Chapter Fifteen
　　I am too warm. Christian warm. His head is on my shoulder, and he’s
　　breathing softly on my neck while he sleeps, his legs threaded through mine,
　　his arm around my waist. I linger on the edge of consciousness, aware that if
　　I wake fully I’ll wake him, too, and he doesn’t sleep enough. Hazily my mind
　　wanders through the events of yesterday evening. I drank too much—boy did
　　I drink too much. I’m amazed Christian let me. I smile as I remember him
　　putting me to bed. That was sweet, real sweet, and unexpected. I conduct a
　　quick mental inventory of how I’m feeling. Stomach? Fine. Head?
　　Surprisingly, fine, but fuzzy. My palm is still red from last night. Sheesh. Idly I
　　think about Christian’s palms when he’s spanked me. I squirm and he
　　wakes.
　　“What’s wrong?” Sleepy gray eyes search mine.
　　“Nothing. Good morning.” I run the fingers of my uninjured hand through his
　　hair.
　　“Mrs. Grey, you look lovely this morning,” he says, kissing my cheek, and I
　　light up from within.
　　“Thank you for taking care of me last night.”
　　“I like taking care of you. It’s what I want to do,” he says quietly, but his eyes
　　betray him as triumph flares in their gray depths. It’s like he’s won the World
　　Series or the Super Bowl.
　　Oh, my Fifty.
　　“You make me feel cherished.”
　　“That’s because you are,” he murmurs and my heart clenches. He reaches up
　　to clasp my hand.
　　I wince. Christian releases me immediately, alarmed. “The punch?”
　　he asks. His eyes frost as he scrutinizes mine, and his voice is laced with
　　sudden anger.
　　“I slapped him. I didn’t punch him.”
　　“That fucker!”
　　I thought we’d dealt with this last night.
　　“I can’t bear that he touched you.”
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　　“He didn’t hurt me, he was just inappropriate. Christian, I’m okay. My hand’s
　　a little red, that’s all. Surely you know what that’s like?” I smirk, and his
　　expression changes to one of amused surprise.
　　“Why, Mrs. Grey, I am very familiar with that.” His lips twist in amusement. “I
　　could reacquaint myself with that feeling this minute, should you so wish.”
　　“Oh, stow your twitching palm, Mr. Grey.” I stroke his face with the injured
　　hand, my fingers caressing his sideburn. Gently I tug the little hairs. It
　　distracts him, and he takes my hand and plants a tender kiss in my palm.
　　Miraculously, the pain disappears.
　　“Why didn’t you tell me this hurt last night?”
　　“Um . . . I didn’t really feel it last night. It’s okay now.”
　　His eyes soften and his mouth twists. “How are you feeling?”
　　“Better than I deserve.”
　　“That’s quite a right arm you have there, Mrs. Grey.”
　　“You’d do well to remember that, Mr. Grey.”
　　“Oh really?” He rolls suddenly so that he’s fully on top of me, pressing me into
　　the mattress, holding my wrists above my head. He gazes down at me.
　　“I’d fight you any day, Mrs. Grey. In fact, subduing you in bed is a fantasy of
　　mine.” He kisses my throat.
　　What?
　　“I thought you subdued me all the time.” I gasp as he nibbles my earlobe.
　　“Hmm . . . but I’d like some resistance,” he murmurs, his nose skirting my jaw.
　　Resistance? I still. He stops, releasing my hands, and leans up on his
　　elbows.
　　“You want me to fight you? Here?” I whisper, trying to contain my surprise.
　　Okay—my shock. He nods, his eyes hooded but wary as he gauges my
　　reaction.
　　“Now?”
　　He shrugs, and I see the idea flit through his mind. He gives me his shy smile
　　and nods again, slowly.
　　Oh my . . . He’s tensed, lying on top of me, his growing erection digging
　　tantalizingly into my soft, willing flesh, distracting me. What’s this about?
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　　shakes her head— Never. She’s got her karate suit on and she’s limbering
　　up. Claude would be pleased.
　　“Is this what you meant about coming to bed angry?”
　　He nods once more, his eyes still wary.
　　Hmm . . . my Fifty wants to rumble.
　　“Don’t bite your lip,” he warns.
　　Compliantly, I release my lip. “I think you have me at a disadvantage, Mr.
　　Grey.” I bat my lashes and squirm provocatively beneath him. This could be
　　fun.
　　“Disadvantage?”
　　“Surely you’ve already got me where you want me?”
　　He smirks and presses his groin into mine once more.
　　“Good point well made, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers and quickly kisses my lips.
　　Abruptly he shifts and takes me with him, rolling over so I’m straddling him. I
　　grab his hands, pinning them to the side of his head, and ignore the
　　protesting ache from my hand. My hair falls in a chestnut veil around us, and I
　　move my head so that the strands tickle his face. He jerks his face away but
　　doesn’t try to stop me.
　　“So, you want to play rough?” I ask, skimming my crotch over his. His mouth
　　opens and he inhales sharply.
　　“Yes.” He hisses, and I release him.
　　“Wait.” I reach over for the glass of water beside the bed. Christian must
　　have left it here. It’s cool and sparkling—too cool to have been sitting here for
　　long. Briefly, I wonder when he came to bed. As I take a long draught,
　　Christian reaches forward and runs his hands up from my knees. His fingers
　　trail in small circles over my thighs, leaving tingling skin in their wake as they
　　travel to my naked behind. He cups and squeezes me. Hmm. Taking a leaf
　　from his impressive repertoire, I lean forward and kiss him, pouring clear
　　cool water into his mouth. He drinks.
　　“Very tasty, Mrs. Grey,” he murmurs and grins up at me, boyish and playful.
　　Placing the glass back on the bedside table, I then remove his hands from
　　my backside and pin them by his head once more.
　　“So I’m supposed to be unwilling?” I smirk.
　　“Yes.”
　　“I’m not much of an actress.”
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　　He grins. “Try.”
　　I lean down and kiss him chastely. “Okay, I’ll play,” I whisper, trailing my teeth
　　along his jaw, feeling his prickly stubble beneath my teeth and my tongue.
　　Christian makes a low, sexy sound in his throat and moves, tossing me onto
　　the bed beside him. I cry out in surprise, then he’s on top of me, and I start to
　　struggle as he makes a grab for my hands. Roughly, I place my hands on his
　　chest, pushing with all my might, trying to shift him, while he endeavors to pry
　　my legs apart with his knee. I continue pushing at his chest— jeez he’s
　　heavy—but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t freeze as he once might have. He’s
　　enjoying this! He attempts to grab my wrists, and finally captures one,
　　despite my valiant attempts to twist it free. It’s my sore hand, so I surrender it
　　to him, but grab his hair with my other hand and pull hard.
　　“Ah!” He yanks his head free and gazes down at me, his eyes wild and
　　carnal.
　　“Savage,” he whispers, his voice laced with salacious delight. In response to
　　this one whispered word my libido explodes, and I stop acting. Again I
　　struggle in vain to wrest my hand out of his hold. At the same time I try to
　　hook my ankles together, and attempt to buck him off me. He’s too heavy.
　　Gah— it’s frustrating and hot. With a groan, Christian captures my other
　　hand. He holds both my wrists in his left hand, and his right travels leisurely—
　　insolently, almost—down my body, fondling and feeling as it goes, tweaking
　　my nipple on the way.
　　I yelp in response, pleasure spiking short, sharp, and hot from my nipple to
　　my groin. I make another fruitless attempt to buck him off, but he’s just too on

　　me.
　　When he tries to kiss me I jerk my head to the side so he can’t. Promptly his
　　insolent hand moves from the hem of my T-shirt up to my chin, holding me in
　　place as he runs his teeth along my jaw, mirroring what I did to him earlier.
　　“Oh, baby, fight me,” he murmurs.
　　I twist and writhe, trying to free myself from his merciless hold, but it’s
　　hopeless. He’s much stronger than me. He’s gently biting at my lower lip as
　　his tongue tries to invade my mouth. And I realize I don’t want to resist him. I
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　　stop fighting and fervently return his kiss. I don’t care that I haven’t brushed
　　my teeth. I don’t care that we’re supposed to be playing some game. Desire
　　hot and hard surges through my bloodstream, and I’m lost, lost to him.
　　Unhooking my ankles, I wrap my legs around his hips and use my heels to
　　push his pajamas down over his behind.
　　“Ana,” he breathes, and he kisses me everywhere. And we’re no longer
　　wrestling, but quick and urgent, all hands and tongues and touch and taste.
　　“Skin,” he murmurs hoarsely, his breathing labored. He drags me up and
　　drags off my T-shirt in one swift move.
　　“You,” I whisper while I’m upright, because it’s all I can think of to say. I seize
　　the front his pajamas and yank them down, freeing his erection. I grab and
　　squeeze him. He’s hard. The air whistles through his teeth as he inhales
　　sharply, and I revel in his response.
　　“Fuck,” he murmurs. He leans back, lifting my thighs, tipping me down onto
　　the bed as I pull and squeeze him tightly, running my hand up and down him.
　　Feeling a bead of moisture on his tip, I swirl it around with my thumb. As he
　　lowers me to the mattress, I slip my thumb in my mouth to taste him while his
　　hands travel up my body, caressing my hips, my stomach, my breasts.
　　“Taste good?” he asks as he hovers over me, eyes blazing.
　　“Yes. Here.” I push my thumb into his mouth and he sucks and bites the pad. I
　　groan, grasp his head and pull him down to me so I can kiss him. Wrapping
　　my legs around him, I push his pajamas off his legs with my feet, then cradle
　　him with my legs around his waist. His lips trail from across my jaw to my
　　chin, nipping softly.
　　“You’re so beautiful.” He dips his head lower to the base of my throat. “Such
　　beautiful skin.” His breath is soft as his lips glide down to my breasts.
　　What? I am panting, confused—wanting, now waiting. I thought this was
　　going to be quick.
　　“Christian.” I hear the quiet plea in my voice and reach down, fisting my
　　hands in his hair.
　　“Hush,” he whispers and circles my nipple with his tongue before pulling it
　　into his mouth and tugging hard.
　　“Ah!” I moan and squirm, tilting my pelvis up to tempt him. He grins against
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　　“Impatient, Mrs. Grey?” He then sucks hard on my nipple. I tug his hair. He
　　groans and peers up. “I’ll restrain you,” he warns.
　　“Take me,” I beg.
　　“All in good time,” he murmurs against my skin. His hand travels down at an
　　infuriatingly slow speed to my hip as he worships my nipple with his mouth. I
　　moan loudly, my breath short and shallow, and try once more to entice him
　　into me, rocking against him. He’s thick and heavy and close, but he’s taking
　　his own sweet leisurely time with me.
　　Fuck this. I struggle and twist, determined to buck him off me again.
　　“What the—”
　　Grabbing my hands, Christian pins them down on the bed, my arms spread
　　wide, and rests his full bodyweight on me, completely subduing me. I am
　　breathless, wild.
　　“You wanted resistance,” I say, panting. He rears up over me and gazes
　　down, his hands still locked around my wrists. I place my heels under his
　　behind and push. He doesn’t move. Gah!
　　“You don’t want to play nice?” he asks astonished, his eyes alight with
　　excitement.
　　“I just want you to make love to me, Christian.” Could he be any more
　　obtuse? First we’re fighting and wrestling then he’s all tender and sweet. It’s
　　confusing. I’m in bed with Mr. Mercurial.
　　“Please.” I press my heels against his backside once more. Burning gray
　　eyes search mine. Oh, what is he thinking? He looks momentarily bewildered
　　and confused. He releases my hands and sits back on his heels, pulling me
　　into his lap.
　　“Okay, Mrs. Grey, we’ll do this your way.” He reaches around my waist, lifts,
　　and slowly lowers me on to him so I’m straddling him.
　　“Ah!” This is it. This is what I want. This is what I need. Curling my arms
　　around his neck, I twist my fingers in his hair, glorying in the feeling of him
　　inside me. I start to move. Taking control, taking him at my pace, at my
　　speed. He moans, and his lips find mine and we’re lost.
　　I trail my fingers through the hair on Christian’s chest. He lies on his back, still
　　and quiet beside me as we both catch our breath. His hand thrums
　　rhythmically down my back.
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　　“You’re quiet,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder. He turns and looks down at
　　me, his expression giving nothing away. “That was fun.” I add. Shit, is
　　something wrong?
　　“You confound me, Mrs. Grey.”
　　“Confound you?”
　　He shifts so that we’re face to face. “Yes. You. Calling the shots. It’s . . .
　　different.”
　　“Good different? Or bad different?” I reach up and trail a finger over his lips.
　　His brow furrows, as if he doesn’t quite understand the question.
　　Absentmindedly, he purses his lips to kiss my finger.
　　“Good different,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
　　“You’ve never indulged this little fantasy before?” I blush as I say it. Do I really
　　want to know any more about my husband’s colorful . . . um, kaleidoscopic,
　　sex life before me? My subconscious eyes me warily over her tortoiseshell
　　half-moon specs. Do you really want to go there?
　　“No, Anastasia, you can touch me.” It’s a simple explanation that speaks
　　volumes. Of course, the fifteen couldn’t.
　　“Mrs. Robinson could touch you.” I murmur the words before my brain
　　registers what I’ve said. Shit.
　　He stills. His eyes widen with his oh-no-where’s-she-going-withthis?
　　expression. “That was different,” he whispers. Suddenly I want to know.
　　“Good different or bad different?”
　　He gazes at me. Doubt and possibly pain flit across his face, and fleetingly
　　he looks like a man drowning. Why did I mention her?
　　“Bad, I think.” His words are barely audible.
　　Holy shit!
　　“I thought you liked it.”
　　“I did. At the time.”
　　“Not now?”
　　He gazes at me, eyes wide, then slowly shakes his head. Oh my . . . “Oh,
　　Christian.” I’m overwhelmed by the feelings that swamp me. My lost boy. I
　　launch myself at him and kiss his face, his throat, his chest, his little round
　　scars. He groans, pulls me to him, and kisses me passionately. And very
　　slowly, and tenderly, at his pace, he makes love to me once more.
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　　“Ana Tyson. Punching above your weight!” Ethan applauds as I head into the
　　kitchen for breakfast. He, Mia, and Kate are sitting at the breakfast bar while
　　Mrs. Bentley cooks waffles. Christian is nowhere to be seen.
　　“Good morning, Mrs. Grey.” Mrs. Bentley smiles. “What would you like for
　　breakfast?”
　　“Good Morning. Whatever’s going, thank you. Where’s Christian?”
　　“Outside.” Kate gestures with her head toward the backyard. I wander over to
　　the window that looks out onto the yard and the mountains beyond. It’s a

　　clear, powder-blue summer day, and my beautiful husband is about twenty
　　feet away in deep discussion with some guy.
　　“That’s Mr. Bentley he’s talking to,” calls Mia from the breakfast bar. I turn to
　　look at her, distracted by her sulky tone. She looks venomously at Ethan. Oh
　　dear. I wonder once more what’s going on between them. Frowning I turn my
　　attention back to my husband and Mr. Bentley.
　　Mrs. Bentley’s husband is fair-haired, dark eyed and wiry, dressed in work
　　pants and an Aspen Fire Department T-shirt. Christian is dressed in his
　　black jeans and T-shirt. As the two men amble across the lawn toward the
　　house lost in their conversation, Christian casually bends to pick up what
　　looks like a bamboo cane that must have been blown over or discarded in
　　the flowerbed. Pausing, Christian absentmindedly holds out the cane at
　　arm’s length as if weighing it carefully and swipes it through the air, just once.
　　Oh . . .
　　Mr. Bentley appears to see nothing odd in his behavior. They continue their
　　discussion, nearer the house this time, then pause once more, and Christian
　　repeats the gesture. The tip of the cane hits the ground. Glancing up,
　　Christian sees me standing at the window. Suddenly I feel as if I’m spying on
　　him. He blinks. I give him an embarrassed wave then turn and walk back to
　　the breakfast bar.
　　“What were you doing?” asks Kate.
　　“Just watching Christian.”
　　“You have got it bad.” She snorts.
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　　“And you don’t, oh soon-to-be sister-in-law?” I reply, grinning at her and trying
　　to bury the disquieting visual of Christian wielding a cane. I am startled when
　　Kate leaps up and hugs me.
　　“Sister!” she exclaims, and it’s hard not to be swept up in her joy.
　　~o0o~
　　“Hey, sleepyhead.” Christian wakes me. “We’re coming in to land. Buckle
　　up.”
　　I fumble sleepily for my seat belt, but Christian leans over and fastens it for
　　me. He kisses my forehead before settling back into his seat. I lean my head
　　on his shoulder again and close my eyes. An impossibly long walk, followed
　　by a picnic lunch on top of a spectacular mountain, has exhausted me. The
　　rest of our party is quiet, too—even Mia. She looks despondent, as she has
　　all day. I wonder how her campaign with Ethan is going. I don’t even know
　　where they slept last night. My eyes catch hers and I give a small are-youokay?
　　smile. She gives me a brief sad smile in return and goes back to her
　　book. I peek up at Christian through my lashes. He’s working on a contract or
　　something, reading it through and annotating the margins. But he seems
　　relaxed. Elliot is snoring softly beside Kate.
　　I have yet to corner Elliot and quiz him about Gia, but it’s been impossible to
　　pry him away from Kate. Christian isn’t interested enough to ask, which is
　　irritating, but I haven’t pressed him. We’ve been enjoying ourselves too
　　much. Elliot rests his hand possessively on Kate’s knee. She’s looking
　　radiant, and to think that only yesterday afternoon she was so unsure of him.
　　What did Christian call him?
　　Lelliot. Perhaps that’s a family nickname? It was sweet, better than
　　manwhore. Abruptly, Elliot opens his eyes and gazes straight at me. I blush,
　　caught staring.
　　He grins. “I sure love your blush, Ana,” he teases, stretching. Kate gives me
　　her self-satisfied, cat-ate-the-canary smile. Officer Beighley announces our
　　approach to Sea-Tac, and Christian clasps my hand.
　　~o0o~
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　　“How was your weekend, Mrs. Grey?” Christian asks once we’re in the Audi
　　heading back to Escala. Taylor and Ryan are up front.
　　“Good, thank you.” I smile, feeling shy all of a sudden.
　　“We can go anytime. Take anyone you wish to take.”
　　“We should take Ray. He’d like the fishing.”
　　“That’s a good idea.”
　　“How was it for you?” I ask.
　　“Good,” he says after a moment, surprised I think, by my question.
　　“Real good.”
　　“You seemed to relax.”
　　He shrugs. “I knew you were safe.”
　　I frown. “Christian, I’m safe most of the time. I’ve told you before, you’ll keel
　　over at forty if you keep up this level of anxiety. And I want to grow old and
　　gray with you.” I reach over and grasp his hand. He looks at me as if he can’t
　　comprehend what I’m saying. Gently taking my hand, he kisses my knuckles
　　and changes the subject.
　　“How’s your hand?”
　　“It’s better, thank you.”
　　He smiles. “Very good, Mrs. Grey. You ready to face Gia again?”
　　Oh crap. I’d forgotten we were seeing her this evening to go over the final
　　plans. I roll my eyes. “I might want to keep you out of the way, keep you safe.”
　　I smirk.
　　“Protecting me?” Christian is laughing at me.
　　“As ever, Mr. Grey. From all sexual predators,” I whisper.
　　“As ever, Mr. Grey. From all sexual predators,” I whisper.
　　~o0o~
　　Christian is brushing his teeth when I crawl into bed. Tomorrow we go back
　　to reality—back to work, the paparazzi, and to Jack in custody but with the
　　possibility that he has an accomplice. Hmm . . . Christian was vague about
　　that. Does he know? And if he did know, would he tell me? I sigh. Getting
　　information out of Christian is like pulling teeth, and we’ve had such a lovely
　　weekend. Do I want to ruin the feel-good moment by trying to drag the
　　information out of him?
　　It’s been a revelation to see him out of his normal environment, outside this
　　apartment, relaxed and happy with his family. I wonder vaguely if it’s because
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　　memories and associations—that he gets wound up. Maybe we should
　　move.
　　I snort. We are moving—we’re having a huge house refurbished on the
　　coast. Gia’s plans are complete and approved, and Elliot’s team starts
　　building next week. I chuckle as I recall Gia’s shocked expression when I told
　　her that I’d seen her in Aspen. Turns out it was nothing but co-incidence.
　　She’d camped out at her holiday place to work solely on our plans. For one
　　awful moment I’d thought she’d had a hand in choosing the ring, but
　　apparently not. But I still don’t trust Gia; I want to hear the same story from
　　Elliot. At least she kept her distance from Christian this time.
　　I look out at the night sky. I will miss this view. This panoramic vista . . .
　　Seattle at our feet, so full of possibilities, yet so far removed. Maybe that’s
　　Christian’s problem—he’s been too isolated from real life for too long, thanks
　　to his self-imposed exile. Yet with his family around him, he is less
　　controlling, less anxious—freer, happier. I wonder what Flynn would make of
　　all that. Holy crap! Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe he needs his own family. I
　　shake my head in denial—
　　we’re too young, too new to all this. Christian strides into the room, looking
　　his usual gorgeous but pensive self.
　　“Everything okay?” I ask.
　　He nods distractedly as he climbs into bed.
　　“I’m not looking forward to going back to reality,” I murmur.
　　“No?”
　　I shake my head and reach up to caress his lovely face. “I had a wonderful
　　weekend. Thank you.”
　　He smiles softly. “You’re my reality, Ana,” he murmurs, leans forward, and
　　kisses me.
　　“Do you miss it?”
　　“Miss what?” he asks, perplexed.
　　“You know. The caning . . . and stuff,” I whisper, embarrassed. He stares at
　　me, his gaze impassive. Then doubt crosses his face, his where-is-shegoing-
　　with-this look.
　　“No Anastasia, I don’t.” His voice is steady and quiet. He caresses my

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　　inclined. It was a revelation.” He stops, and frowns. “I didn’t know any other
　　way, Ana. Now I do. It’s been educational.”
　　“Me, educate you?” I scoff.
　　His eyes soften. “Do you miss it?” he asks.
　　Oh!
　　“I don’t want you to hurt me, but I like to play, Christian. You know that. If you
　　wanted to do something . . .” I shrug, gazing at him.
　　“Something?”
　　“You know, with a flogger or your crop—” I stop, blushing. He raises his brow,
　　surprised. “Well . . . we’ll see. Right now, I’d like some good old-fashioned
　　vanilla.” His thumb skirts my bottom lip, and he kisses me once more.
　　~o0o~
　　From: Anastasia Grey
　　Subject: Good Morning
　　Date: August 29, 2011 09:14
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Mr. Grey
　　I just wanted to tell you that I love you.
　　That is all.
　　Yours Always
　　A x
　　Anastasia Grey
　　Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Banishing Monday Blues
　　Date: August 29, 2011 09:18
　　To: Anastasia Grey
　　Mrs. Grey
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　　What gratifying words to hear from one’s wife (errant or not) on a Monday
　　morning.
　　Let me assure you that I feel exactly the same way. Sorry about the dinner
　　this evening. I hope it won’t be too tedious for you.
　　x
　　Christian Grey,
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　Oh yes. The American Shipbuilding Association dinner. I roll my eyes . . .
　　more stuffed shirts. Christian really does take me to the most fascinating
　　functions.
　　From: Anastasia Grey
　　Subject: Ships that pass in the night
　　Date: August 29, 2011 09:26
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Mr. Grey
　　I am sure you can think of a way to spice up the dinner . . . Yours in
　　anticipation
　　Mrs. G. x
　　Anastasia (non-errant) Grey
　　Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Variety is the Spice of Life
　　Date: August 29, 2011 09:35
　　To: Anastasia Grey
　　Mrs. Grey
　　I have a few ideas . . .
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　　x
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Now Impatient for the ASA Dinner Inc.
　　All the muscles in my belly clench. Hmm . . . I wonder what he’ll dream up.
　　Hanna knocks on the door, interrupting my reverie.
　　“Ready to go through your schedule for this week, Ana?”
　　“Sure. Sit.” I smile, recovering my equilibrium, and minimize my email
　　program. “I’ve had to move a couple of appointments. Mr. Fox next week and
　　Dr.—”
　　My phone rings, interrupting her. It’s Roach. He asks me up to his office.
　　“Can we pick this up in twenty minutes?”
　　“Of course.”
　　~o0o~
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Last night
　　Date: August 30, 2011 09:24
　　To: Anastasia Grey
　　Was . . . fun.
　　Who would have thought the ASA annual dinner could be so stimulating?
　　As ever, you never disappoint, Mrs. Grey.
　　I love you.
　　x
　　Christian Grey
　　In awe, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Grey
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　　E L JAMES
　　Subject: I love a good ball game . . .
　　Date: August 30, 2011 09:33
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Dear Mr. Grey
　　I have missed the silver balls.
　　You never disappoint.
　　That is all.
　　Mrs. G. x
　　Anastasia Grey
　　Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　Hannah taps on my door, interrupting my erotic thoughts of the previous
　　evening. Christian’s hands . . . his mouth.
　　“Come in.”
　　“Ana, Mr. Roach’s PA just called. He’d like you to attend a meeting this
　　morning. It means I have to move some of your appointments again. Is that
　　okay.”
　　His tongue.
　　“Sure. Yes,” I mutter trying to halt my wayward thoughts. She grins and ducks
　　out of my office . . . leaving me with my delicious memory of last night.
　　~o0o~
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Hyde
　　Date: September 1, 2011 15:24
　　To: Anastasia Grey
　　Anastasia
　　For your information, Hyde has been refused bail and remanded in custody.
　　He’s charged with attempted kidnap and arson. As yet no date has been set
　　for the trial.
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　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Grey
　　Subject: Hyde
　　Date: September 1, 2011 15:53
　　To: Christian Grey
　　That’s good news.
　　Does this mean you’l lighten up on security?
　　I real y don’t see eye to eye with Prescott.
　　Ana x
　　Anastasia Grey
　　Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Hyde
　　Date: September 1, 2011 15:59
　　To: Anastasia Grey
　　No. Security will remain in place. No arguments.
　　What’s wrong with Prescott? If you don’t like her, we’l replace her.
　　Christian Grey
　　CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　I scowl at his high-handed e-mail. Prescott isn’t that bad.
　　From: Anastasia Grey
　　Subject: Keep your hair on!
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　　E L JAMES
　　Date: September 1, 2011 16:03
　　To: Christian Grey
　　I was just asking (rol s eyes). And I’l think about Prescott. Stow that twitchy
　　palm!
　　Ana x
　　Anastasia Grey
　　Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: Don’t tempt me.
　　Date: September 1, 2011 16:11
　　To: Anastasia Grey
　　I can assure you, Mrs. Grey, that my hair is very firmly attached—has this not
　　been demonstrated often enough by your good self?
　　My palm, however, is twitching.
　　I might do something about that tonight.
　　x
　　Christian Grey
　　Not bald yet CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　From: Anastasia Grey
　　Subject: Squirm
　　Date: September 1, 2011 16:20
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Promises, promises . . .
　　Now stop pestering me. I am trying to work; I have an impromptu meeting
　　with an author. Will try not to be distracted by thoughts of you during the
　　meeting.
　　A x
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　　Anastasia Grey
　　Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　~o0o~
　　From: Anastasia Grey
　　Subject: Sailing & Soaring & Spanking Date: September 5, 2011 09:18
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Husband
　　You sure know how to show a girl a good time.
　　I shall of course be expecting this kind of treatment every weekend.
　　You are spoiling me. I love it.
　　Your wife
　　xox
　　Anastasia Grey
　　Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　From: Christian Grey
　　Subject: My life’s mission . . .
　　Date: September 5, 2011 09:25
　　To: Anastasia Grey
　　Is to spoil you, Mrs. Grey.
　　And keep you safe because I love you.
　　Christian Grey
　　Smitten CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
　　Oh my. Could he be any more romantic?
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　　E L JAMES
　　From: Anastasia Grey
　　Subject: My life’s mission . . .
　　Date: September 5, 2011 09:33
　　To: Christian Grey
　　Is to let you—because I love you, too.
　　Now stop being so sappy.
　　You are making me cry.
　　Anastasia Grey
　　Equally Smitten Commissioning Editor, SIP
　　~o0o~
　　The following day, I gaze at the calendar on my desk. Only five days until
　　September 10—my birthday. I know we are driving out to the house to see
　　how Elliot and his crew are progressing. Hmm . . . I wonder if Christian has
　　any other plans? I smile at the thought. Hanna taps on my door.
　　“Come in.”
　　Prescott is hovering outside . Odd . . .
　　“Hi, Ana,” says Hanna. “There’s a Leila Williams here to see you?
　　She says it’s personal.”
　　“Leila Williams? I don’t know a . . .” My mouth goes dry, and Hanna’s eyes
　　widen at my expression.
　　Leila? Fuck. What does she want?
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