Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

birthday.
    x
    Christian Grey,
    Deaf as a Post CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

    From:  Anastasia Steele
    Subject:  Hmmm.
    Date:  June 15, 2011 16:24
    To:  Christian Grey

    Dear Mr. Grey
    I can imagine you pouting as you wrote that last sentence.
    That does things to me.
    A xox

    Anastasia Steele
    Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

    From:  Christian Grey
    Subject:  Rolling Eyes
    Date:  June 15, 2011 16:29
    To:  Anastasia Steele

    Miss Steele
    WILL YOU USE YOUR BLACKBERRY!!!
    x

    Christian Grey,
    Twitchy Palmed, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

    I roll my eyes. Why is he so touchy about e-mails?

    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.
    x
    PS: 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