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Hello, lovelies! I am so excited to be back!
I apologize for taking SOOO long to update you all, but I've gotten back into my groove, and I am ready to continue Christian's story with Ana!
So, without futher ado, here we go!
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Monday, June 6th 2011
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"Good morning, Mr. Gr-ey..." Andrea trails off when she gets a good hard look at me as I head past the front desk, toward my office. I see her blink spasmodically, blatant shock on her face.
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. "Coffee," I snap instead.
Yes, Andrea. I'm aware I look like utter shit. I got a total of maybe five hours' sleep this entire weekend.
After Ana left me, the nightmares came flaring back with a vengeance unlike ever before. They didn't seem to haunt me only in my subconsciousness either. I was haunted all day every day, and there's a hunger in my belly, deep and clawing, a desire to have her back. A desire stronger than nearly every other desire I've ever had. I've never wanted a woman back so much as I do Ana. I've never wanted a woman back, period.
I am sleep deprived and exhausted in all ways possible. The last thing I want to be doing is going to work on a Monday morning, but fuck it, I'm here now, and the distraction will be good for me.
Andrea brings me my coffee as I'm flipping through the paperwork on my desk.
"Can I read you your itinerary for the week, Sir?" she asks after a quiet, awkward moment. I glance up at her, where she stands at the end of my desk, coffee tray in front of her, hands clasped in front of her. She tries to hide the concern in her expression, but it's thinly veiled and I narrow my eyes at the sight of it.
Revulsion overtakes me. I don't want my staff worried about me. I'm not worth their time for one, and for another, it's none of their fucking business.
"Yes, Andrea."
She runs through meetings and fundraiser dates over the next week or two, I'm not really listening.
"And then, I'm not sure exactly what this one is about, but it's for this Thursday, the ninth. It just says 'Portland - photographer'."
"Shit," I mutter under my breath. I've completely forgotten about the damn photographer's exhibition I'm supposed to go to with Ana until now. Animosity-toward the photographer-and enthralled excitement at the fact that I may get to see Ana again fill me with a buzzing life form I haven't felt for the past two days.
Up until now, I'm been the walking burning man, consumed by fire and fear and memories of my birth mother's abusive pimp, her death, and of Ana. She has frequented my dreams moreso. I can't get her out of my head. Those eyes, that body... And though the dreams bring on a cacophony of shame, regret, and something else that cracks my sternum in half, I'm grateful for them. Because I'm seeing her. My Ana. Possibly.
I realize that if I'm going to stand an incremental chance of seeing her on Thursday, I'm going to need to do some damage control.
"Should I cancel?" Andrea asks now, tentative, finger hovering over the screen of the iPad I hadn't seen her bring in.
"No," I blurt, too urgent.
Chill the fuck out, Grey.
"Find me the best florist in Seattle, please."
"We usually order from Adelaide's. Would you like me to call them for you?"
"No, bring me their number, please. I'll do it myself."
"Yes, Sir."
She leaves, and I pick up the coffee cup and take a sip.
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Ten minutes later, Andrea returns with a note card. She has the florist shop's name and number scrawled in neat block print.
"Just leave it on the desk," I mutter, distracted by the email I'm reading.
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From: Ros Bailey
Subject: SIP Proposal and Land Plot Stats
To: Christian Grey
Date: June 6 2011 7:39
Christian,
I received your thoughts on purchasing SIP yesterday evening. I apologize it took me so long to respond...
This kind of came out of nowhere. Are you sure about this? I've done some research and their finances aren't in great shape, neither is the management. And a lot of overhaul needed. We'd definitely have our work cut out for us...
Also, I have some stats on the land plots. Savannah and Detroit both have their advantages, but when it comes down to it, I think we'd be better to go with Detroit.
Do you have time to meet this morning?
Ros Bailey
VP, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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I can't deny the fact that my heart sinks a bit at her consensus on the land plot. It sounds like we'll be moving ahead with Detroit, and not Savannah. Damn.
On the same token, she doesn't sound too keen on my decision to invest in SIP. Now more than ever, I want to keep an eye on Ana. I want her safe and within easy access... A small voice in the back of my mind reprimands me; tells me that she's none of my concern any longer, that she's left me and that's that.
But the more stubborn, frontal voice in my mind is adamant that I am going to win her back, that Thursday will be my second chance, my do-over. I will make Ana mine again if it kills me, and part of that means buying out SIP.
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From: Christian Grey
Subject: Re: SIP Proposal and Land Plot Stats
To: Ros Bailey
Date: June 6 2011 7:43
Yes, I'm 100% about SIP.
Let's talk about Detroit. Drop by my office when you get the chance.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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Once my email is sent off, I pick up the phone and dial the florist's number Andrea has left me.
"Adelaide's florist shop, Adelaide speaking."
"I need a bouquet of two dozen long-stemmed white roses."
"Certainly, that's no problem, Sir. Can I get a name?"
"Christian Grey."
"C-Christian Gr-rey?" she stammers and I can almost feel the heat on her cheeks searing through the phone lines. I roll my eyes at her obvious discomfort. "And who will you be sending these to?"
"Miss Anastasia Steele." I relay her new address. Welch can be pretty useful.
"Would you like to send a note?"
"Yes." I think it over for a moment. I want to make it personal, but not too intimate. "Congratulations on your first day at work. I hope it went well." I pause, and remember the glider, which, between pacing, brewing, stewing and nightmares, I built over the weekend at my desk. I add, "And thank you for the glider. That was very thoughtful. It has pride of place on my desk. Christian."
There's quiet and key clacking on the other end while she types it down. At the same moment, there's a knock on my door and Ros peeks her head through. I usher her in silently, ignoring how her eyebrows shoot a mile high on her forehead when she sees me.
"Will that be all?" the woman finally asks from the other end, her voice a little faint.
"Yes."
I've barely put the phone back in its cradle when Ros, who has taken a seat in one of the chairs opposite my desk says, "You look like shit, Christian."
This time I indulge in an eye roll.
"Honestly. You look like a walking zombie. Your suit's all askew."
I glance down, seeing that my right lapel is tucked in on itself. I sigh in exasperation and right it. I try to push aside the anticipation bubbling up inside me and focus on the meeting at hand.
I wonder what Ana's reaction to the flowers will be?
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Ana and I are in bed at the Heathman. I'm reveling in that just-fucked blissful state, running my fingers over the supple softness of her hip, which arches from beneath the crisp white sheets. Her breasts are on full display, the alabaster perfection of her skin glowing in the dim lamp light...
For an over-permissive moment I allow myself to rake my eyes up her body, every inch of perfection it is. It's better than I remembered.
When my eyes get to her face, those blue eyes are burning into mine, on fire, depthless and the color of the sky.
"Ana..." I whisper, at a loss for words as I lift a hand to her face, tracing my thumb over her lower lip. The lush pink skin gives under my touch.
"Christian," she murmurs back, her voice chiming like church bells, my saving grace, my everything. She blinks softly, her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones. She raises her hand to run her fingers through my hair. I close my eyes at the feeling. "Christian, I love you."
There is no fear in this moment, only perfect bliss.
"Ana, I..." I open my eyes to find hers. She stares back at me, completely open, vulnerable, imploring. "I love you too, Ana."
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Wednesday, June 8th
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Another day, another dollar. That's how the saying goes, isn't it?
I'm sitting at my desk after yet another sleepless night. The dream came to me relatively quickly after I feel asleep, and when it woke me at two in the morning, I couldn't find sleep until five again. I was kept up by the context of my subconsciousness, but moreso the feelings that the dream stirred in me. Which, I suppose, is a good thing. At least, Dr. Flynn would say so.
Pay attention to those feelings, Christian, he would urge me.
I told Ana I loved her, and though it was only a dream, the significance of it is baffling to me. Do I love her? Do I really want to reciprocate those feelings, the proclamation she made to me only four days ago? How was that only four days ago? My life has seemed to change so much over the past few days.
It seems as if the entire universe has shifted on its axis, and I'm left spinning wildly out of control, like an astronaut, untethered, drifting through space without gravity.
I know the only way I'm going to begin to find my center again, is if Ana is there with me.
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I drag myself through most of the day, throwing myself into my work, forcing myself to focus on the tasks at hand. One thing after another, left foot, right foot.
By noon I've heard nothing from Ana about the flowers. Did she even receive them? Did she receive them and decide to ignore me, pretend it didn't happen? Could she be moving on with her life, her new job? Has she met someone?
I groan, pressing my palms to my face and rubbing my eyes. If I only I could stop thinking. It's making my head hurt. Or maybe it's the lack of sleep and too much caffeine.
My phone rings on the desk, and for an instant I think, Ana!
I shake my head at myself and pick up.
"Mr. Grey, your car is here to take you to your lunch meeting with Mr. Kavanagh."
"Thank you, Andrea. I'll be right out."
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When I return to the office, grateful for the distraction I received at the hand of Mr. Kavanagh and his business proposals, the first thing I do is check my email. I skim through my inbox, but I've received nothing from Anastasia.
I glance at the clock. It's just past two now. She would have had to received the flowers by now, and if I am going to accompany her to the photographer's exhibit tomorrow, we're going to need to make driving arrangements. I don't assume she's purchased herself a new car yet, as my check hasn't been deposited. How is she getting to work?
I draw up a new email, enter her new email address, and then just sit there like an idiot, staring at the screen, heart pounding. It's as if I'm preparing to send a "Do you like me? Yes or No" elementary school note down the line.
I take a breath and lower my hands to the keys.
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From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:05
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Anastasia,
Forgive this intrusion at work. I hope that it's going well. Did you get my flowers?
I note that tomorrow is the gallery opening for your friend's show, and I'm sure you've not had time to purchase a car, and it's a long drive. I would be more than happy to take you-should you wish.
Let me know.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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I pause for just a second, and hit send.
I recline back in my chair, raking my hands through my hair and puff air out of my cheeks. There it is. All or nothing. I've put myself out there, now I just hope she responds.
Two minutes pass, another and another, and when fifteen minutes have passed, and I've just sat there through them, I decide to push the email aside and get back to my work, trying to ignore the black hole opening in my chest.
So she's done with me. So she doesn't want to see me again. I'll just have to figure out a way to find balance again.
At the thought, grief crashes over my head like a tsunami and drowns me.
Who the hell am I kidding? I am nothing without Anastasia. I am the shell of a man, a sadist, one fucked up son-of-a-bitch. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I'm going to need to force myself to find some sense of normalcy again. But whatever was normalcy in my life before Anastasia? A procession of subs, business proposals, boring galas and fundraisers... My life was nothing before Ana Steele stepped into it. She's changed me, I realize. More than I've known.
Ping!
Shock, pure and undiluted, lances through me. It's Ana! She's replied!
I open the email, half expecting to find an animistic fuck-off response. Instead, I find something else.
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From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:25
To: Christian Grey
Hi Christian
Thank you for the flowers, they are lovely.
Yes, I would appreciate a lift.
Thank you.
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
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Exaltation floods through me. She said yes!
Suddenly, I'm a man on a mountain.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:27
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Anastasia
What time shall I pick you up?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:32
To: Christian Grey
Jose's show starts at 7:30. What time would you suggest?
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
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Each response from Ana brings more and more settlement back into me, and I am quickly becoming more and more at ease. Not only by the fact that she is responding to me, but she's being amicable, and better yet, docile and allowing me to take the lead. This is familiar and good. Maybe not all hope is lost.
I do some quick calculating.
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From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:34
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Anastasia
Portland is some distance away. I shall pick you up at 5:45.
I look forward to seeing you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Tomorrow
Date: June 8 2011 14:38
To: Christian Grey
See you then.
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
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See you then.
My spirits are soaring, and I coast through the rest of my workday.
That night at dinner, I eat like a horse. Gail stands on the other side of the kitchen island, watching me with a combination of fascination and pleasure.
"I see you're feeling better," she comments as she serves me up a second helping of her turkey pot pie.
I take a sip of wine. "I am. I'm seeing Anastasia tomorrow."
She visibly brightens as she puts the plate in front of me. "That's wonderful. I'm glad you're feeling better, Sir." She smiles softly at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You were starting to worry me."
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We are gliding across the sound in The Grace. Ana stands in front of me at the wheel. I have my arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder, inhaling nosefuls of her delicious, sweet scent. Freesia and sandalwood and soap. Her long hair whips my cheek, and salt water from the ocean sprays around us.
It is a perfect day, not a cloud in sight, and the sun beats its rays on us. Ana's skin is warm. She relaxes into me, hands still on the wheel. I squeeze her closer.
She turns to look at me, those eyes so deep, so blue, and so full of so many emotions.
"I love you, Christian."
I brush my lips against hers.
"I love you too, Anastasia."
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Thursday, June 9th 2011
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I don't know if it's my alarm or if it's the dream that has woken me, but I open my eyes in the early morning light of the next day. It's the longest and the deepest I've slept since Saturday. I feel rested.
For the first time, I have the energy to go on my morning run.
I pull on a pair of running shorts and a black t-shirt.
I grab my iPod and headphones and head down onto the street.
The morning is quiet and crisp for early June. There's a headiness about it. I stand for a moment, taking it all in. Color is beginning to leech its way back into my life again. I hadn't noticed until now just how drab and colorless these last few days have been. It's almost as if I've been resurrected, and tonight? Tonight I'll be reunited with Anastasia, my saving grace.
With Coldplay blasting in my ears, I make my way down the sidewalk, bursting with energy.