fifty shades darker (49 page)

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Inspiration

Date:
June 15, 2011 16:33

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

Ah . . . your twitchy palms can’t stay still for long, can they?

I wonder what Dr. Flynn would say about that?

But now I know what to give you for your birthday—and I hope it makes me sore . . .

;)

A x

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Angina

Date:
June 15, 2011 16:38

To:
Anastasia Steele

Miss Steele

I don’t think my heart could stand the strain of another e-mail like that, or my pants for that matter.

Behave.

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Trying

Date:
June 15, 2011 16:42

To:
Christian Grey

Christian

I am trying to work for my very trying boss.

Please stop bothering me and being trying yourself.

Your last e-mail nearly made me combust.

xPS: Can you collect me at 6:30?

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
I’ll Be There

Date:
June 15, 2011 16:38

To:
Anastasia Steele

Nothing would give me greater pleasure.

Actually, I can think of any of number of things that would give me greater pleasure, and they all involve you.

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I flush reading his response and shake my head. E-mail banter is all well and good, but we really need to talk. Perhaps once we’ve seen Flynn. I put my Blackberry down and finish my petty cash reconciliation.

By six fifteen, the office is deserted. I have everything ready for Jack. His cab to the airport is booked, and I just have to hand him his documents. I glance anxiously through the glass, but he’s still deep in his telephone call, and I don’t want to interrupt him—not in the mood he’s in today.

As I wait for him to finish, it occurs to me that I have not eaten today. Oh shit, that’s not going to go down well with Fifty. I quickly skip down to the kitchen to see if there are any cookies left.

As I’m opening the communal cookie jar, Jack appears unexpectedly in the kitchen doorway, startling me.

Oh. What’s he doing here?

He stares at me. “Well, Ana, I think this might be a good time to discuss your misdemeanors.” He steps in, closing the door behind him, and my mouth instantly dries as alarm bells ring loud and piercing in my head.

Oh fuck.

His lips twitch into a grotesque smile, and his eyes gleam a deep, dark cobalt. “At last, I have you on your own,” he says, and he slowly licks his lower lip.

What?

“Now . . . are you going to be a good girl and listen very carefully to what I say?”

Jack’s eyes flash the darkest blue, and he sneers as he casts a leering look down my body.

Fear chokes me. What is this? What does he want? From somewhere deep inside and despite my dry mouth, I find the resolve and courage to squeeze out some words, my self-defense class keep-them-talking mantra circling my brain like an ethereal sentinel.

“Jack, now might not be a good time for this. Your cab is due in ten minutes, and I need to give you all your documents.” My voice is quiet but hoarse, betraying me.

He smiles, and it’s a despotic fuck-you smile that finally touches his eyes. They glint in the harsh fluorescent glow of the strip light above us in the drab windowless room. He takes a step toward me, glaring at me, his eyes never leaving mine. His pupils are dilating as I watch—the black eclipsing the blue. Oh no. My fear escalates.

“You know I had to fight with Elizabeth to give you this job . . .” His voice trails off as he takes another step toward me, and I step back against the dingy wall cupboards.
Keep-him-talking, keep-him-talking, keep-him-talking.

“Jack, what exactly is your problem? If you want to air your grievances, then perhaps we should ask HR to get involved. We could do this with Elizabeth in a more formal setting.”Where is security? Are they in the building yet?

“We don’t need HR to overmanage this situation Ana,” he sneers. “When I hired you, I thought you would be a hard worker. I thought you had potential. But now, I don’t know.

You’ve become distracted and sloppy. And I wondered . . . is it your
boyfriend
who’s leading you astray?” He says
boyfriend
with chilling contempt.

“I decided to check through your e-mail account to see if I could find any clues. And you know what I found, Ana? What was out of place? The only personal e-mails in your account were to your hot-shot boyfriend.” He pauses, assessing my reaction. “And I got to thinking . . . where are the e-mails from him? There are none. Nada. Nothing. So what’s going on, Ana? How come his e-mails to you aren’t on our system? Are you some company spy, planted in here by Grey’s organization? Is that what this is?”

Holy shit, the e-mails.
Oh no.
What have I said?

“Jack, what are you talking about?” I try for bewildered, and I’m pretty convincing.

This conversation is not going as I expected, but I don’t trust him in the slightest. Some subliminal pheromone that Jack is exuding has me on high alert. This man is angry, volatile, and totally unpredictable. I try to reason with him.

“You just said that you had to persuade Elizabeth to hire me. So how could I be planted as a spy? Make up your mind, Jack.”

“But Grey fucked the New York trip, didn’t he?”

Oh shit.

“How did he manage that, Ana? What did your rich, Ivy League boyfriend do?”

What little blood remains in my face drains away, and I think I’m going to faint. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack,” I whisper. “Your cab will be here shortly.

Shall I fetch your things?” Oh please, let me go. Stop this.

Jack continues, enjoying my discomfort. “And he thinks I’d make a pass at you?” He smirks and his eyes heat. “Well, I want you to think about something while I’m in New York. I gave you this job, and I expect you to show me some gratitude. In fact, I’m entitled to it. I had to fight to get you. Elizabeth wanted someone better qualified, but I—I saw something in you. So, we need to work out a deal. A deal where you keep me happy. D’you understand what I’m saying, Ana?”

Fuck!

“Look at it as refining your job description, if you like. And if you keep me happy, I won’t dig any further into how your boyfriend is pulling strings, milking his contacts, or cashing in some favor from one of his Ivy League frat-boy sycophants.”

My mouth drops open.
He’s blackmailing me. For sex!
And what can I say? News of Christian’s takeover is embargoed for another three weeks. I can barely believe this. Sex—

with me!

Jack moves closer until he’s standing right in front of me, staring down into my eyes.

His cloying sweet cologne invades my nostrils—it’s nauseating—and if I’m not mistaken, the bitter stench of alcohol is on his breath.
Fuck, he’s been drinking . . . when?

“You are such a tight-assed, cock-blocking, prick tease, you know, Ana,” he whispers through clenched teeth.

What? Prick tease . . . Me?

“Jack, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I whisper, as I feel the adrenaline surge through my body. He’s closer now. I am waiting to make my move. Ray will be proud. Ray taught me what to do. Ray knows his self-defense. If Jack touches me—if he even breathes too close to me—I will take him down. My breath is shallow.
I must not faint,
I must not faint.

“Look at you.” He gives me a leering look. “You’re so turned on, I can tell. You’ve really led me on. Deep down you want it. I know.”

Holy fuck.
The man is completely delusional. My fear rises to defcon one, threatening to overwhelm me. “No, Jack. I have never led you on.”

“You have, you prick-teasing bitch. I can read the signs.” Reaching up, he gently strokes my face with the back of his knuckles, down to my chin. His index finger strokes my throat, and my heart leaps into my mouth as I fight my gag reflex. He reaches the dip at the base of my neck, where the top button of my black shirt is open, and presses his hand against my chest.

“You want me. Admit it, Ana.”

Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on his and concentrating on what I have to do—rather than my mushrooming revulsion and dread—I place my hand gently over his in a caress.

He smiles in triumph. I grab his little finger, and twist it back, pulling it sharply down backward to his hip.

“Arrgh!” he cries out in pain and surprise, and as he leans off balance, I bring my knee, swift and hard, up into his groin, and make perfect contact with my goal. I dodge deftly to my left as his knees buckle, and he collapses with a groan onto the kitchen floor, grasping himself between his legs.

“Don’t you ever touch me again,” I snarl at him. “Your itinerary and the brochures are packaged on my desk. I am going home now. Have a nice trip. And in the future, get your own damn coffee.”

“You fucking bitch!” he half screams, half groans at me, but I am already out the door.

I run full pelt to my desk, grab my jacket and my purse, and dash to front reception, ignoring the moans and curses emanating from the bastard still prostrate on the kitchen floor.

I burst out of the building and stop for a moment as the cool air hits my face, take a deep breath, and compose myself. But I haven’t eaten all day, and as the very unwelcome surge of adrenaline recedes, my legs give out beneath me and I sink to the ground.

I watch with mild detachment the slow motion movie that plays out in front of me: Christian and Taylor in dark suits and white shirts, leaping out of the waiting car and running toward me. Christian sinks to his knees at my side, and on some unconscious level, all I can think is:
He’s here. My love is here.

“Ana, Ana! What’s wrong?” He scoops me into his lap, running his hands up and down my arms, checking for any signs of injury. Grabbing my head between his hands, he stares with wide, terrified, gray eyes into mine. I sag against him, suddenly overwhelmed with relief and fatigue. Oh, Christian’s arms. There is no place I’d rather be.

“Ana.” He shakes me gently. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

I shake my head as I realize I need to start communicating.

“Jack,” I whisper, and I sense rather than see Christian’s swift glance at Taylor, who abruptly disappears into the building.

“Fuck!” Christian enfolds me in his arms. “What did that sleazeball do to you?”

And from somewhere just the right side of crazy, a giggle bubbles in my throat. I recall Jack’s utter shock as I grabbed his finger.

“It’s what I did to him.” I start giggling and I can’t stop.

“Ana!” Christian shakes me again, and my giggling fit ceases. “Did he touch you?”

“Only once.”

I feel Christian’s muscles bunch and tense as rage sweeps through him, and he stands up swiftly, powerfully—rock steady—with me in his arms. He’s furious.
No!