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I hope she’s in bed now.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Taylor—Is He the Right Man for the Job?
Date: May 26 2011 23:40
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
I am intrigued that you are happy to risk letting your right-hand man drive my car but not some woman you fuck occasionally. How can I be sure that Taylor is the man to get me the best deal for said car? I have, in the past, probably before I met you, been known to drive a hard bargain.
Ana
What the hell? Some woman I fuck occasionally?
I have to take a deep breath. Her response irks me…no, infuriates me. How dare she talk about herself like that? As my submissive she’ll be so much more than that. I’ll be devoted to her. Does she not realize this?
And she has driven a hard bargain with me. Good God! Look at all the concessions I’ve made with regard to the contract.
I count to ten, and to calm down, I visualize myself aboard The Grace, my catamaran, sailing on the Sound.
Flynn would be proud.
I respond.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful!
Date: May 26 2011 23:44
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I am assuming it is the RED WINE talking, and that you’ve had a very long day.
Though I am tempted to drive back over there to ensure that you don’t sit down for a week, rather than an evening.
Taylor is ex-army and capable of driving anything from a motorcycle to a Sherman tank. Your car does not present a hazard to him.
Now please do not refer to yourself as “some woman I fuck occasionally” because, quite frankly, it makes me MAD, and you really wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I exhale slowly, steadying my heart rate. Who else on earth has the ability to get under my skin like this?
She doesn’t write back immediately. Perhaps she’s intimidated by my response. I pick up my book, but soon find that I’ve read the same paragraph three times while awaiting her reply. I look up for the umpteenth time.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Careful Yourself
Date: May 26 2011 23:57
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
I’m not sure I like you anyway, especially at the moment.
Miss Steele
I stare at her reply, and all my anger withers and dies, to be replaced by a surge of anxiety.
Shit.
Is she saying that’s it?
FRIDAY, MAY 27, 2011
* * *
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful Yourself
Date: May 27 2011 00:03
To: Anastasia Steele
Why don’t you like me?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I get up and open another bottle of sparkling water.
And wait.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Careful Yourself
Date: May 27 2011 00:09
To: Christian Grey
Because you never stay with me.
Six words.
Six little words that make my scalp tingle.
I told her that I didn’t sleep with anyone.
But today was a big day.
She graduated from college.
She said yes.
We went through all those soft limits that she knew nothing about. We fucked. I spanked her. We fucked again.
Shit.
And before I can stop myself, I grab the garage ticket for my car, pick up a jacket, and I’m out the door.
THE ROADS ARE EMPTY and I’m at her place twenty-three minutes later.
I knock quietly, and Kavanagh opens the door.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” she shouts, her eyes blazing with anger.
Whoa. Not the reception I was expecting.
“I’ve come to see Ana.”
“Well, you can’t!” Kavanagh stands with arms folded and legs braced in the doorway, like a gargoyle.
I try reasoning with her. “But I need to see her. She sent me an e-mail.” Get out of my way!
“What the fuck have you done to her now?”
“That’s what I need to find out.” I grit my teeth.
“Ever since she met you she cries all the time.”
“What?” I can’t deal with her shit anymore, and I barge past her.
“You can’t come in here!” Kavanagh follows me, shrieking like a harpy, as I storm through the apartment to Ana’s bedroom.
I open Ana’s door and switch on the main light. She’s huddled in her bed, wrapped in her comforter. Her eyes are red and puffy, and squinting in the overhead light. Her nose is swollen and blotchy.
I’ve seen women in this state many times, especially after I’ve punished them. But I’m surprised by the unease that grips my gut.
“Jesus, Ana.” I flick the main light off so she doesn’t have to squint and I sit on the bed beside her.
“What are you doing here?” She’s sniffling. I turn on her bedside light.
“Do you want me to throw this asshole out?” Kate barks from the doorway.
Fuck you, Kavanagh. Raising an eyebrow, I pretend to ignore her.
Ana shakes her head, but her watery eyes are on me.
“Just holler if you need me,” Kate says to Ana, as if she were a child. “Grey,” she snaps, so I’m obliged to look at her. “You’re on my shit list, and I’m watching you.” She sounds shrill, her eyes glinting with fury, but I don’t give a fuck.
Fortunately she leaves, pulling the door to, but not shutting it. I check in my inside pocket, and once again Mrs. Jones has exceeded all expectations; I fish out the handkerchief and give it to Ana. “What’s going on?”
“Why are you here?” Her voice is shaky.