Taylor is waiting for me, and he seems to understand that I am late because he drives like a bat out of hell to get me to work by nine fifteen. I am grateful when he pulls up at the curb—grateful to be alive–his driving was scary. And grateful that I am not hideously late—only fifteen minutes.
“Thank you, Taylor,” I mutter, ashen-faced. I remember Christian telling me he drove tanks; maybe he drives for nascar, too.
“Ana.” He nods a farewell, and I dash into my office, realizing as I open the door to reception that Taylor seems to have overcome the Miss Steele formality. It makes me smile.
Claire grins at me as I rush through reception and make my way to my desk.
“Ana!” Jack calls me. “Get in here.”
“What time do you call this?” he snaps.
“I’m sorry. I overslept.” I flush crimson.
“Don’t let it happen again. Fix me some coffee, and then I need you to do some letters.
Jump to it,” he shouts, making me flinch.
Why’s he so mad? What’s his problem? What have I done? I hurry to the kitchen to fix his coffee. Maybe I should have ditched. I could be . . . well, doing something hot with Christian, or having breakfast with him, or just talking—that would be novel.
Jack barely acknowledges my presence when I venture back into his office to deliver his coffee. He thrusts a sheet of paper at me—it’s handwritten in a barely legible scrawl.
“Type this up, have me sign, then copy and mail it to all our authors.”
“Yes, Jack.”
He doesn’t look up as I leave. Boy, is he mad.
It is with some relief that I finally sit down at my desk. I take a sip of tea as I wait for my computer to boot up. I check my e-mails.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing you
Date: June 15, 2011 09:05
To: Anastasia Steele
Please use your Blackberry.
x
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: All Right for Some
Date: June 15, 2011 09:27
To: Christian Grey
My boss is mad.
I blame you for keeping me up late with your . . . shenanigans.
You should be ashamed of yourself.
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Shenaniwhatagans?
Date: June 15, 2011 09:32
To: Anastasia Steele
You don’t have to work, Anastasia.
You have no idea how appalled I am at my shenanigans.
But I like keeping you up late ;)
Please use your Blackberry.
Oh, and marry me, please.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Living to make
Date: June 15, 2011 09:35
To: Christian Grey
I know your natural inclination is toward nagging, but just stop.
I need to talk to your shrink.
Only then will I give you my answer.
I am not opposed to living in sin.
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: BLACKBERRY
Date: June 15, 2011 09:40
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia, if you are going to start discussing Dr. Flynn then USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.
This is not a request.
Christian Grey,
Now Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Oh shit. Now he’s mad at me, too. Well, he can stew for all I care. I take my Blackberry out of my purse and eye it with skepticism. As I do, it starts ringing. Can’t he leave me alone?
“Yes,” I snap.
“Ana, hi—”
“José! How are you?” Oh, it’s good to hear his voice.
“I’m fine, Ana. Look, are you still seeing that Grey guy?”
“Er—yes . . . Why?” Where is he going with this?
“Well, he’s bought all your photos, and I thought I could deliver them up to Seattle.
The exhibition closes Thursday, so I could bring them up Friday evening and drop them off, you know. And maybe we could catch a drink or something. Actually, I was hoping for a place to crash, too.”
“José, that’s cool. Yeah, I’m sure we could work something out. Let me talk to Christian and call you back, okay?”
“Cool, I’ll wait to hear from you. Bye, Ana.”
“Bye.” And he’s gone.
Holy cow. I haven’t seen or heard from José since his show. I didn’t even ask him how it went or if he sold any more pictures. Some friend I am.
So, I could spend the evening with José on Friday. How will Christian like that? I become aware that I am biting my lip till it hurts. Oh, that man has double standards. He can—I shudder at the thought—bathe his batshit ex-lover, but I will probably get a truck-load of grief for wanting to have a drink with José. How am I going to handle this?
“Ana!” Jack pulls me abruptly out of my reverie. Is he still mad? “Where’s that letter?”
“Er—coming.” Shit. What is eating him?
I type up his letter in double-quick time, print it out, and nervously make my way into his office.
“Here you go.” I place it on his desk and turn to leave. Jack quickly casts his critical, piercing, eyes over it.
“I don’t know what you’re doing out there, but I pay you to work,” he barks.
“I’m aware of that, Jack,” I mutter apologetically. I feel a slow flush creep up my skin.
