Grey
Page 78
When we finish he asks, “What gives? You’re distracted, man.”
“Life. You know,” I answer with an air of indifference.
“Sure. You’re back in Seattle this week?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. We’ll straighten you out.”
AS I JOG BACK to the apartment I remember the housewarming present for Ana. I text Elliot.
What’s Ana and Kate’s address?
I want to surprise them with a present.
He texts me back an address and I forward it to Andrea. As I’m riding in the elevator up to the penthouse, Andrea texts me back.
Champagne and balloon sent. A.
Taylor hands me a package when I arrive back at the apartment. “This came for you, Mr. Grey.”
Oh yes. I recognize the anonymous wrapping: it’s the riding crop.
“Thanks.”
“Mrs. Jones said she’d be back tomorrow, late afternoon.”
“Okay. I think that’s all for today, Taylor.”
“Very good, sir,” he says with a polite smile, and returns to his office. Taking the crop, I stroll into my bedroom. This will be the perfect introduction to my world: by her own admission Ana has no sphere of reference with regard to corporal punishment, except the spanking I gave her that night. And that turned her on. With the crop, I’ll have to take it slow and make it pleasurable.
Really pleasurable. The riding crop is perfect. I’ll prove to her that the fear is in her head. Once she gets comfortable with this, we can move on.
I hope we can move on …
We’ll take it slow. And we’ll only do what she can handle. If this is going to work we’re going to have to go at her pace. Not mine.
I take one more look at the crop and put it in my closet for tomorrow.
AS I FLIP OPEN my laptop to start work my phone rings. I hope it’s Ana, but it’s disappointingly Elena.
Was I supposed to call her?
“Hello, Christian. How are you?”
“Good, thanks.”
“You’re back from Portland?”
“Yes.”
“Fancy dinner tonight?”
“Not tonight. Mia’s just in from Paris and I’ve been ordered home.”
“Ah. By Mama Grey. How is she?”
“Mama Grey? She’s good. I think. Why? What do you know that I don’t?”
“I was just asking, Christian. Don’t be so touchy.”
“I’ll call you next week. Maybe we can do dinner then.”
“Good. You’ve been off the radar for a while. And I’ve met a woman who I think might meet your needs.”
So have I.
I ignore her comment. “I’ll see you next week. Good-bye.”
As I shower I wonder if having to chase Ana has made her more interesting…or is it Ana herself?
DINNER HAS BEEN FUN. My sister is back, the princess she’s always been, the rest of the family merely her minions, wrapped around her little finger. With all her children home, Grace is in her element; she’s cooked Mia’s favorite meal—buttermilk fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy.
I have to say, it’s one of my favorites, too.
“Tell me about Anastasia,” Mia demands as we sit around the kitchen table. Elliot leans back in his chair and rests his hands behind his head.
“This I have to hear. You know she popped his cherry?”
“Elliot!” Grace scolds, and swats him with a dish towel.
“Ow!” He fends her off.
I roll my eyes at all of them. “I met a girl.” I shrug. “End of story.”
“You can’t just say that!” Mia objects, pouting.
“Mia, I think he can. And he just did.” Carrick gives her a reproving paternal stare over his glasses.
“You’ll all meet her at dinner tomorrow, won’t we, Christian?” Grace says with a pointed smile.
Oh, fuck.
“Kate’s coming,” Elliot goads.
Fucking stirrer. I glare at him.
“I can’t wait to meet her. She sounds awesome!” Mia bounces up and down in her chair.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, wondering if there’s any way I can wriggle out of dinner tomorrow.
“Elena was asking after you, darling,” Grace says.
“She was?” I affect an uninterested air, developed over years of practice.
“Yes. She says she hasn’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been in Portland on business. Speaking of which, I should get going—I have an important call tomorrow and I need to prepare.”
“But you’ve not had dessert. And it’s apple cobbler.”
Hmm…tempting. But if I stay they’ll quiz me about Ana. “I have to go. I have work to do.”
“Darling, you work too hard,” Grace says, as she starts from her chair.
“Don’t get up, Mom. I’m sure Elliot will help with the dishes after dinner.”
“What?” Elliot scowls. I wink at him, say my good-byes, and turn to leave.
“But we’ll see you tomorrow?” Grace asks, too much hope in her voice.
“We’ll see.”
Shit. It looks like Anastasia Steele is going to meet my family.
I don’t know how I feel about this.
SUNDAY, MAY 29, 2011
With the Rolling Stones’ “Shake Your Hips” blasting in my ears, I sprint down Fourth Avenue and turn right on Vine. It’s 6:45 in the morning, and it’s downhill all the way…to her apartment. I’m drawn; I just want to see where she lives.
It’s between control freak and stalker.
I chuckle to myself. I’m just running. It’s a free country.
The apartment block is a nondescript redbrick, with dark green painted window frames typical of the area. It’s in a good location near the intersection of Vine Street and Western. I imagine Ana curled up in her bed under her comforter and her cream-and-blue quilt.
I run several blocks and turn down into the market; the vendors are setting up for business. I dodge between the fruit and vegetable trucks and the refrigerated vans delivering the catch of the day. This is the heart of the city—vibrant, even this early on a gray, cool morning. The water on the Sound is a glassy leaden color, matching the sky. But it does nothing to dampen my spirits.
Today’s the day.
AFTER MY SHOWER I don jeans and a linen shirt, and from my chest of drawers I take out a hair tie. I slip it into my pocket and head into my study to e-mail Ana.
“Life. You know,” I answer with an air of indifference.
“Sure. You’re back in Seattle this week?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. We’ll straighten you out.”
AS I JOG BACK to the apartment I remember the housewarming present for Ana. I text Elliot.
What’s Ana and Kate’s address?
I want to surprise them with a present.
He texts me back an address and I forward it to Andrea. As I’m riding in the elevator up to the penthouse, Andrea texts me back.
Champagne and balloon sent. A.
Taylor hands me a package when I arrive back at the apartment. “This came for you, Mr. Grey.”
Oh yes. I recognize the anonymous wrapping: it’s the riding crop.
“Thanks.”
“Mrs. Jones said she’d be back tomorrow, late afternoon.”
“Okay. I think that’s all for today, Taylor.”
“Very good, sir,” he says with a polite smile, and returns to his office. Taking the crop, I stroll into my bedroom. This will be the perfect introduction to my world: by her own admission Ana has no sphere of reference with regard to corporal punishment, except the spanking I gave her that night. And that turned her on. With the crop, I’ll have to take it slow and make it pleasurable.
Really pleasurable. The riding crop is perfect. I’ll prove to her that the fear is in her head. Once she gets comfortable with this, we can move on.
I hope we can move on …
We’ll take it slow. And we’ll only do what she can handle. If this is going to work we’re going to have to go at her pace. Not mine.
I take one more look at the crop and put it in my closet for tomorrow.
AS I FLIP OPEN my laptop to start work my phone rings. I hope it’s Ana, but it’s disappointingly Elena.
Was I supposed to call her?
“Hello, Christian. How are you?”
“Good, thanks.”
“You’re back from Portland?”
“Yes.”
“Fancy dinner tonight?”
“Not tonight. Mia’s just in from Paris and I’ve been ordered home.”
“Ah. By Mama Grey. How is she?”
“Mama Grey? She’s good. I think. Why? What do you know that I don’t?”
“I was just asking, Christian. Don’t be so touchy.”
“I’ll call you next week. Maybe we can do dinner then.”
“Good. You’ve been off the radar for a while. And I’ve met a woman who I think might meet your needs.”
So have I.
I ignore her comment. “I’ll see you next week. Good-bye.”
As I shower I wonder if having to chase Ana has made her more interesting…or is it Ana herself?
DINNER HAS BEEN FUN. My sister is back, the princess she’s always been, the rest of the family merely her minions, wrapped around her little finger. With all her children home, Grace is in her element; she’s cooked Mia’s favorite meal—buttermilk fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy.
I have to say, it’s one of my favorites, too.
“Tell me about Anastasia,” Mia demands as we sit around the kitchen table. Elliot leans back in his chair and rests his hands behind his head.
“This I have to hear. You know she popped his cherry?”
“Elliot!” Grace scolds, and swats him with a dish towel.
“Ow!” He fends her off.
I roll my eyes at all of them. “I met a girl.” I shrug. “End of story.”
“You can’t just say that!” Mia objects, pouting.
“Mia, I think he can. And he just did.” Carrick gives her a reproving paternal stare over his glasses.
“You’ll all meet her at dinner tomorrow, won’t we, Christian?” Grace says with a pointed smile.
Oh, fuck.
“Kate’s coming,” Elliot goads.
Fucking stirrer. I glare at him.
“I can’t wait to meet her. She sounds awesome!” Mia bounces up and down in her chair.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, wondering if there’s any way I can wriggle out of dinner tomorrow.
“Elena was asking after you, darling,” Grace says.
“She was?” I affect an uninterested air, developed over years of practice.
“Yes. She says she hasn’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been in Portland on business. Speaking of which, I should get going—I have an important call tomorrow and I need to prepare.”
“But you’ve not had dessert. And it’s apple cobbler.”
Hmm…tempting. But if I stay they’ll quiz me about Ana. “I have to go. I have work to do.”
“Darling, you work too hard,” Grace says, as she starts from her chair.
“Don’t get up, Mom. I’m sure Elliot will help with the dishes after dinner.”
“What?” Elliot scowls. I wink at him, say my good-byes, and turn to leave.
“But we’ll see you tomorrow?” Grace asks, too much hope in her voice.
“We’ll see.”
Shit. It looks like Anastasia Steele is going to meet my family.
I don’t know how I feel about this.
SUNDAY, MAY 29, 2011
With the Rolling Stones’ “Shake Your Hips” blasting in my ears, I sprint down Fourth Avenue and turn right on Vine. It’s 6:45 in the morning, and it’s downhill all the way…to her apartment. I’m drawn; I just want to see where she lives.
It’s between control freak and stalker.
I chuckle to myself. I’m just running. It’s a free country.
The apartment block is a nondescript redbrick, with dark green painted window frames typical of the area. It’s in a good location near the intersection of Vine Street and Western. I imagine Ana curled up in her bed under her comforter and her cream-and-blue quilt.
I run several blocks and turn down into the market; the vendors are setting up for business. I dodge between the fruit and vegetable trucks and the refrigerated vans delivering the catch of the day. This is the heart of the city—vibrant, even this early on a gray, cool morning. The water on the Sound is a glassy leaden color, matching the sky. But it does nothing to dampen my spirits.
Today’s the day.
AFTER MY SHOWER I don jeans and a linen shirt, and from my chest of drawers I take out a hair tie. I slip it into my pocket and head into my study to e-mail Ana.
