Chapter 11

Christian

July 2021

My office door swings open, and I jolt my head up to see who would have the nerve to be barging in like this. "Boss, grab your henchmen. We're going on a field trip," Ros announces.

Jesus H. Christ. I lean back in my chair. "A field trip?"

"Yes. I'm taking matters into my own hands."

"What matters are those, exactly?"

She crosses her arms over her chest and stands directly in front of my desk. "I have been trying to tell you for weeks that our reputation needs a facelift. Or, rather, the reputation of our upper management. Our most upper management."

"I'm only twenty-six, Ros. Surely plastic surgery isn't the only option."

"Christian, you've been to the meetings with public relations, you really don't need me to tell you. You scoff at interviews, you scowl through every public charity event you're seen at, and you're brilliant but fucking ruthless at taking over failing companies. The proposal is that instead of taking over a company, we try to make GEH look like it might be run by humans and show that we're helping to save one."

I feel my eyes narrow. "I'm happy to donate to charity, but I don't fucking run one. If this doesn't work…"

"It also happens to be a potential payout."

I take a deep breath and try to level my tone. "What kind of company?"

"Publishing." I stare at her, blinking a few times. This would make anyone else sweat, but none of my usual tricks work on Ros. She soldiers on. "They're local, they're losing money now because the owner should have retired ten years ago, but they have potential. They just signed some pretty big names and they're good at retaining their authors. It's just shitty management. We can fix that. And then we look benevolent. And then we make a little money."

"We have a mergers and acquisitions team. There's no reason I need to be present."

"They don't need the facelift."

I don't answer. She's been harping on venturing into a company based in the humanities for weeks, and I knew she had it in the works, but I just haven't had the patience for it. I've been in a foul mood ever since my birthday. Ten years of unanswered questions seems like it's all come to a head now, which is frustrating in and of itself. It's not like I'm not fucking used to it. Why the hell is it so… distracting now? Try as I might, I always come back to it.

"And maybe you need to trust your fucking number two once in a while." Irritation finally seeps into her tone.

I sigh. Pissing off Ros really isn't going to make my life any easier. "Fine. Let's go on a fucking field trip. How long is this going to take?"

"An hour or two. They're expecting us. All we have to do is listen to their little spiel and reassure them that we are not cold and calculating and going to ruin everything."

"You do realize this means I'll have to work late."

"Like you wouldn't work late anyway."

Ordinarily, she'd be right, but I was supposed to see Leila tonight. "Why publishing?"

"Gwen works in publishing. I had the inside scoop."

"Let's just get this over with." Maybe she can come later… I press the intercom. "Andrea, I'll be out of office for a few hours."

"Very good, sir."

I text Taylor to bring the car around.

We walk inside Seattle Independent Publishing, greeted by the upwards glance of a startled receptionist. "M-Mr. Grey… Ms. Bailey… we've been expecting you. Uh, can I get you anything?"

"Coffee would be fantastic," Ros answers.

"For me, as well."

She simpers at me, and I just manage not to roll my eyes. Bookworms are not my style. Well, I liked one bookworm… oh, Jesus. Here we fucking go again. "You can go through. Mr. Roach is waiting for you in conference room three. I'll be in with your drinks."

Ros nods politely, and I inspect the building as we walk. It could be worse. It has a contemporary feel to it. I would guess that it's been remodeled within the last decade or so. That's a sign that they had spare cash at one point. Fine. She might be onto something.

The conference room door is closed, so I walk in without knocking. Best to keep them on their toes. There are four people sitting at the table, who all stand when they see me enter. A sweaty, likely well-past retirement age man addresses me first. "Mr. Grey, Ms. Bailey. We're so glad that you're taking an interest in our little operation. I'm Jerry Roach, owner, these are some of my team members. Uh, this is Adam Campbell, marketing manager, Helen Winters, head of human resources, Maya Landry, cover designer, and one of our editors will be joining us in a moment, she had a fire to put out with one of our authors."

A short, scruffy man, an older woman with graying hair, and a young woman with a purple streak in the front of her unnaturally red hair give us polite smiles and we all exchange handshakes. Roach then passes a folder out to each of us and launches into a speech about the value of publishing in a world of technology. Somewhere in the middle, the receptionist comes in with some barely drinkable coffees. Good thing we're not judging them on that. His presentation is well thought-out, though, with his employees adding in details when necessary. It's all very well, but not exactly how I planned to spend my afternoon. I just really don't care. If Ros wants to try this, she can deal with it. I've been seen here, now I can wash my hands of it.

"So, as you can see, the value that a good publisher adds is enough to stand the test of time, even in a world where self-publishing is so much more accessible. We support and empower our authors and in turn, it's reflected in their work." Just as Roach finishes speaking, there's a light knock at the door. I hear it open but don't immediately look up, perusing over the projected numbers for next quarter that was included with the handouts. "Ah, Ms. Bailey, Mr. Grey, this is one of our editors, Anastasia Steele."

I finally look up to see Ros shaking hands with a brunette. A beautiful brunette. Whoa. I can only see part of her profile, but the architecture is impressive already. She's wearing a plain black pencil dress like it was made just for her, her chestnut hair restrained in a high ponytail. As soon as Ros lets go of her hand, she turns to face me.

Holy fucking shit.

Yeah, she's beautiful, but that's not what catches my attention. It's the eyes. The eyes I would know anywhere.

I think my brain short-circuits. Or maybe just straight-up cracks in half.

Anastasia. Anna… Ana?

Is it even possible? Am I completely going off the deep end?

Her wide blue eyes are looking at me with alarm, like the receptionist, but not the same kind. Not the I'm-attracted-to-you kind. The I-can't-believe-I'm-seeing-you-here-right-now kind. Furtively, she looks me up and down. I wonder if she's taking in how much I've changed like I am with her.

She looks healthy. More than healthy. She's gorgeous. She's no longer swimming in her clothes, her face is fuller and not sunken like it used to be, her hair is shiny, her complexion is cream and roses, and she definitely doesn't look like a child anymore. She looks like a normal, beautiful woman in her twenties. You'd never know the hell she went through as a child at a glance.

She blinks a few times, then holds out her hand. "Mr. Grey."

I take it, and if the jolt of electricity that runs up my arm when our skin makes contact is any indication, I've held this hand before. "Miss Steele."

She smiles a small, fleeting smile, so quick that I barely register it, then removes her hand from mine and takes her seat a little ways down the table. "I apologize for my tardiness. I had a call from an author, but everything is taken care of now."

"Ana, we've just about finished things up on our end, and I was about to ask our visitors if they have any questions." ANA. So, it is possible. It's very possible. It's happening.

It's her. It has to be.

He's looking at me, but I honestly didn't hear a word he said past Ana's name. "You know, I think we have everything we need for the moment in this folder you so kindly gave us," Ros answers, saving my ass.

"We'd like to make an offer," I say before I can really think about it.

"Oh, that's splendid!"

"My M&A team will be in touch with a number."

"Well, in that case… welcome to the GEH family," Ros says.

Roach and his employees stand. Oh, God, no, she's about to get away. I'm trying to figure out how to approach her when goddamn Roach approaches me. "Mr. Grey… I just want it to be clear that I'm about to retire. I want to make sure that my employees are in good hands and that the soul of the company is kept in mind. It seems that your company doesn't typically deal with artistic industries…"

"We deal with whatever industries we feel we can innovate. We want very much to see SIP succeed, Mr. Roach, and it's our honor to partner with a local company." Thank God I'm good at bullshitting, but I think you could knock Ros over with a feather right now. I glance around the room and see that Ana appears to have left. No. Not again. "Do you have a restroom I can use before we leave?"

"Oh, yes. Straight past the editors' offices and down the hall."

Editors. Perfect. I follow his instructions, darting my eyes around to make sure everyone's eyes are on their work on not on their new boss's boss's boss looking for his old childhood friend, and I catch her name printed next to one of the doors. Anastasia Steele. Hello, again. Her door is cracked open, so I slip inside and close it behind me.

She's standing by the edge of her desk, paging through a manuscript, which she looks up from at the sound of the door clicking shut. Her eyes widen almost comically, and I swear I catch a hint of the excitement that's coursing through me. "I thought your name was Anna. A-N-N-A," I begin.

Her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. "Oh… not quite. A-N-A."

"You never said your name was Anastasia."

"Christian. I mean…" She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them, they're more… closed-off. Professionally distant. "Mr. Grey. I think I know why you're here, and I assure you, I'm not going to tell anyone about our… former acquaintance."

"Former acquaintance?" I repeat incredulously. "Ana… I'm not even thinking about that. I'm in disbelief. I've thought about you every day for ten years, and here you are just working at a company I'm about to acquire." A million questions keep bubbling up. How long has she been in Seattle? Did she know who I was? Did she not want to be found?

"You… uh, you what?" she stammers. She sets the manuscript down on the desk and leans against it, as if for support.

All the questions pale in comparison to the fact that she's finally the living, breathing creature in front of me again. "Ana. Holy shit, I can't believe it's you." I close the distance between us and pull her into a hug. Her hair smells amazing, like vanilla and jasmine, and I'm so lost in the sensation of having her in my arms that it takes me a second to realize that she's not hugging me back. I pull away, afraid that I overstepped.

"I'm sorry, I really want to hug you back, I just didn't know where was okay to touch now," she laughs nervously. Relief washes through me. The distance has slipped and she's smiling with abandon now. She's happy to see me like I'm happy to see her.

"Same spots," I inform her. She wraps her arms around my neck, just like I showed her ten years ago. I close my eyes and open them again, half-expecting to be staring at my bedroom ceiling because this was really all a dream.

"So… you were right. Your name is on a skyscraper."

I pull back so I can look at her, and she's smiling with what I think is pride. In me. Goddamn, that feels good. "Yeah. That part worked out."

She steps out of my embrace and walks around to the other side of her desk. "Well… it was great seeing you again," she says, a hint of the distance creeping back in. "I'm sure it will be a pleasure to be working under your company."

What the hell? Does she think this is the end? Absolutely not. "Have dinner with me."

"Oh. Uh… really?"

"Really."

She takes an uncomfortably long pause, then puts me out of my misery. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Oh… okay. Where?"

"My place." This will be quite a story to tell Gail. "I'll send you the details. I wish I didn't, but I have to go. I will see you tomorrow. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Christian, I understand." There's that Ana snark.

"We have so much to catch up on." So much lost time.

She stares at me for a moment, like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve. I'm sure I've been looking at her the same way. "I suppose so. See you tomorrow, then."

"I can't wait." It comes out before I can actually decide how cool to play it.

But she smiles, blushing again. "Me neither." I give her one last grin and turn to leave, cursing the fact that we're in the middle of a work day. I want to talk to her now. "Christian?" she says abruptly.

I pause with my hand on the door. "Yes?"

"I… I thought about you, too. Every day."

Pure pleasant warmth feels like it's lazily traveling through my veins. "Tomorrow," I say with promise. With that, I close her door gently behind me, ignoring the stunned stares from her coworkers as they see me exit her office, and join Ros in the lobby.

"Where have you been? That sure didn't look like the bathroom."

"Guess I got lost. Let's get back to work."

"Jesus, who gave you happy pills? Where's your permanent scowl?" she ribs as she slides into the back seat next to me.

"Just on hiatus." I can already feel it returning with each roll of the tires away from her. Tomorrow cannot come fast enough.

For once in my life, I'm genuinely, overwhelmingly looking forward to something.

From: Christian Grey
Subject: Making Up For Lost Time
Date: July 15 2021 19:42
To: Anastasia Steele

Dear A-n-a (not A-n-n-a),

I truly never thought I'd get to write this email. I've never been so happy to be wrong.

I live in Escala. The code for the garage is 189564. You can park in bay three. The elevator code to get to my floor is 1580.

See you tomorrow. I look forward to it.

Your old pal from days of yore,

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

"A childhood friend?" Gail repeats.

I finally press send on the email that's been sitting in my drafts ever since Welch got me her email address and look up. It took forever to decide how to properly phrase my excitement without freaking her out. She agreed readily enough, but God knows what she's thought of me for the last decade. "Yes."

"Oh… how wonderful! That sounds like a lovely reunion. What kinds of things does she like?"

Cake. I have no idea. And I already sent the email. "Whatever you decide to make will be fine." And if it's not, I'll throw it off the balcony and order in whatever she wants.

"Of course, sir."

Taylor clears his throat in the doorway just as Gail collects my empty plate. "Miss Williams is on her way up, sir."

"Thank you." I once thought I looked forward to seeing Leila. I do like her, but it's nothing compared to the comfort I felt with Ana. I wonder if we still have that. Leila and I are… very specific fuck buddies. Ana and I were… true friends. Leila doesn't see me like Ana did.

Am I going to compare every single person I meet to her?

The elevator pings and I hear the sound of her heels clicking, so I go towards the foyer to meet her. "I appreciate your flexibility," I greet.

"No problem, I know you're busy running the world. How's your week been?"

"It's been… enlightening." Unexpected. I opt not to tell her why. Not yet, anyway. "Yours?"

"Eh. Decent. I'm ready to let off some steam."

Yeah, she's always ready. "I'll be there in ten minutes, go get ready."

"Gotcha. Want to play cards afterwards?"

"Not tonight. Early morning."

"Aw, okay," she pouts. "Don't keep me waiting too long, Master."

"We're not in the roles yet, smartass. Just get ready."

I hear her laugh as she goes off down the hall. As I walk to my bedroom, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Days of Yore Coming Back to Haunt Us
Date: July 15 2021 19:53
To: Christian Grey

Dear Christian (or Mr. Grey… what does one call their old friend/new boss?),

I never thought I'd receive this email, nor that it would make my cheeks hurt quite so much.

Thank you for the information. You did make mention of aspiring to own a penthouse back in the glory days. Did I not say you'd do something great?

Until tomorrow,
A-n-a, not A-n-n-a

Funny, my cheeks are hurting, too. I set the phone aside for now, focusing on the evening ahead, while harboring quiet excitement for the one to follow. And oddly enough, this evening's anticipation doesn't hold a candle to tomorrow's.

A/N: I'm doing my best with updates. I know you're anxious to know more, but I only have a few prewritten chapters left, and I have to proofread and edit them before I give them to you. Please be patient with me. Next chapter will be the same day from Ana's perspective so we can check in on what her life is like now, and after that, they'll have dinner together. I know you still have questions, but I promise that a lot of them will be answered in their dinner.

Also, a couple people asked why Christian didn't contact Dr. Webster or just walk further into the building when he couldn't find Ana. Ana wasn't his patient and even if she was, he'd still be bound by HIPAA and unable to tell him anything about her, and centers like that are usually heavily guarded and obviously private property, so I don't think it's realistic that he'd be able to just do that. And not sure if I mentioned this, but since this is fiction, we're pretending the pandemic didn't happen.