Grey
Page 122
Subject: Overreaction
Date: June 3 2011 13:06 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grumpy,
The aircraft doors are still open. We are delayed but only by ten minutes. My welfare and that of the passengers around me is vouchsafed. You may stow your twitchy palm for now.
Miss Steele
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. Mr. Grumpy, eh? And no kiss. Oh dear.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Apologies—Twitchy Palm Stowed
Date: June 3 2011 10:08
To: Anastasia Steele
I miss you and your smart mouth, Miss Steele.
I want you safely home.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Apology Accepted
Date: June 3 2011 13:10 EST
To: Christian Grey
They are shutting the doors. You won’t hear another peep from me, especially given your deafness.
Laters.
Ana x
My kiss is back. Well, that’s a relief. Grudgingly, I drag myself away from the computer screen and pick up my phone to call Welch.
AT ONE O’CLOCK I decline Andrea’s offer of lunch at my desk. I need to get out. The walls of my office are closing in on me, and I think it’s because there’s been no news about Leila.
I’m worried about her. Hell, she came to see me. She decided to use my home as her stage. How could I not take this personally? Why didn’t she e-mail me or phone? If she was in trouble, I could have helped. I would have helped—I’ve done it before.
I need some fresh air. I march past Olivia and Andrea, who both look busy, though I catch Andrea’s puzzled look as I step into the elevator.
Outside, it’s a bright, bustling afternoon. I take a deep breath and detect the soothing tang of salt water from the Sound. Perhaps I should take the rest of the day off? But I can’t. I have a meeting with the mayor this afternoon. It’s irritating—I’m seeing him tomorrow at the Chamber of Commerce gala.
The gala!
Suddenly I have an idea, and with a renewed sense of purpose I head toward a small store I know.
AFTER MY MEETING AT the mayor’s office, I walk the ten or so blocks back to Escala; Taylor has gone to collect Ana from the airport. Gail is in the kitchen when I enter the living room.
“Good evening, Mr. Grey.”
“Hi, Gail. How was your day?”
“Good, thank you, sir.”
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, sir. The clothes arrived for Miss Steele—I unpacked them and hung them in the closet in her room.”
“Great. No sign of Leila?” Dumb question: Gail would have called me.
“No, sir. This also arrived.” She holds up a small red store bag.
“Good.” I take the bag from her, ignoring the delighted twinkle in her eye.
“How many for supper this evening?”
“Two, thanks. And Gail—”
“Sir?”
“Can you put the satin sheets on the playroom bed?”
I really hope to get Ana in there at some point over the weekend. “Yes, Mr. Grey,” she says, her tone a little surprised. She turns back to whatever she’s conjuring in the kitchen, leaving me a little baffled by her behavior.
Maybe Gail doesn’t approve, but it’s what I want from Ana.
In my study I take the Cartier box from its bag. It’s a present for Ana, which I’ll give to her tomorrow in time for the gala: a pair of earrings. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful. Just like her. I smile; even in her chucks and jeans she has a certain gamine charm.
I hope she accepts my gift. As my submissive, she’d have no choice, but under our alternative arrangement, I don’t know what her reaction will be. Whatever the outcome, it will be interesting. She always surprises me. As I put the box in my desk drawer a ping on my computer distracts me. Barney’s latest tablet designs are in my inbox, and I’m eager to see them.
Five minutes later, Welch calls.
“Mr. Grey,” he wheezes.
“Yes. What news?”
“I spoke with Russell Reed, Mrs. Reed’s husband.”
“And?” Immediately I’m agitated. I storm out of my study and across the living room to the windows.
“He says his wife is away visiting her parents,” Welch reports.
“What?”
“Precisely.” Welch sounds as pissed as I am.
Seeing Seattle at my feet, knowing Mrs. Reed aka Leila Williams is out there somewhere, increases my irritation. I rake my fingers through my hair.
“Maybe that’s what she told him.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But we’ve found nothing so far.”
“No trace?” I can’t believe she could just disappear.
“Nothing. But if she so much as uses an ATM, cashes a check, or logs in to her social media, we’ll find her.”
“Okay.”
“We’d like to scour the CCTV footage from around the hospital. It’s going to cost money and take a little longer. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes.” A tingle prickles my scalp—not from the call. For some unknown reason I sense I’m being watched. Turning, I see Ana standing on the threshold of the room, scrutinizing me, her brow furrowed and her lips pensive, and she’s wearing a short, short skirt. She’s all eyes and legs…especially legs. I imagine them wrapped around my waist.
Desire, raw and real, fires my blood as I stare.
“We’ll get right on it,” Welch says.
I finish up with him, my eyes fixed on Ana’s, and I prowl toward her, stripping off my jacket and tie and tossing them onto the sofa.
Ana.
I wrap my arms around her, tugging at her ponytail, lifting her eager lips to mine. She tastes of heaven and home and fall and Ana. Her scent invades my nostrils as I take everything her warm, sweet mouth has to offer. My body hardens with expectation and hunger as our tongues entwine. I want to lose myself in her, to forget about the shitty end to my week, forget about everything but her.
My lips feverish against hers, I tug the hair tie from her ponytail as her fingers knot in mine. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by my need, desperate for her. And I pull away, staring down into a face that’s dazed with passion.
I feel the same way. What is she doing to me?
“What’s wrong?” she whispers.
And the answer is clear, ringing in my head.
Date: June 3 2011 13:06 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grumpy,
The aircraft doors are still open. We are delayed but only by ten minutes. My welfare and that of the passengers around me is vouchsafed. You may stow your twitchy palm for now.
Miss Steele
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. Mr. Grumpy, eh? And no kiss. Oh dear.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Apologies—Twitchy Palm Stowed
Date: June 3 2011 10:08
To: Anastasia Steele
I miss you and your smart mouth, Miss Steele.
I want you safely home.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Apology Accepted
Date: June 3 2011 13:10 EST
To: Christian Grey
They are shutting the doors. You won’t hear another peep from me, especially given your deafness.
Laters.
Ana x
My kiss is back. Well, that’s a relief. Grudgingly, I drag myself away from the computer screen and pick up my phone to call Welch.
AT ONE O’CLOCK I decline Andrea’s offer of lunch at my desk. I need to get out. The walls of my office are closing in on me, and I think it’s because there’s been no news about Leila.
I’m worried about her. Hell, she came to see me. She decided to use my home as her stage. How could I not take this personally? Why didn’t she e-mail me or phone? If she was in trouble, I could have helped. I would have helped—I’ve done it before.
I need some fresh air. I march past Olivia and Andrea, who both look busy, though I catch Andrea’s puzzled look as I step into the elevator.
Outside, it’s a bright, bustling afternoon. I take a deep breath and detect the soothing tang of salt water from the Sound. Perhaps I should take the rest of the day off? But I can’t. I have a meeting with the mayor this afternoon. It’s irritating—I’m seeing him tomorrow at the Chamber of Commerce gala.
The gala!
Suddenly I have an idea, and with a renewed sense of purpose I head toward a small store I know.
AFTER MY MEETING AT the mayor’s office, I walk the ten or so blocks back to Escala; Taylor has gone to collect Ana from the airport. Gail is in the kitchen when I enter the living room.
“Good evening, Mr. Grey.”
“Hi, Gail. How was your day?”
“Good, thank you, sir.”
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, sir. The clothes arrived for Miss Steele—I unpacked them and hung them in the closet in her room.”
“Great. No sign of Leila?” Dumb question: Gail would have called me.
“No, sir. This also arrived.” She holds up a small red store bag.
“Good.” I take the bag from her, ignoring the delighted twinkle in her eye.
“How many for supper this evening?”
“Two, thanks. And Gail—”
“Sir?”
“Can you put the satin sheets on the playroom bed?”
I really hope to get Ana in there at some point over the weekend. “Yes, Mr. Grey,” she says, her tone a little surprised. She turns back to whatever she’s conjuring in the kitchen, leaving me a little baffled by her behavior.
Maybe Gail doesn’t approve, but it’s what I want from Ana.
In my study I take the Cartier box from its bag. It’s a present for Ana, which I’ll give to her tomorrow in time for the gala: a pair of earrings. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful. Just like her. I smile; even in her chucks and jeans she has a certain gamine charm.
I hope she accepts my gift. As my submissive, she’d have no choice, but under our alternative arrangement, I don’t know what her reaction will be. Whatever the outcome, it will be interesting. She always surprises me. As I put the box in my desk drawer a ping on my computer distracts me. Barney’s latest tablet designs are in my inbox, and I’m eager to see them.
Five minutes later, Welch calls.
“Mr. Grey,” he wheezes.
“Yes. What news?”
“I spoke with Russell Reed, Mrs. Reed’s husband.”
“And?” Immediately I’m agitated. I storm out of my study and across the living room to the windows.
“He says his wife is away visiting her parents,” Welch reports.
“What?”
“Precisely.” Welch sounds as pissed as I am.
Seeing Seattle at my feet, knowing Mrs. Reed aka Leila Williams is out there somewhere, increases my irritation. I rake my fingers through my hair.
“Maybe that’s what she told him.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But we’ve found nothing so far.”
“No trace?” I can’t believe she could just disappear.
“Nothing. But if she so much as uses an ATM, cashes a check, or logs in to her social media, we’ll find her.”
“Okay.”
“We’d like to scour the CCTV footage from around the hospital. It’s going to cost money and take a little longer. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes.” A tingle prickles my scalp—not from the call. For some unknown reason I sense I’m being watched. Turning, I see Ana standing on the threshold of the room, scrutinizing me, her brow furrowed and her lips pensive, and she’s wearing a short, short skirt. She’s all eyes and legs…especially legs. I imagine them wrapped around my waist.
Desire, raw and real, fires my blood as I stare.
“We’ll get right on it,” Welch says.
I finish up with him, my eyes fixed on Ana’s, and I prowl toward her, stripping off my jacket and tie and tossing them onto the sofa.
Ana.
I wrap my arms around her, tugging at her ponytail, lifting her eager lips to mine. She tastes of heaven and home and fall and Ana. Her scent invades my nostrils as I take everything her warm, sweet mouth has to offer. My body hardens with expectation and hunger as our tongues entwine. I want to lose myself in her, to forget about the shitty end to my week, forget about everything but her.
My lips feverish against hers, I tug the hair tie from her ponytail as her fingers knot in mine. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by my need, desperate for her. And I pull away, staring down into a face that’s dazed with passion.
I feel the same way. What is she doing to me?
“What’s wrong?” she whispers.
And the answer is clear, ringing in my head.
