I’d like to award another A.
The first one was so well deserved. ;)
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Her response is not as immediate, and feeling a little crestfallen, I turn away and decide to go on my run. But as I open the door the ping from my inbox pulls me back.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Internet Research
Date: May 23 2011 17:59
To: Christian Grey
Mr. Grey,
What would you suggest I put into a search engine?
Ana
Shit! Why didn’t I think about this? I could have given her some books. Numerous websites spring to mind—but I don’t want to frighten her off.
Perhaps she should start with the most vanilla…
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Internet Research
Date: May 23 2011 18:02
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele,
Always start with Wikipedia.
No more e-mails unless you have questions.
Understood?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I get up from my desk, thinking she won’t respond, but as usual she surprises me and does. I can’t resist.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Bossy!
Date: May 23 2011 18:04
To: Christian Grey
Yes…Sir.
You are so bossy.
Ana
Damned right, baby.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: In Control
Date: May 23 2011 18:06
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia, you have no idea.
Well, maybe an inkling now.
Do the work.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Show some restraint, Grey. Before she can distract me again, I’m out the door. With the Foo Fighters blaring in my ears I run to the river; I’ve seen the Willamette at dawn, now I want to see it at dusk. It’s a fine evening: couples are walking by the riverside, some sitting on the grass, and a few tourists are cycling up and down the concourse. I avoid them, the music blasting in my ears.
Miss Steele has questions. She is still in the game—this is not a “no.” Our e-mail exchange has given me hope. As I run under the Hawthorne Bridge I reflect on how at ease she is with the written word, more so than when she’s speaking. Maybe this is her preferred medium of expression. Well, she has been studying English literature. I’m hoping that by the time I get back there’ll be another e-mail, maybe with questions, maybe with some more of her sassy banter.
Yeah. That’s something to look forward to.
As I sprint down Main Street I dare to hope that she’ll accept my proposition. The thought is exciting, invigorating even, and I pick up my pace, sprinting back to The Heathman.
IT’S 8:15 WHEN I sit back in my dining chair. I’ve eaten the wild Oregon salmon for dinner, courtesy of Miss Dark, Dark Eyes again, and I still have half a glass of Sancerre to finish. My laptop is open and powered up, should any important e-mails arrive. I pick up the report that I’ve printed out, on the brownfield sites in Detroit. “It would have to be Detroit,” I grumble out loud, and start to read.
A few minutes later, I hear a ping.
It’s an e-mail with “Shocked of WSUV” written in the subject line. The heading makes me sit up.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Shocked of WSUV
Date: May 23 2011 20:33
To: Christian Grey
Okay, I’ve seen enough.
It was nice knowing you.
Ana
Shit!
I read it again.
Fuck.
It’s a “no.” I stare at the screen in disbelief.
That’s it?
No discussion?
Nothing.
Just “It was nice knowing you”?
What. The. Fuck.
I sit back in my chair, dumbfounded.
Nice?
Nice.
NICE.
She thought it was more than nice when her head was thrown back as she came.
Don’t be so hasty, Grey.
Maybe it’s a joke?
Some joke!
I pull my laptop toward me to write a reply.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: NICE?
Date: May 23 2011
To: Anastasia Steele
But as I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys, I can’t think of what to say.
How could she dismiss me so easily?
Her first fuck.
Get it together, Grey. What are your options? Maybe I should pay her a visit, just to make sure it’s a “no.” Maybe I can persuade her otherwise. I certainly don’t know what to say to this e-mail. Perhaps she’s looked at some particularly hardcore sites. Why didn’t I give her a few books? I don’t believe this. She needs to look me in the eye and say no.
Yep. I rub my chin as I formulate a plan, and moments later I’m in my closet, retrieving my tie.
That tie.
This deal isn’t dead yet. From my messenger bag I take some condoms and slide them into the back pocket of my pants, then grab my jacket and a bottle of white wine from the minibar. Damn, it’s a chardonnay—but it will have to do. Snatching my room key, I close the door and head toward the elevator to collect my car from the valet.
AS I PULL UP in the R8 outside the apartment she shares with Kavanagh, I wonder if this is a wise move. I’ve never visited any of my previous submissives at their homes—they always came to me. I’m pushing all the boundaries that I’ve set for myself. Opening the door of the car and climbing out, I’m uneasy; it’s reckless and too presumptuous of me to come here. Then again, I’ve already been here twice, though for only a few minutes. If she does agree, I’ll have to manage her expectations. This won’t happen again.
Getting ahead of yourself, Grey.