Chapter 161

But deep down I wish I had the courage of my convictions. Anxiety unfurls in my gut. Can I convince Ana to take me back? Will she listen? I hope so. This has to work. I miss her.

“MR. GREY, I CANCELED all your social events this week, apart from the one for tomorrow—I don’t know what the occasion is. Your calendar says Portland, that’s it.”

Yes! The fucking photographer!

I beam at Andrea, and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Thanks, Andrea. That’s all for now. Send in Sam.”

“Sure, Mr. Grey. Would you like some more coffee?”

“Please.”

“With milk?”

“Yes. Latte. Thank you.”

She smiles politely and leaves.

This is it! My in! The photographer! Now…what to do?

MY MORNING HAS BEEN back-to-back meetings, and my staff have been watching me nervously, waiting for me to explode. Okay, that’s been my modus operandi for the last few days—but today I feel clearer, calmer, and present; able to deal with everything.

It’s now lunchtime; my workout with Claude has gone well. The only fly in the ointment is that there’s no more news about Leila. All we know is that she’s split up with her husband and she could be anywhere. If she surfaces, Welch will find her.

I’m famished. Olivia sets a plate down on my desk.

“Your sandwich, Mr. Grey.”

“Chicken and mayonnaise?”

“Um…”

I stare at her. She just doesn’t get it.

Olivia offers an inept apology.

“I said chicken with mayonnaise, Olivia. It’s not that hard.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Grey.”

“It’s fine. Just go.” She looks relieved but scrambles to leave the room.

I buzz Andrea.

“Sir?”

“Come in here.”

Andrea appears at the doorway, looking calm and efficient.

“Get rid of that girl.”

Andrea pulls herself up straight.

“Sir, Olivia is Senator Blandino’s daughter.”

“I don’t care if she’s the Queen of fucking England. Get her out of my office.”

“Yes, sir.” Andrea flushes.

“Get someone else to help you,” I offer in a gentler tone. I don’t want to alienate Andrea.

“Yes, Mr. Grey.”

“Thank you. That’s all.”

She smiles and I know she’s back on board. She’s a good PA; I don’t want her to quit because I’m being an asshole. She exits, leaving me to my chicken sandwich—no mayo—and my campaign plan.

Portland.

I know the form of e-mail address for employees at SIP. I think Anastasia will respond better in writing; she always has. How to begin?

Dear Ana

No.

Dear Anastasia

No.

Dear Miss Steele

Shit!

HALF AN HOUR LATER I’m still staring at a blank computer screen. What the hell do I say?

Come back…please?

Forgive me.

I miss you.

Let’s try it your way.

I put my head in my hands. Why is this so difficult?

Keep it simple, Grey. Just cut the crap.

I take a deep breath and tap out an e-mail. Yes…this will do. Andrea buzzes me.

“Ms. Bailey is here to see you, sir.”

“Tell her to wait.”

I hang up and take a moment, and with my heart pounding, I press send.

* * *

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.

I watch my inbox.

And watch.

And watch…my anxiety growing with every second that crawls by.

Getting up, I pace the office—but that takes me away from my computer. Back at my desk, I check my e-mail yet again.

Nothing.

To distract myself, I trace my finger along the wings of my glider.

For fuck’s sake, Grey, get a grip.

Come on, Anastasia, answer me. She’s always been so prompt. I check my watch…14:09.

Four minutes!

Still nothing.

Getting up, I pace around my office once more, peering at my watch every three seconds, or so it feels.

By 2:20 I’m in despair. She’s not going to reply. She really does hate me…who could blame her?

Then I hear the ping of an e-mail. My heart leaps into my throat.

Hell! It’s from Ros, telling me she’s gone back to her office.

And then it’s there, in my inbox, the magical line:

From: Anastasia Steele.

* * *

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

Relief floods through me; I close my eyes, savoring the feeling.

YES!

I pore over her e-mail looking for clues, but as usual I have no idea what the thoughts are behind her words. The tone is friendly enough, but that’s it. Just friendly.

Carpe Diem, Grey.

* * *

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