Grey
Page 58
Leave it, Grey.
Just fucking leave it!
I know I’ll see her at the graduation ceremony.
But I can’t leave it.
Before my shower, I send her another text.
Call me.
I just need to know she’s safe.
AFTER BREAKFAST THERE’S STILL no word from Ana. To get her out of my head I work for a couple of hours on my commencement speech. At the graduation ceremony later this morning I’ll be honoring the extraordinary work of the environmental sciences department and the progress they’ve made in partnership with GEH in arable technology for developing countries.
“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” Ana’s shrewd words echo in my head, and they nudge at last night’s nightmare.
I shrug it off as I rewrite. Sam, my VP for publicity, has sent a draft that is way too pretentious for me. It takes me an hour to rework his media-speak bullshit into something more human.
Nine thirty and still no word from Ana. Her radio silence is worrying—and frankly rude. I call, but her phone goes straight to a generic voice mail message.
I hang up.
Show some dignity, Grey.
There’s a ping in my inbox, and my heartbeat spikes—but it’s from Mia. In spite of my bad mood, I smile. I’ve missed that kid.
From: Mia G. Chef Extraordinaire
Subject: Flights
Date: May 26 2011 18:32 GMT-1
To: Christian Grey
Hey, Christian,
I can’t wait to get out of here!
Rescue me. Please.
My flight number on Saturday is AF3622. It arrives at 12:22 p.m. and Dad is making me fly coach! pouting!
I will have lots of luggage. Love. Love. Love Paris fashion.
Mom says you have a girlfriend.
Is this true?
What’s she like?
I NEED TO KNOW!!!!!
See you Saturday. Missed you so much.
à bient?t mon frère.
Mxxxxxxxxx
Oh hell! My mother’s big mouth. Ana is not my girlfriend! And come Saturday I’ll have to fend off my sister’s equally big mouth and her inherent optimism and her prying questions. She can be exhausting. Making a mental note of the flight number and time, I send Mia a quick e-mail to let her know I’ll be there.
At 9:45 I get ready for the ceremony. Gray suit, white shirt, and of course that tie. It will be my subtle message to Ana that I haven’t given up, and a reminder of good times.
Yeah, real good times…images of her bound and wanting come to mind. Damn it. Why hasn’t she called? I press redial.
Shit.
Still no fucking answer!
At 10:00 precisely, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Taylor.
“Good morning,” I say, as he comes in.
“Mr. Grey.”
“How was yesterday?”
“Good, sir.” Taylor’s demeanor shifts, and his expression warms. He must be thinking of his daughter.
“Sophie?”
“She’s a doll, sir. And doing very well at school.”
“That’s great to hear.”
“The A3 will be in Portland later this afternoon.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
And though I’m loath to admit it, I’m anxious to see Miss Steele.
THE CHANCELLOR’S SECRETARY USHERS me into a small room adjacent to the WSU auditorium. She blushes, almost as much as a certain young woman I know intimately. There, in the greenroom, academics, administrative staff, and a few students are having pre-graduation coffee. Among them, to my surprise, is Katherine Kavanagh.
“Hi, Christian,” she says, strutting toward me with the confidence of the well-heeled. She’s in her graduation gown and appears cheerful enough; surely she’s seen Ana.
“Hi, Katherine. How are you?”
“You seem baffled to see me here,” she says, ignoring my greeting and sounding a little affronted. “I’m valedictorian. Didn’t Elliot tell you?”
“No, he didn’t.” We’re not in each other’s pockets, for Christ’s sake. “Congratulations,” I add as a courtesy.
“Thank you.” Her tone is clipped.
“Is Ana here?”
“Soon. She’s coming with her dad.”
“You saw her this morning?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I wanted to know if she made it home in that deathtrap she calls a car.”
“Wanda. She calls it Wanda. And yes, she did.” She gazes at me with a quizzical expression.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
At that point the chancellor joins us, and with a polite smile to Kavanagh, escorts me over to meet the other academics.
I’m relieved that Ana is in one piece, but pissed that she hasn’t replied to any of my messages.
It’s not a good sign.
But I don’t have long to dwell on this discouraging state of affairs—one of the faculty members announces it’s time to begin and herds us out into the corridor.
In a moment of weakness I try Ana’s phone once more. It goes straight to voice mail, and I’m interrupted by Kavanagh. “I’m looking forward to your commencement address,” she says as we walk down the hallway.
When we reach the auditorium I notice it’s larger than I expected, and packed. The audience, as one, rises and applauds as we file onto the stage. The clapping intensifies, then slowly subsides to an expectant buzz as everyone takes their seats.
Once the chancellor begins his welcome address I’m able to scan the room. The front rows are filled with students, in identical black-and-red WSU robes. Where is she? Methodically I inspect each row.
There you are.
I find her huddled in the second row. She’s alive. I feel foolish for expending so much anxiety and energy on her whereabouts last night and this morning. Her brilliant blue eyes are wide as they lock with mine, and she shifts in her seat, a slow flush coloring her cheeks.
Yes. I’ve found you. And you haven’t replied to my messages. She’s avoiding me and I’m pissed. Really pissed. Closing my eyes, I imagine dripping hot wax onto her breasts and her squirming beneath me. This has a radical effect on my body.
Shit.
Get it together, Grey.
Dismissing her from my mind, I marshal my lascivious thoughts and concentrate on the speeches.
Kavanagh gives an inspiring address about embracing opportunities—yes, carpe diem, Kate—and gets a rousing reception when she’s finished. She’s obviously smart and popular and confident. Not the shy and retiring wallflower that is the lovely Miss Steele. It really amazes me that these two are friends.
Just fucking leave it!
I know I’ll see her at the graduation ceremony.
But I can’t leave it.
Before my shower, I send her another text.
Call me.
I just need to know she’s safe.
AFTER BREAKFAST THERE’S STILL no word from Ana. To get her out of my head I work for a couple of hours on my commencement speech. At the graduation ceremony later this morning I’ll be honoring the extraordinary work of the environmental sciences department and the progress they’ve made in partnership with GEH in arable technology for developing countries.
“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” Ana’s shrewd words echo in my head, and they nudge at last night’s nightmare.
I shrug it off as I rewrite. Sam, my VP for publicity, has sent a draft that is way too pretentious for me. It takes me an hour to rework his media-speak bullshit into something more human.
Nine thirty and still no word from Ana. Her radio silence is worrying—and frankly rude. I call, but her phone goes straight to a generic voice mail message.
I hang up.
Show some dignity, Grey.
There’s a ping in my inbox, and my heartbeat spikes—but it’s from Mia. In spite of my bad mood, I smile. I’ve missed that kid.
From: Mia G. Chef Extraordinaire
Subject: Flights
Date: May 26 2011 18:32 GMT-1
To: Christian Grey
Hey, Christian,
I can’t wait to get out of here!
Rescue me. Please.
My flight number on Saturday is AF3622. It arrives at 12:22 p.m. and Dad is making me fly coach! pouting!
I will have lots of luggage. Love. Love. Love Paris fashion.
Mom says you have a girlfriend.
Is this true?
What’s she like?
I NEED TO KNOW!!!!!
See you Saturday. Missed you so much.
à bient?t mon frère.
Mxxxxxxxxx
Oh hell! My mother’s big mouth. Ana is not my girlfriend! And come Saturday I’ll have to fend off my sister’s equally big mouth and her inherent optimism and her prying questions. She can be exhausting. Making a mental note of the flight number and time, I send Mia a quick e-mail to let her know I’ll be there.
At 9:45 I get ready for the ceremony. Gray suit, white shirt, and of course that tie. It will be my subtle message to Ana that I haven’t given up, and a reminder of good times.
Yeah, real good times…images of her bound and wanting come to mind. Damn it. Why hasn’t she called? I press redial.
Shit.
Still no fucking answer!
At 10:00 precisely, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Taylor.
“Good morning,” I say, as he comes in.
“Mr. Grey.”
“How was yesterday?”
“Good, sir.” Taylor’s demeanor shifts, and his expression warms. He must be thinking of his daughter.
“Sophie?”
“She’s a doll, sir. And doing very well at school.”
“That’s great to hear.”
“The A3 will be in Portland later this afternoon.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
And though I’m loath to admit it, I’m anxious to see Miss Steele.
THE CHANCELLOR’S SECRETARY USHERS me into a small room adjacent to the WSU auditorium. She blushes, almost as much as a certain young woman I know intimately. There, in the greenroom, academics, administrative staff, and a few students are having pre-graduation coffee. Among them, to my surprise, is Katherine Kavanagh.
“Hi, Christian,” she says, strutting toward me with the confidence of the well-heeled. She’s in her graduation gown and appears cheerful enough; surely she’s seen Ana.
“Hi, Katherine. How are you?”
“You seem baffled to see me here,” she says, ignoring my greeting and sounding a little affronted. “I’m valedictorian. Didn’t Elliot tell you?”
“No, he didn’t.” We’re not in each other’s pockets, for Christ’s sake. “Congratulations,” I add as a courtesy.
“Thank you.” Her tone is clipped.
“Is Ana here?”
“Soon. She’s coming with her dad.”
“You saw her this morning?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I wanted to know if she made it home in that deathtrap she calls a car.”
“Wanda. She calls it Wanda. And yes, she did.” She gazes at me with a quizzical expression.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
At that point the chancellor joins us, and with a polite smile to Kavanagh, escorts me over to meet the other academics.
I’m relieved that Ana is in one piece, but pissed that she hasn’t replied to any of my messages.
It’s not a good sign.
But I don’t have long to dwell on this discouraging state of affairs—one of the faculty members announces it’s time to begin and herds us out into the corridor.
In a moment of weakness I try Ana’s phone once more. It goes straight to voice mail, and I’m interrupted by Kavanagh. “I’m looking forward to your commencement address,” she says as we walk down the hallway.
When we reach the auditorium I notice it’s larger than I expected, and packed. The audience, as one, rises and applauds as we file onto the stage. The clapping intensifies, then slowly subsides to an expectant buzz as everyone takes their seats.
Once the chancellor begins his welcome address I’m able to scan the room. The front rows are filled with students, in identical black-and-red WSU robes. Where is she? Methodically I inspect each row.
There you are.
I find her huddled in the second row. She’s alive. I feel foolish for expending so much anxiety and energy on her whereabouts last night and this morning. Her brilliant blue eyes are wide as they lock with mine, and she shifts in her seat, a slow flush coloring her cheeks.
Yes. I’ve found you. And you haven’t replied to my messages. She’s avoiding me and I’m pissed. Really pissed. Closing my eyes, I imagine dripping hot wax onto her breasts and her squirming beneath me. This has a radical effect on my body.
Shit.
Get it together, Grey.
Dismissing her from my mind, I marshal my lascivious thoughts and concentrate on the speeches.
Kavanagh gives an inspiring address about embracing opportunities—yes, carpe diem, Kate—and gets a rousing reception when she’s finished. She’s obviously smart and popular and confident. Not the shy and retiring wallflower that is the lovely Miss Steele. It really amazes me that these two are friends.
