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Chapter 159
Chapter 159
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And Taylor.
I stop shaving for a moment. “Leave them for Mrs. Jones,” I call after her. She glances over her shoulder and
smiles.
FEELING BUOYANT, I SIT down at my desk. Ana is working in the kitchen, and I have a ton of e-mails and
messages to get through. Most are from Sam, annoyed that I’ve not called him. But there are others…moving
messages from my mother, from Mia, my dad, and Elliot, all begging me to call. It’s painful to hear their concern.
And Elena.
Shit.
Ana’s hesitant voice is next.
Hi…um…it’s me. Ana. Are you okay? Call me. Her concern is obvious. My heart constricts as it becomes
blindingly clear that I’ve put her and my family through hell.
Grey, you’re an idiot.
You should have called.
I save all the messages bar Elena’s and return to the most important voice mail, from the florist in Bellevue. I call
them back to outline my requirements, and I’m relieved that they can help me, given such short notice.
Then I call my favorite jewelry store. Okay, the only jewelry store I know. I purchased Ana’s earrings there, and it
looks like they’ll be able to help me with the ring.
If I were a superstitious man I would say that these are good omens for what’s to come.
Next, I call Sam.
“Mr. Grey, where have you been?” He’s pissed. Tough.
“Busy.”
“The press has been all over the helicopter story. There are several TV news and print outlets that want an
interview—”
“Sam—draw up a statement. Tell them Ros and I are fine. And send it through to me for approval. I’m not
interested in doing any interviews. Print, TV, or otherwise.”
“But, Christian, this is a great opp—”
“The answer’s no. Get me the statement.”
He’s silent for a moment, publicity whore that he is. “Yes, Mr. Grey,” he says, tight-lipped. I hear, and ignore, his
reluctance, but I’m beginning to think I need a new PR person. His credentials were seriously overstated when we
checked his references.
“Thanks, Sam.” I hang up.
I buzz Taylor on the internal phone system.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Grey.”
“What news?”
“I’ll come down, sir.”
Taylor tells me that Charlie Tango has been found, and that a recovery crew is on its way with an FAA official and
someone from Airbus, Charlie Tango’s manufacturer.
“I hope they’ll be able to provide some answers.”
“I’m sure they will, sir,” says Taylor. “I’ve e-mailed you a list of people you should call.”
“Thanks. There’s one more thing. I’m going to need you to pop down to this store.” I explain what I’ve discussed
with the jeweler. Taylor gives me a broad grin.
“With pleasure, sir. Will that be all?”
“For now, yes. And thanks.”
“You’re most welcome, and happy birthday.” He gives me a nod and leaves.
I pick up the phone and start making my way through Taylor’s list of calls.
While I’m on the phone giving a report to the FAA, an e-mail from Ana pops up.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Lunch
Date: June 18 2011 13:12
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
I am e-mailing to inform you that your lunch is nearly ready.
And that I had some mind-blowing, kinky fuckery earlier today.
Birthday kinky fuckery is to be recommended.
And another thing—I love you.
A x
(Your fiancée)
I’m sure Mrs. Wilson on the other end of the phone at the FAA can hear my smile. With one finger, I type a
response.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Kinky Fuckery
Date: June 18 2011 13:15
To: Anastasia Steele
What aspect was most mind-blowing?
I’m taking notes.
Christian Grey
Famished and Wasting Away After the Morning’s Exertions CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
P.S.: I love your signature.
P.P.S.: What happened to the art of conversation?
I conclude the phone call with Mrs. Wilson and leave my study to find Ana.
She’s concentrating hard. I tiptoe up to the kitchen counter as she types into her phone. She presses send, looks
up, and jumps when she sees me smirking at her. I bound around the kitchen island, pull her into my arms, and
kiss her, taking her by surprise once more. “That is all, Miss Steele,” I say when I release her, and I stroll back into
my study feeling ridiculously pleased with myself.
Her e-mail is waiting.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Famished?
Date: June 18 2011 13:18
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
May I draw your attention to the first line of my previous e-mail informing you that your lunch is indeed almost
ready…so none of this famished and wasting away nonsense. With regard to the mind-blowing aspects of the
kinky fuckery…frankly—all of it. I’d be interested in reading your notes. And I like my bracketed signature, too.
A x
(Your fiancée)
P.S.: Since when have you been so loquacious? And you’re on the phone! Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.
I call my mom to tell her about the flowers.
“Darling, how are you? Recovered? It’s all over the press.”
“I know, Mom. I’m fine. I have something to tell you.”
“What?”
“I’ve asked Ana to marry me. She’s said yes.”
My mother is stunned into silence.
“Mom?”
“Christian, I’m sorry. That’s wonderful news,” she says, but she sounds a little hesitant.
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