the shot. de Saint-Exupéry, Antoine. Night Flight. Translated by Stuart Gilbert. New Jersey: Prentice Hall, June 1932. (First published in 1931 under the original title of Vol de nuit.) With easy grace, Christian taps the white ball so that it glides across the table, kisses the black and oh-so-slowly the black rolls, teeters on the edge, and finally drops into the top right pocket of the billiard table. Damn. He stands, and his mouth twists in a triumphant I-soown- you-Steele smile. Putting down his cue, he saunters casually toward me, all tousled hair, jeans, and white Tshirt. He doesn’t look like a CEO—he looks like a bad boy from the wrong side of town. Holy cow, he’s so fucking sexy. “You’re not going to be a sore loser, are you?” he murmurs, barely containing his grin. “Depends how hard you spank me,” I whisper, holding on to my cue for support. He takes my cue and puts it to one side, hooks his finger into the top of my shirt, and pulls me toward him. “Well, let’s count your misdemeanors, Miss Steele.” He counts on his long fingers. “One, making me jealous of my own staff. Two, arguing with me about working. And three, wa一ving your delectable derriere at me for the last twenty minutes.” His eyes glow a soft gray with excitement, and leaning down, he rubs his nose against mine. “I want you to take your jeans and this very fetching shirt off. Now.” He plants a feather-soft kiss on my lips, wanders nonchalantly over to the door, and locks it. Oh my. When he turns and gazes at me, his eyes are burning. I stand paralyzed like a complete zombie, my heart pounding, my blood pumping, not actually able to move a muscle. In my mind, all I can think is—this is for him— the thought repeating like a mantra over and over again. “Clothes, Anastasia. You appear to still be wearing them. Take them off—or I will do it for you.” “You do it.” I finally find my voice, and it sounds low and heated. Christian grins. “Oh, Miss Steele. It’s a dirty job, but I think I can rise to the challenge.” “You normally rise to most challenges, Mr. Grey.” I raise an eyebrow at him, and he smirks. “Why, Miss Steele, whatever do you mean?” On his way over to me, he pauses at the small desk built into one of the bookshelves. Reaching over, he picks up a twelveinch Perspex ruler. He holds each end and flexes it, his eyes not lea一ving mine. Holy shit—his weapon of choice. My mouth goes dry. dry. Suddenly, I’m hot and bothered and damp in all the right places. Only Christian could turn me on with just a look and the flex of a ruler. He slips it into the back pocket of his jeans and ambles toward me, eyes dark and full of promise. Without saying a word, he drops to his knees in front of me and starts to undo my laces, quickly and efficiently, dragging both my Converse and socks off. I lean on the side of the billiard table so I don’t fall. Gazing down at him as he undoes my laces, I marvel at the depth of feeling that I ha一ve for this beautiful flawed man. I love him. He grabs my hips, slips his fingers into the waistband of my jeans, and undoes the button and zipper. He peers up through his long lashes, grinning his most salacious grin as he slowly peels my jeans off. I step out of them, glad that I’m wearing these pretty, pretty panties, and he grasps the back of my legs and runs his nose along the apex of my thighs. I practically melt. “I want to be quite rough with you, Ana. You’ll ha一ve to tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he breathes. Oh my. He kisses me . . . there. I moan softly. “Safe word?” I murmur. “No, no safe word, just tell me to stop, and I’ll stop. Understand?” He kisses me again, nuzzling me. Oh, that feels good. He stands, his stare intense. “Answer me,” he orders his voice velvet soft. “Yes, yes, I understand.” I’m puzzled by his insistence. “You’ve been dropping hints and giving me mixed signals all day, Anastasia,” he says. “You said you were signals all day, Anastasia,” he says. “You said you were worried I’d lost my edge. I’m not sure what you meant by that, and I don’t know how serious you were, but we are going to find out. I don’t want to go back into the playroom yet, so we can try this now, but if you don’t like it, you must promise to tell me.” A burning intensity born of his anxiety replaces his earlier cockiness. Whoa, please don’t be anxious, Christian. “I’ll tell you. No safe word,” I reiterate to reassure him. “We’re lovers, Anastasia. Lovers don’t need safe words.” He frowns. “Do they?” “I guess not,” I murmur. Jeez—how do I know? “I promise.” He searches my face for any clue that I might lack the courage of my convictions, and I’m nervous but excited, too. I’m much happier to do this, knowing that he loves me. It’s very simple to me, and right now, I don’t want to overthink it. A slow smile stretches across his face, and he starts to unbutton my shirt, his deft fingers making short work of it, though he doesn’t take it off. He leans over and picks up the cue. Oh fuck, what’s he going to do with that ? A frisson of fear runs through me. “You play well, Miss Steele. I must say I’m surprised. Why don’t you sink the black?” My fear forgotten, I pout, wondering why the hell he should be surprised—sexy, arrogant bastard. My inner goddess is limbering up in the background, doing her floor exercises—a great fat smile on her face. exercises—a great fat smile on her face. I position the white ball. Christian strolls back around the table and stands right behind me as I lean over to take my shot. He places his hand on my right thigh and runs his fingers up and down my leg, up to my behind and back again, lightly stroking me. “I am going to miss if you keep doing that,” I whisper, closing my eyes and relishing the feel of his hands on me. “I don’t care if you hit or miss, baby. I just wanted to see you like this—partially dressed, stretched out on my billiard table. Do you ha一ve any idea how hot you look at the moment?” I flush, and my inner goddess grabs a rose between her teeth and starts to tango. Taking a deep breath, I try to ignore him and line up my shot. It’s impossible. He caresses my behind, over and over again. “Top left,” I murmur, then hit the white ball. He smacks me hard, squarely on my backside. It’s so unexpected, I yelp. The white hits the black, which bounces off the cushion wide of the pocket. Christian caresses my behind again. “Oh, I think you need to try that again,” he whispers. “You should concentrate, Anastasia.” I am panting now, excited by this game. He strolls to the end of the table, sets up the black ball again, then runs the white ball back down to me. He looks so carnal, dark eyed with a lascivious smile. How could I ever resist this man? I catch the ball and line it up, ready to strike again. “Uh-uh,” he admonishes. “Just wait.” Oh, he just loves prolonging the agony. He wanders back and stands behind prolonging the agony. He wanders back and stands behind me again. I close my eyes once more as he strokes my left thigh this time then fondles my backside again. “Take aim,” he breathes. I can’t help my moan as desire twists and turns inside me. And I try, really try, to think about where I should hit the black with the white. I shift slightly to my right, and he follows me. I bend over the table once more. Using every last vestige of inner strength—which has diminished considerably since I know what will happen once I strike the white ball—I take aim and hit the white again. Christian smacks me once more, hard. Ow! I miss again. “Oh no!” I groan. “Once more, baby. And if you miss this time, I’m really going to let you ha一ve it.” What? Ha一ve what? He sets up the black ball once more and walks, achingly slow, back to me until he’s standing behind me, caressing my backside once more. “You can do it,” he coaxes. Oh—not when you’re distracting me like this. I push my behind back against his hand, and he smacks me lightly. “Eager, Miss Steele?” he murmurs. Yes. I want you. “Well, let’s get rid of these.” He gently slides my panties down my thighs and off. I can’t see what he does with them, but he lea一ves me feeling exposed as he plants a soft kiss on each cheek. “Take the shot, baby.” “Take the shot, baby.” I want to whimper, this is so not going to happen. I know I am going to miss. I line up the white, hit it, and in my impatience, miss the black completely. I wait for the blow—but it doesn’t come. Instead he leans right over me, flattening me against the table, takes the cue out of my hand and rolls it to the side cushion. I can feel him, hard, against my backside. “You missed,” he says softly in my ear. My cheek is pressed against the baize. “Put your hands flat on the table.” I do as he says. “Good. I’m going to spank you now and next time, maybe you won’t.” He shifts so he’s standing to my left side, his erection against my hip. I groan and my heart leaps into my mouth. My breath comes in short pants and a hot, hea一vy excitement courses through my veins. Gently, he caresses my behind and curls his other hand around the nape of my neck, his fingers fisting in my hair, his elbow at my back, holding me down. I am completely helpless. “Open your legs,” he murmurs and for a moment, I hesitate. And he smacks me hard—with the ruler! The noise is harsher than the sting, and it takes me by surprise. I gasp, and he hits me again. “Legs,” he orders. I open my legs, panting. The ruler strikes again. Ow—it stings, but its crack across my skin sounds worse than it feels. I close my eyes and absorb the pain. It’s not too bad, and Christian’s breathing becomes harsher. He hits me and Christian’s breathing becomes harsher. He hits me again and again, and I moan. I am not sure how many more strokes I can bear—but hearing him, knowing how turned on he is, feeds my arousal and my willingness to continue. I am crossing to the dark side, a place in my psyche I don’t know well but ha一ve visited before in the playroom—with the Tallis. The ruler strikes once more, and I moan loudly, and Christian groans in response. He hits me again—and again . . . and once more . . . harder this time—and I wince. “Stop.” The word is out of my mouth before I’m even aware that I’ve said it. Christian drops the ruler immediately and releases me. “Enough?” he whispers. “Yes.” “I want to fuck you now,” he says, his voice strained. “Yes,” I murmur with longing. He undoes his fly, as I lie panting on the table, knowing that he’s going to be rough. I marvel once more at how I ha一ve managed—and yes, enjoyed— what he’s done to me up to this point. It’s so dark but so him. He eases two fingers inside me and moves them in a circular motion. The feeling is exquisite. Closing my eyes, I revel in the sensation. I hear the telltale rip of foil, then he’s standing behind me, between my legs, pushing them wider. Slowly he sinks into me, filling me. I hear his groan of pure pleasure, and it stirs my soul. He grasps my hips firmly, eases out of me again, and this time slams back into me, causing me to cry out. He stills for a moment. “Again?” he asks softly. “Yes . . . I’m fine. Lose yourself . . . take me with you,” I murmur breathlessly. He moans low in his throat, eases out of me once more, then slams into me, and repeats this over and over slowly, deliberately—a punishing, brutal, hea一venly rhythm. Oh fucking my . . . My insides begin to quicken. He feels it, too, and increases the rhythm, pushing me, higher, harder, faster—and I surrender, exploding around him—a draining, soul-grabbing orgasm that lea一ves me spent and exhausted. I’m vaguely aware that Christian, too, is letting go, calling my name, his fingers digging into my hips, and then he stills and collapses on me. We sink to the floor, and he cradles me in his arms. “Thank you, baby,” he breathes, covering my upturned face in soft feather-light kisses. I open my eyes and gaze up at him, and he wraps his arms tighter around me. “Your cheek is pink from the baize,” he murmurs, rubbing my face tenderly. “How was that?” His eyes are wide and cautious. “Teeth-clenchingly good,” I mutter. “I like it rough, Christian, and I like it gentle, too. I like that it’s with you.” He closes his eyes and hugs me even tighter. Jeez, I’m tired. “You never fail, Ana. You are beautiful, bright, challenging, fun, sexy, and I thank divine providence every day that it was you that came to interview me and not Katherine Ka一vanagh.” He kisses my hair. I smile and yawn against his chest. “I’m wearing you out,” he continues. “Come. Bath, then bed.” We are both in Christian’s bath, facing each other chindeep in foam, the sweet scent of jasmine enveloping us. Christian is massaging my feet, one at a time. It feels so good it should be illegal. “Can I ask you something?” I murmur. “Of course. Anything, Ana, you know that.” I take a deep breath and sit up, flinching only slightly. “Tomorrow—when I go to work—can Sawyer just deliver me to the front door of the office then pick me up at the end of the day? Please, Christian. Please,” I plead. His hands still as his brow creases. “I thought we agreed,” he grumbles. “Please,” I beg. “What about lunchtime?” “I’ll make myself something to take from here so I don’t ha一ve to go out, please.” He kisses my instep. “I find it very difficult to say no to you,” he mutters as if he senses this is a failing on his part. “You won’t go out?” “No.” “Okay.” I beam at him. “Thank you.” I lean up onto my knees, sloshing water everywhere, and kiss him. “You’re most welcome, Miss Steele. How’s your “You’re most welcome, Miss Steele. How’s your behind?” “Sore. But not too bad. The water is soothing.” “I’m glad you told me to stop,” he says, gazing at me. “So is my behind.” He grins. I stretch out in bed, so tired. It’s only ten thirty, but it feels like three in the morning. This has to be one of the most exhausting weekends of my life. “Didn’t Ms. Acton provide any nightwear?” Christian asks, his voice laced with disapproval as he stares down at me. “I ha一ve no idea. I like wearing your T-shirts,” I mumble sleepily. His face softens, and he leans over and kisses my forehead. “I need to work. But I don’t want to lea一ve you alone. Can I use your laptop to log in to the office? Will I disturb you if I work from here?” “S’not my laptop.” I drift. The alarm clicks on, startling me awake with the traffic news. Christian is still asleep beside me. Rubbing my eyes, I glance at the clock. Six thirty—too early. It’s raining outside for the first time in ages, and the light is muted and mellow. I’m cozy and comfortable in this vast modern monolith with Christian at my side. I stretch vast modern monolith with Christian at my side. I stretch and turn to the delicious man beside me. His eyes spring open and he blinks sleepily. “Good morning.” I smile and caress his face, leaning down to kiss him. “Good morning, baby. I usually wake before the alarm goes off,” he murmurs in wonder. “It’s set so early.” “That it is, Miss Steele.” Christian grins. “I ha一ve to get up.” He kisses me, and then he’s up and out of bed. I flop back against the pillows. Wow, waking up on a school day next to Christian Grey. How did this all happen? I close my eyes and doze. “Come on, sleepyhead, get up.” Christian leans over me. He’s sha一ved, clean, fresh—Hmm, he smells so good—in a crisp white shirt and black suit, no tie—the CEO is back. Holy Moses, he looks good like this, too. “What?” he asks. “I wish you’d come back to bed.” His lips part, surprised by my come-on, and he smiles almost shyly. “You are insatiable, Miss Steele. As much as that idea appeals, I ha一ve an eight thirty meeting, so I ha一ve to go shortly.” Oh, I’ve slept for another hour or so. Shit. I leap out of bed, much to Christian’s amusement. I shower and dress quickly, wearing the clothes I set out yesterday: a fitted, gray pencil skirt; pale-gray silk shirt; and high-heeled black pumps, all care of my new and high-heeled black pumps, all care of my new wardrobe. I brush my hair and carefully put it up, then wander out to the great room, not really knowing what to expect. How am I going to get to work? Christian is sipping coffee at the breakfast bar. Mrs. Jones is in the kitchen making pancakes and bacon. “You look lovely,” Christian murmurs. Wrapping an arm around me, he kisses me under my ear. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Mrs. Jones’s smile. I flush. “Good morning, Miss Steele,” she says as she places pancakes and bacon in front of me. “Oh, thank you. Good morning,” I mumble. Jeez—I could get used to this. “Mr. Grey says you’d like to take lunch with you to work. What would you like to eat?” I glance at Christian, who is trying very hard not to smirk. I narrow my eyes at him. “A sandwich . . . salad. I really don’t mind.” I beam at Mrs. Jones. “I’ll rustle up a packed lunch for you, ma’am.” “Please, Mrs. Jones, call me Ana.” “Ana.” She smiles and turns to make me tea. Wow . . . this is so cool. I turn and cock my head at Christian, challenging him —go on, accuse me of flirting with Mrs. Jones. “I ha一ve to go, baby. Taylor will come back and drop you at work with Sawyer.” “Only to the door.” “Yes. Only to the door.” Christian rolls his eyes. “Be careful, though.” I glance around and spy Taylor standing in the entranceway. Christian stands and kisses me, grasping my chin. “Laters, baby.” “Ha一ve a good day at the office, dear,” I call after him. He turns and flashes me his beautiful smile then he’s gone. Mrs. Jones hands me a cup of tea, and suddenly I feel awkward with just the two of us here. “How long ha一ve you worked for Christian?” I ask, thinking I ought to make some kind of conversation. “Four years or so,” she says pleasantly, as she sets about making my packed lunch. “You know, I can do that,” I mutter, embarrassed that she should be doing this for me. “You eat your breakfast, Ana. This is what I do. I enjoy it. It’s nice to look after someone other than Mr. Taylor and Mr. Grey.” She smiles very sweetly at me. My cheeks pink with pleasure, and I want to bombard this woman with questions. She must know so much about Fifty, and although her manner is warm and friendly, it’s also very professional. I know I’ll only embarrass both of us if I start quizzing her, so I finish my breakfast in a reasonably comfortable silence, punctuated only by her questions on my food preferences for lunch. Twenty-five minutes later Sawyer appears at the entrance to the great room. I ha一ve brushed my teeth, and I’m waiting to go. Clutching my brown paper lunch bag—I can’t even remember my mom doing this for me—Sawyer and I head to the first floor via the elevator. He’s very taciturn, too, giving nothing away. Taylor is waiting in the Audi, and I climb into the rear passenger seat when Sawyer opens the door. “Good morning, Taylor,” I say brightly. “Miss Steele.” He smiles. “Taylor, I’m sorry about yesterday and my inappropriate remarks. I hope I didn’t get you into trouble.” Taylor frowns in bemusement at me from the rearview mirror as he pulls out into the Seattle traffic. “Miss Steele, I’m rarely in trouble,” he says reassuringly. Oh good. Maybe Christian didn’t tell him off. Just me, then, I think sourly. “I’m glad to hear it, Taylor.” I smile. Jack gazes at me, assessing my appearance, as I make my way to my desk. “Morning, Ana. Good weekend?” “Yes, thanks. You?” “It was good. Get settled in—I ha一ve work for you to do.” I nod and sit down at my computer. It seems like years since I was at work. I switch on my computer and fire up my e-mail program—and of course there’s an e-mail from Christian. From: Christian Grey Subject: Boss Date: June 13, 2011 08:24 To: Anastasia Steele Good morning, Miss Steele I just wanted to say thank you for a wonderful weekend in spite of all the drama. I hope you never lea一ve, ever. And just to remind you that the news of SIP is embargoed for four weeks. Delete this e-mail as soon as you’ve read it. Yours Christian Grey, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. & Your boss’s boss’s boss. Hope I never lea一ve? Does he want me to move in? Holy Moses . . . I barely know the man. I press delete. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Bossy Date: June 13, 2011: 09:03 To: Christian Grey To: Christian Grey Dear Mr. Grey Are you asking me to move in with you? And of course, I remembered that the evidence of your epic stalking capabilities is embargoed for another four weeks. Do I make a check out to Coping Together and send to your dad? Please don’t delete this e-mail. Please respond to it. ILY xxx Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP “Ana!” Jack makes me jump. “Yes,” I flush, and Jack frowns at me. “Everything okay?” “Sure.” I scramble up and take my notebook into his office. “Good. As you probably remember, I’m going to that Commissioning Fiction Symposium in New York on Thursday. I ha一ve tickets and reservations, but I’d like you to come with me.” “To New York?” “Yes. We’ll need to go Wednesday and stay overnight. I think you’ll find it a very educational experience.” His eyes darken as he says this, but his smile is polite. “Would you make the necessary tra一vel arrangements? And book an additional room at the hotel where I am staying? I think Sabrina, my previous PA, left where I am staying? I think Sabrina, my previous PA, left all the details handy somewhere.” “Okay.” I smile wanly at Jack. Crap. I wander back to my desk. This is not going to go down well with Fifty—but the fact is, I want to go. It sounds like a real opportunity, and I’m sure I can keep Jack at arm’s length if that’s his ulterior motive. Back at my desk there’s a response from Christian. From: Christian Grey Subject: Me, Bossy? Date: June 13, 2011 09:07 To: Anastasia Steele Yes. Please. Christian Grey, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. Jeez . . . he does want me to move in. Oh, Christian—it’s too soon. I put my head in my hands to try and recover my wits. This is all I need after my extraordinary weekend. I ha一ven’t had a moment to myself to think through and understand all that I ha一ve experienced and discovered these last two days. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Flynnisms Date: June 13, 2011: 09:20 To: Christian Grey Christian What happened to walking before we run? Can we talk about this tonight, please? I’ve been asked to go to a conference in New York on Thursday. It means an overnight stay on Wednesday. Just thought you should know. A x Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: WHAT? Date: June 13, 2011 09:21 To: Anastasia Steele Yes. Let’s talk this evening. Are you going on your own? Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: No Bold Shouty Capitals on a Monday Morning! Date: June 13, 2011: 09:30 To: Christian Grey Can we talk about this tonight? A x Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: You Ha一ven’t Seen Shouty Yet. Date: June 13, 2011 09:35 To: Anastasia Steele Tell me. If it’s with the sleazeball you work with, then the answer is no, over my dead body. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. My heart sinks. Shit—it’s like he’s my dad. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: No YOU ha一ven’t seen shouty yet. Date: June 13, 2011 09:46 To: Christian Grey Yes. It is with Jack. I want to go. It’s an exciting opportunity for me. And I ha一ve never been to New York. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: No YOU ha一ven’t seen shouty yet. Date: June 13, 2011 09:50 To: Anastasia Steele Anastasia It’s not my fucking knickers I am worried about. The answer is NO. Christian Grey Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. “No!” I shout at my computer, causing the entire office to come to a standstill and stare at me. Jack peers out from his office. “Everything all right, Ana?” “Yes. Sorry,” I mutter. “I er . . . just didn’t sa一ve a document.” I am scarlet with embarrassment. He smiles at me but with a puzzled expression. I take several deep breaths and quickly type a response. I am so mad. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Fifty Shades Date: June 13, 2011 09:55 To: Christian Grey Christian You need to get a grip. I am NOT going to sleep with Jack—not for all the tea in China. I LOVE you. That’s what happens when people love each other. They TRUST each other. I don’t think you are going to SLEEP WITH, SPANK, FUCK, or WHIP anyone else. I ha一ve FAITH and TRUST in you. Please extend the same COURTESY to me. Ana Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP I sit waiting for his response. Nothing arrives. I call the airline and book a ticket for myself, ensuring I am on the same flight as Jack. I hear the ping of new mail. From: Lincoln, Elena Subject: Lunch Date Date: June 13, 2011 10:15 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Anastasia I would really like to ha一ve lunch with you. I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I’d like to make that right. Are you free sometime this week? Elena Lincoln Holy crap—not Mrs. Robinson! How the hell did she find out my e-mail address? I put my head in my hands. Can this day get any worse? My phone rings and wearily I lift my head from my hands and answer, glancing at the clock. It is only ten hands and answer, glancing at the clock. It is only ten twenty, and already I wish I hadn’t left Christian’s bed. “Jack Hyde’s office, Ana Steele speaking.” An achingly familiar voice snarls at me, “Will you please delete the last e-mail you sent me and try to be a little more circumspect in the language you use in your work e-mail? I told you, the system is monitored. I shall endea一vor to do some damage limitation from here.” He hangs up. Holy fuck . . . I sit staring at the phone. Christian hung up on me. That man is stomping all over my fledgling career, and he hangs up on me? I glare at the receiver, and if it wasn’t completely inanimate, I know it would shrivel in horror under my withering stare. I open my e-mails and delete the one I sent him. It’s not that bad. I just mention spanking and well, whipping. Jeez, if he’s so ashamed of it, he damn well shouldn’t do it. I pick up my Blackberry and call his mobile. “What?” he snaps. “I am going to New York whether you like it or not,” I hiss. “Don’t count—” I hang up, cutting him off mid-sentence. Adrenaline is coursing through my body. There—that told him. I am so mad. I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself. Closing my eyes, I imagine that I am in my happy place. Hmm . . . a boat cabin with Christian. I shake the image off as I am too mad at Fifty right now for him to be anywhere near my happy place. anywhere near my happy place. Opening my eyes, I calmly reach for my notebook and carefully run through my to do list. I take a long, deep breath, my equilibrium restored. “Ana!” Jack shouts, startling me. “Don’t book that flight!” “Oh, too late. I’ve done it,” I reply as he strides out of his office over to me. He looks mad. “Look, there’s something going on. For some reason, suddenly, all tra一vel and hotel expenses for staff ha一ve to be approved by senior management. This has come right from the top. I am going up to see old Roach. Apparently, a moratorium on all spending has just been implemented. I don’t understand it.” Jack pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. Most of the blood drains from my face and knots form in my stomach. Fifty! “Take my calls. I’ll go see what Roach has to say.” He winks at me and strides off to see his boss—not the boss’s boss. Damn it. Christian Grey . . . My blood starts to boil again. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: What ha一ve you done? Date: June 13, 2011 10:43 To: Christian Grey Please tell me you won’t interfere with my work. I really want to go to this conference. I shouldn’t ha一ve to ask you. I ha一ve deleted the offending e-mail. Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: What ha一ve you done? Date: June 13, 2011 10:46 To: Anastasia Steele I am just protecting what is mine. The e-mail that you so rashly sent is wiped from the SIP server now, as are my e-mails to you. Incidentally, I trust you implicitly. It’s him I don’t trust. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. I check to see if I still ha一ve his e-mails, and they ha一ve disappeared. This man’s influence knows no bounds. How does he do this? Who does he know that can stealthily delve into the depths of SIP’s servers and remove emails? I am so out of my league here. mails? I am so out of my league here. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Grown Up Date: June 13, 2011 10:43 To: Christian Grey Christian I don’t need protecting from my own boss. He may make a pass at me, but I shall say no. You cannot interfere. It’s wrong and controlling on so many levels. Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: The Answer is NO Date: June 13, 2011 10.50 To: Anastasia Steele Ana I ha一ve seen how “effective” you are at fighting off unwanted attention. I remember that’s how I had the pleasure of spending my first night with you. At least the photographer has feelings for you. The sleazeball, on the other hand, does not. He is a serial philanderer, and he will try to seduce you. Ask him what happened to his previous PA and the one before that. I don’t want to fight about this. If you want to go to New York, I’ll take you. We can go this weekend. I ha一ve an apartment there. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. Oh, Christian! That’s not the point. He’s so damn frustrating. And of course he has an apartment there. Where else does he own property? Trust him to bring up José. Will I ever live that down? I was drunk, for hea一ven’s sake. I wouldn’t get drunk with Jack. I shake my head at the screen, but figure I cannot continue to argue with him over e-mail. I shall ha一ve to bide my time until this evening. I check the clock. Jack is still not back from his meeting with Jerry, and I need to deal with Elena. I read her e-mail again and decide that the best way to handle it is to send it to Christian. Let him concentrate on her rather than me. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: FW Lunch date or Irritating Baggage Date: June 13, 2011 11:15 To: Christian Grey Christian While you ha一ve been busy interfering in my career and sa一ving your ass from my careless missives, I received the following e-mail from Mrs. Lincoln. I really don’t want to meet with her—even if I did, I am not allowed to lea一ve this building. How she got hold of my e-mail address, I don’t know. What would you suggest I do? Her e-mail is below: Dear Anastasia, I would really like to ha一ve lunch with you. I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I’d like to make that right. Are you free sometime this week? Elena Lincoln Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP From: Christian Grey Subject: Irritating Baggage Date: June 13, 2011 11:23 To: Anastasia Steele Don’t be mad at me. I ha一ve your best interests at heart. If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself. I’ll deal with Mrs. Lincoln. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Laters Date: June 13, 2011: 11:32 To: Christian Grey Can we please discuss this tonight? I am trying to work, and your continued interference is very distracting. Anastasia Steele Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP Jack returns after midday and tells me that New York is off for me though he is still going and there’s nothing he can do to change senior management policy. He strides into his office, slamming the door, obviously furious. Why is he so angry? Deep down, I know his intentions are less than honorable, but I am sure I can deal with him, and I wonder what Christian knows about Jack’s previous PAs. I park these thoughts and continue with some work, but resolve to try to make Christian change his mind, though the prospects are bleak. prospects are bleak. At one o’clock, Jack pokes his head out of the office door. “Ana, please could you go and get me some lunch?” “Sure. What would you like?” “Pastrami on rye, hold the mustard. I’ll give you the money when you’re back.” “Anything to drink?” “Coke, please. Thanks, Ana.” He heads back into his office as I reach for my purse. Crap. I promised Christian I wouldn’t go out. I sigh. He’ll never know, and I’ll be quick. Claire from reception offers me her umbrella since it is still pouring with rain. As I head out of the front doors, I pull my jacket around me and take a furtive glance in both directions from beneath the overlarge golf umbrella. Nothing seems amiss. There’s no sign of Ghost Girl. I march briskly, and I hope inconspicuously, down the block to the deli. However, the closer I get to the deli, the more I ha一ve a creepy sense that I am being watched, and I don’t know if it’s my heightened feeling of paranoia or a reality. Shit. I hope it’s not Leila with a gun. It’s just your imagination, my subconscious snaps. Who the hell would want to shoot you? Within fifteen minutes, I am back—safe, sound but relieved. I think Christian’s extreme paranoia and his overprotective vigilance is beginning to get to me. As I take Jack’s lunch in to him, he glances up from the phone. “Ana, thanks. Since you’re not coming with me, I’m “Ana, thanks. Since you’re not coming with me, I’m going to need you to work late. We need to get these briefs ready. Hope you don’t ha一ve plans.” He smiles up at me warmly, and I flush. “No, that’s fine,” I say with a bright smile and a sinking heart. This is not going to go down well. Christian will freak, I’m sure. As I head back to my desk I decide not to tell him immediately, otherwise he might ha一ve time to interfere in some way. I sit and eat the chicken salad sandwich Mrs. Jones made for me. It’s delicious. She makes a mean sandwich. Of course, if I moved in with Christian, she would make lunch for me every weekday. The idea is unsettling. I ha一ve never had dreams of obscene wealth and all the trappings—only love. To find someone who loves me and doesn’t try to control my every move. The phone rings. “Jack Hyde’s office—” “You assured me you wouldn’t go out,” Christian interrupts me, his voice cold and hard. My heart sinks for the millionth time this day. Shit. How the hell does he know? “Jack sent me out for some lunch. I couldn’t say no. Are you ha一ving me watched?” My scalp prickles at the notion. No wonder I felt so paranoid— someone was watching me. The thought makes me angry. “This is why I didn’t want you going back to work,” Christian snaps. “Christian, please. You’re being”—So Fifty—“so suffocating.” “Suffocating?” he whispers, surprised. “Yes. You ha一ve to stop this. I’ll talk to you this evening. Unfortunately, I ha一ve to work late because I can’t go to New York.” “Anastasia, I don’t want to suffocate you,” he says quietly, appalled. “Well, you are. I ha一ve work to do. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up, feeling drained and vaguely depressed. After our wonderful weekend, the reality is hitting home. I ha一ve never felt more like running. Running to some quiet retreat so I can think about this man, about how he is, and about how to deal with him. On one level, I know he’s broken—I can see that clearly now—and it’s both heartbreaking and exhausting. From the small pieces of precious information that he’s given me about his life, I understand why. An unloved child; a hideously abusive environment; a mother who couldn’t protect him, whom he couldn’t protect, and who died in front of him. I shudder. My poor Fifty. I am his, but not to be kept in some gilded cage. How am I going to make him see this? With a hea一vy heart, I drag one of the manuscripts Jack wants me to summarize into my lap and continue to read. I can think of no easy solution to Christian’s fucked-up control issues. I will just ha一ve to talk to him later, face to face. Half an hour later, Jack e-mails me a document that I need to tidy up and polish, ready for printing tomorrow in time for his conference. It will take me not just the rest of the afternoon but well into the evening, too. I set to work. When I look up, it’s after seven and the office is deserted, though the light in Jack’s office is still on. I hadn’t noticed everyone lea一ving, but I am nearly finished. I e-mail the document back to Jack for his approval and check my inbox. There’s nothing new from Christian, so I quickly glance at my Blackberry, and it startles me by buzzing—it’s Christian. “Hi,” I murmur. “Hi, when will you be finished?” “By seven thirty, I think.” “I’ll meet you outside.” “Okay.” He sounds quiet, nervous even. Why? Wary of my reaction? “I’m still mad at you, but that’s all,” I whisper. “We ha一ve a lot to talk about.” “I know. See you at seven thirty.” Jack comes out of his office. “I ha一ve to go. See you later.” I hang up. I look up at Jack as he strolls casually toward me. “I just need a couple of tweaks. I’ve e-mailed the brief back to you.” He leans over me while I retrieve the document, rather close—uncomfortably close. His arm brushes mine. Accidentally? I flinch, but he pretends not to notice. His other arm rests on the back of my chair, touching my back. I sit up so I’m not leaning against the backrest. “Pages sixteen and twenty-three, and that should be it,” he murmurs, his mouth inches from my ear. My skin crawls at his proximity, but I choose to ignore it. Opening the document, I shakily start on the changes. He’s still leaning over me, and all my senses are hyperaware. It’s distracting and awkward, and inside I am screaming, Back off! “Once this is done, it’ll be good to go to print. You can organize that tomorrow. Thank you for staying late and doing this, Ana.” His voice is smooth, gentle, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. My stomach twists. “I think the least I could do is reward you with a quick drink. You deserve one.” He tucks a strand of my hair that’s come loose from my hair tie behind my ear and gently caresses the lobe. I cringe gritting my teeth, and I jerk my head away. Shit! Christian was right. Don’t touch me. “Actually, I can’t this evening.” Or any other evening, Jack. “Just a quick one?” he coaxes. “No, I can’t. But thank you.” Jack sits on the end of my desk and frowns. Alarm bells sound loudly in my head. I am on my own in the office. I cannot lea一ve. I glance nervously at the clock. Another five minutes before Christian is due. “Ana, I think we make a great team. I’m sorry that I couldn’t pull off this New York trip. It won’t be the same without you.” I’m sure it won’t. I smile weakly up at him, because I I’m sure it won’t. I smile weakly up at him, because I can’t think of what to say. And for the first time all day, I feel the tiniest hint of relief that I am not going. “So, did you ha一ve a good weekend?” he asks smoothly. “Yes, thanks.” Where is he going with this? “See your boyfriend?” “Yes.” “What does he do?” Owns your ass . . . “He’s in business.” “That’s interesting. What kind of business?” “Oh, he has his fingers in all sorts of pies.”