From:Christian Grey

Subject:Prehistoric

Date:June 15, 2011 16:20

To:Anastasia Steele

Don’t mock the elderly.

Glad you are alive and kicking.

And that Mia has been in touch.

Batteries are always useful.

I don’t like celebrating my 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.

xPS: 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 misde-

meanors.” 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 set-

ting.”Where is security? Are they in the building yet?

“We don’t need HR to overmanage this situation Ana,” he sneers. “When I hired you,

I thought you would be a hard worker. I thought you had potential. But now, I don’t know.

You’ve become distracted and sloppy. And I wondered . . . is it your boyfriendwho’s lead-

ing you astray?” He says boyfriendwith chilling contempt.

“I decided to check through your e-mail account to see if I could find any clues. And

you know what I found, Ana? What was out of place? The only personal e-mails in your

account were to your hot-shot boyfriend.” He pauses, assessing my reaction. “And I got to

thinking . . . where are the e-mails from him? There are none. Nada. Nothing. So what’s

going on, Ana? How come his e-mails to you aren’t on our system? Are you some company

spy, planted in here by Grey’s organization? Is that what this is?”

Holy shit, the e-mails. Oh no.What have I said?

“Jack, what are you talking about?” I try for bewildered, and I’m pretty convincing.

This conversation is not going as I expected, but I don’t trust him in the slightest. Some

subliminal pheromone that Jack is exuding has me on high alert. This man is angry, vola-

tile, and totally unpredictable. I try to reason with him.

“You just said that you had to persuade Elizabeth to hire me. So how could I be planted

as a spy? Make up your mind, Jack.”

“But Grey fucked the New York trip, didn’t he?”

Oh shit.

“How did he manage that, Ana? What did your rich, Ivy League boyfriend do?”

What little blood remains in my face drains away, and I think I’m going to faint. “I

don’t know what you’re talking about, Jack,” I whisper. “Your cab will be here shortly.

Shall I fetch your things?” Oh please, let me go. Stop this.

Jack continues, enjoying my discomfort. “And he thinks I’d make a pass at you?” He

smirks and his eyes heat. “Well, I want you to think about something while I’m in New

York. I gave you this job, and I expect you to show me some gratitude. In fact, I’m entitled

to it. I had to fight to get you. Elizabeth wanted someone better qualified, but I—I saw