Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

Christian Grey

    We are going to a bar called Fifty’s.
    The rich seam of humor that I could mine from this is endless.
    I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Grey.

    A x

    From: Christian Grey
    Subject: Hazards
    Date: June 10, 2011 17:38
    To: Anastasia Steele

    Mining is a very, very dangerous occupation.

    Christian Grey
    CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

    From: Anastasia Steele
    Subject: Hazards?
    Date: June 10, 2011 17:40
    To: Christian Grey

    And your point is?

    From: Christian Grey
    Subject: Merely . . .
    Date: June 10, 2011 17:42
    To: Anastasia Steele

    Making an observation, Miss Steele.
    I’ll see you shortly.
    Sooners rather than laters, baby.

    Christian Grey
    CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

    I check myself in the mirror. What a difference a day can make. I have more color in my cheeks, and my eyes are shining. It’s the Christian Grey effect. A little e-mail sparring with him will do that to a girl. I grin at the mirror and straighten my pale blue shirt—the one Taylor bought me. I am wearing my favorite jeans today, too. Most of the women in the office wear either jeans or floaty skirts. I will need to invest in a floaty skirt or two. Perhaps I’ll do that this weekend and bank the check Christian gave me for Wanda, my Beetle.
    As I head out of the building, I hear my name called.
    “Miss Steele?”
    I turn expectantly, and an ashen young woman approaches me cautiously. She looks like a ghost—so pale and strangely blank.
    “Miss Anastasia Steele?” she repeats, and her features stay static even though she’s speaking.
    “Yes?”
    She stops, staring at me from about three feet away on the sidewalk, and I stare back, immobilized. Who is she? What does she want?
    “Can I help you?” I ask. How does she know my name?
    “No . . . I just wanted to look at you.” Her voice is eerily soft. Like me, she has dark hair that starkly contrasts with her fair skin. Her eyes are brown, like bourbon, but flat. There’s no life in them at all. Her beautiful face is pale, and etched with sorrow.
    “Sorry—you have me at a disadvantage,” I say politely, trying to ignore the warning tingle up my spine. On closer inspection, she looks odd, disheveled and uncared for. Her clothes are two sizes too big, including her designer trench coat.
    She laughs, a strange, discordant sound that only feeds my anxiety.
    “What do you have that I don’t?” she asks sadly.
    My anxiety turns to fear. “I’m sorry—who are you?”
    “Me? I’m nobody.” She lifts her arm to drag her hand through her shoulder length hair, and as she does, the sleeve of her trench coat rides up, revealing a soiled bandage around her wrist.
    Holy fuck.
    “Good day, Miss Steele.” Turning, she walks up the street as I stand rooted to the spot. I watch as her slight frame disappears from view, lost amongst the workers pouring out of their various offices.
    What was that about ?
    Confused, I cross the street to the bar, trying to assimilate what has just happened, while my subconscious rears her ugly head and hisses at me— She has something to do with Christian .
    Fifty’s is a cavernous, impersonal bar with baseball pennants and posters hanging on the wall. Jack is at the bar with Elizabeth, Courtney the other commissioning editor, two guys from finance, and Claire from reception. She is wearing her trademark silver hooped earrings.
    “Hi, Ana!” Jack hands me a bottle of Bud.
    “Cheers . . . thank you,” I murmur, still shaken by my encounter with Ghost Girl.
    “Cheers.” We clink bottles, and he continues his conversation with Elizabeth. Claire smiles sweetly at me.
    “So, how has your first week been?” she asks.
    “Good, thank you. Everyone seems very friendly.”
    “You seem much happier today.”
    I flush. “It’s Friday,” I mutter quickly. “So—have you any plans this weekend?”

    My patented distraction technique works and I’m saved. Claire turns out to be one of seven kids, and she’s going to a big family get-together in Tacoma. She becomes quite animated, and I realize I haven’t spoken to any women my own age since Kate left for Barbados.
    Absently I wonder how Kate is . . . and Elliot. I must remember to ask Christian if he’s heard from him. Oh, and Ethan her brother will be back next Tuesday, and he’ll be staying in our apartment. I can’t imagine Christian is going to be happy about that. My earlier encounter with strange Ghost Girl slips further from my mind.
    During