Mr. Grey—I am trying to work for a living—and it’s you that will be begging.
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Bring It On!
Date: June 10 2011 08:36
To: Anastasia Steele
Why, Miss Steele, I love a challenge …
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I sit grinning at the screen like an idiot. But I need to read these chapters for Jack and write reports on all of them. Placing the manuscripts on my desk, I begin.
At lunchtime I head to the deli for a pastrami sandwich and listen to the playlist on my iPad. First up there’s Nitin Sawhney, some world music called “Homelands”—it’s good. Mr. Grey has eclectic taste in music. I wander back listening to a classical piece, Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis by Ralph Vaughn Williams. Oh, Fifty has a sense of humor, and I love him for it. Will this stupid grin ever leave my face?
The afternoon drags. I decide, in an unguarded moment, to e-mail Christian.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Bored …
Date: June 10 2011 16:05
To: Christian Grey
Twiddling my thumbs.
How are you?
What are you doing?
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your thumbs
Date: June 10 2011 16:15
To: Anastasia Steele
You should have come to work for me.
You wouldn’t be twiddling your thumbs.
I am sure I could put them to better use.
In fact I can think of a number of options …
I am doing the usual humdrum mergers and acquisitions.
It’s all very dry.
Your e-mails at SIP are monitored.
Christian Grey
Distracted CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Oh, shit. I had no idea. How the hell does he know? I scowl at the screen and quickly check the e-mails we’ve sent, deleting them as I do.
Promptly at five thirty, Jack is at my desk. It is Casual Friday so he’s wearing jeans and a black shirt..
“Drink, Ana? We usually like to go for a quick one at the bar across the street.”
“We?” I ask, hopeful.
“Yeah, most of us go … you coming?”
For some unknown reason, which I don’t want to examine too closely, relief floods through me.
“I’d love to. What’s the bar called?”
“Fifty’s.”
“You’re kidding.”
He looks at me oddly. “No. Some significance for you?”
“No, sorry. I’ll join you over there.”
“What would you like to drink?”
“A beer, please.”
“Cool.”
I make my way to the powder room and e-mail Christian from the BlackBerry.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: You’ll Fit Right In
Date: June 10 2011 17:36
To: Christian Grey
We are going to a bar called Fifty’s.
The rich seam of humor that I could mine from this is endless.
I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Grey.
A. x
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Hazards
Date: June 10 2011 17:38
To: Anastasia Steele
Mining is a very, very dangerous occupation.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Hazards?
Date: June 10 2011 17:40
To: Christian Grey
And your point is?
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Merely …
Date: June 10 2011 17:42
To: Anastasia Steele
Making an observation, Miss Steele.
I’ll see you shortly.
Sooners rather than laters, baby.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I check myself in the mirror. What a difference a day can make. I have more color in my cheeks, and my eyes are shining. It’s the Christian Grey effect. A little e-mail sparring with him will do that to a girl. I grin at the mirror and straighten my pale blue shirt—the one Taylor bought me. I am wearing my favorite jeans today, too. Most of the women in the office wear either jeans or floaty skirts. I will need to invest in a floaty skirt or two. Perhaps I’ll do that this weekend and bank the check Christian gave me for Wanda, my Beetle.
As I head out of the building, I hear my name called.
“Miss Steele?”
I turn expectantly, and an ashen young woman approaches me cautiously. She looks like a ghost—so pale and strangely blank.
“Miss Anastasia Steele?” she repeats, and her features stay static even though she’s speaking.
“Yes?”
She stops, staring at me from about three feet away on the sidewalk, and I stare back, immobilized. Who is she? What does she want?
“Can I help you?” I ask. How does she know my name?
“No … I just wanted to look at you.” Her voice is eerily soft. Like me, she has dark hair that starkly contrasts with her fair skin. Her eyes are brown, like bourbon, but flat. There’s no life in them at all. Her beautiful face is pale, and etched with sorrow.
“Sorry—you have me at a disadvantage,” I say, trying to ignore the warning tingle up my spine. On closer inspection, she looks odd, disheveled, and uncared for. Her clothes are two sizes too big, including her designer trench coat.
She laughs, a strange, discordant sound that only feeds my anxiety.
“What do you have that I don’t?” she asks sadly.
My anxiety turns to fear. “I’m sorry—who are you?”
“Me? I’m nobody.” She lifts her arm to drag her hand through her shoulder length hair, and as she does, the sleeve of her trench coat rides up, revealing a soiled bandage around her wrist.
Holy fuck.
“Good day, Miss Steele.” Turning, she walks up the street as I stand rooted to the spot. I watch as her slight frame disappears from view, lost among the workers pouring out of their various offices.
What was that about?
Confused, I cross the street to the bar, trying to assimilate what has just happened, while my subconscious rears her ugly head and hisses at me—She has something to do with Christian.
Fifty’s is a cavernous, impersonal bar with baseball pennants and posters hanging on the wall. Jack is at the bar with Elizabeth; Courtney, the other Editor; two guys from Finance; and Claire from Reception. She is wearing her trademark silver hoop earrings.
“Hi, Ana!” Jack hands me a bottle of Bud.
“Cheers … thank you,” I murmur, still shaken by my encounter with Ghost Girl.
“Cheers.” We clink bottles, and he continues his conversation with Elizabeth. Claire smiles sweetly at me.
“So, how has your first week been?” she asks.
“Good, thank you. Everyone seems very friendly.”
“You seem much happier today.”
“It’s Friday,” I mutter quickly. “So—do you have any plans this weekend?”